by Bella J.
“Faye, as in fairy?”
The wonder that beamed from her eyes as she stared at me was amazing to witness. She begged me to dance around in the garden with her, pretending we were both fairies in a magical, make-believe world—a world I was hellbent on protecting from the harsh truth that was my world.
“I love you too, Alessa.” It was the one thing I told her today that wasn’t a lie. The one thing that didn’t burn my tongue with deception.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Wait. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lied as convincingly as possible.
She squeezed my hand. “Something’s wrong. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Nothing is wrong,” I assured her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve just been gone from home for so long, and I’m thrilled you’re here today.”
“I wouldn’t miss your wedding for anything.”
A part of me had hoped she wouldn’t have been able to make it to the wedding. Yet, another part of me was thankful she did. I found strength in her presence, reminding me of what was at stake if I didn’t do what was expected of me.
I smiled as warmly as I could and pulled her in for a hug, tightly squeezing my hands around her shoulder.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked softly against my ear.
“I am. It’s just pre-wedding jitters. I’ve never been happier, sister. I swear.” I leaned back and pinned my gaze on hers. “Now, go back to being extremely excited about my wedding.”
I winked, and she smiled so brightly, reminding me once again why I had decided to step into this role, sacrificing my happiness to make sure her smile never had to fade.
“Alessa,” my mom touched her elbow, “go see if all the guests have arrived yet.” A subtle way of getting rid of her.
“Okay.” She gave me a final glance. “I’m so happy for you, Faye. If anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you.”
Oh, God. If you only knew.
The door shut as Alessa left, and my mother sighed, pulling me in for a comforting hug, careful not to ruin the elegant updo of my hair. “I genuinely believe everything will work out in the end. I really do.”
“At least that makes one of us.” I swallowed the tears that threatened to expose my fear and took a step back. Having my mother’s arms around me only made me want to give in to the need to break down. If I thought it would have made a difference, I would have begged my parents to reconsider. To not make me do this. But I knew better. I knew nothing I said or did would change the path they had chosen for me.
“Alessa can never know. Promise me she will never know the events that led up to this day.”
My mom weaved her fingers together, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I will try my best to protect her—”
“No. Trying isn’t good enough. Promise me she will never know.”
Moments of silence settled between us, a long pause before she finally gave me her word. “I promise.”
Adriana cleared her throat and held out the silver tiara and veil. “Time for the final touch.”
“Allow me.” My mother took the tiara, and I hesitated for no longer than a second before leaning down and closing my eyes as she effortlessly placed it on my head, weaving it between the pinned curls. Adriana straightened the veil, her hands smoothing out every crease, allowing the lace to drape down my shoulders and back, all the way past the hem of my dress.
My mother wiped at a tear that shimmered on her cheek, and at that moment, I wished I had the freedom to cry. I would have traded all the wealth, every luxury I ever had growing up as a Moretti, for the privilege of being able to cry a single tear as I mourned the loss of my own free will.
“I’ll go get your father. He can’t wait to walk you down the aisle.”
“I’m sure,” I mumbled without even attempting to hide my sarcasm.
My mom merely gave me a look of warning before leaning in to give me a loving peck on the cheek. “You look stunning, Daniela. I know you will make your father and me very proud.”
Words that were meant to motivate and praise only intensified the pressure that was already debilitating. I smiled, grabbing hold of every shred of courage I had within me, and watched as my mother exited the room. The door shut behind her, and I exhaled, allowing myself a moment’s reprieve by relaxing my shoulders.
Adriana handed me the bouquet of blush peonies, a dusting of pink within the thickly lush floral arrangement. “Smile, Daniela.” Her voice was soft. “It’s your wedding day. Every bride should smile on her wedding day.”
“I’m not just any bride,” I whispered as Adriana bent down to fluff the hem of my dress. It was all so surreal, a nightmare within a reality I couldn’t escape.
There was a light knock on the door, and I looked up as my father entered. My heart turned inside my chest, and I had to fight the urge to run toward him so I could wrap my arms around his waist like I used to do as a little girl, before he burdened me with this curse and ruining the trust a daughter should have in her father.
His expression softened, yet his presence filled the room as it always did. And whenever he wore a black tuxedo as he did now, with the golden cufflinks that held our family crest, he was the epitome of pride and power.
“You are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen.”
“Don’t,” I warned. “Don’t pretend like any of this is real.”
He righted himself, squaring his shoulders as if he could intensify the heavy presence he brought into the room with him. “One day you will appreciate what I’ve done for our family.”
“You mean what I’ve done.”
His dark eyes narrowed, and there was a silent snarl from his lips. “I hope you treat your future husband with more respect than you do me.”
I crossed my arms. “That depends on whether he’ll make me do something I don’t want to do.”
“I’m going to say this only once, Daniela.” He stepped closer, the authority he carried smothering my courage. “You will do anything and everything to ensure your husband is nothing but thrilled to have you as a wife. You will respect him. You will obey him. And you will carry the Moretti and Silvestro name with nothing but pride. If I so much as suspect defiance from you toward this marriage, I will remove you from this family and let your sister take your place.”
“You promised!” My heart surged up my throat. “You promised you wouldn’t—”
“And you gave me your word you will behave. Break your word, and I’ll have no choice but to break mine. Now,” he straightened the lapels of his tuxedo, “are you ready?”
I took a few seconds to wallow in the river of loathing I felt toward my father, the memory of a time I loved him wiped from my mind.
I squared my shoulders and gripped my bouquet tightly between my fingers. “Yes,” I lied.
Adriana picked up my veil as I moved toward him—linking my hand into the crook of his arm, his cashmere suit soft against my palm.
“Can I ask you something?” My pulse raced, my palms sweaty and fingers shaking.
“What is it, Daniela?”
“Why?”
I looked at my father and immediately saw his disapproval of my question in his dark eyes. “It’s what’s best for the family. To secure a good future for us and our future generations.”
“I just don’t understand—”
“You don’t have to understand. You just have to obey.” His hand squeezed mine, but it wasn’t meant to reassure. It was meant to warn. “You are a Moretti, Daniela. Nothing is more important than strengthening our family, and you marrying the man chosen for you is doing exactly that.”
The reprimand in his voice was loud and clear, and I had no choice but to look away. He was right. My role as a Moretti daughter was written in my blood long before I was born. It wasn’t a fate chosen for me, but rather a destiny I had been chosen for. I had learned this many years ago, and even though I acknowledged the fear, I had to embrace my position as the eldest d
aughter. If I didn’t, this fate would fall upon my younger sister—a fate I would rather drown in than see it become her curse.
I pushed aside my apprehension and lifted my chin, grasping at every ounce of strength within me. “I’m ready.”
Chapter Two
I balled my fists as I stood in the front of the church, staring out over the one hundred guests, of which only thirty were close friends and family. The rest were all here to sit in the decorated pews and watch the spectacle and witness the merging of two families. A motherfucking business transaction that took place before God. But they didn’t know the secrets behind it. Family secrets. Moretti secrets.
Not only was this arrangement ridiculous, but my father just had to add insult to injury by choosing a Moretti girl to be my wife. It was like he just woke up one day thinking, ‘How can I fuck up my son’s life today? Oh, yes, let’s have him get married, and let’s choose a Moretti daughter to be his wife.’
He knew how I felt about Emilio Moretti and everything he stood for. The man was a greedy son of a bitch, a fucking menace who should have been buried years ago. He was the embodiment of everything wrong in this fucking world, but according to my father it was a business merger that could not be avoided. One that would only strengthen our family. I disagreed, but here I was, a hypocrite dressed in a motherfucking Armani tuxedo, and moments away from marrying his daughter.
I glanced at Darion, who stood next to me with a grim expression that almost matched mine. My younger brother and I shared the same ink-black hair with our trademarked Sicilian skin tone. Three years younger than I was, I had the height advantage when it came to my brother—a fact I liked reminding him of whenever I felt the need to piss him off.
Darion shifted from one leg to the other and glanced in my direction. “Smile, brother, it’s a wedding.”
I scoffed. “It’s a goddamn charade.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a charade we need to get through without drama.”
“It’s a fucking exhibition, that’s what it is. An exhibition of two families who think respect and power are negotiated, rather than earned or demanded.”
He straightened his black tie. “If it’s an exhibition as you say, let’s be thankful the Moretti girl has a pretty face, at least.”
“Her pretty face doesn’t deter from the fact that she’s a Moretti.” I straightened the sleeves of my Armani tuxedo. “If father had any pride left in him, he wouldn’t have even considered any sort of entanglement with the Morettis.”
“He wants to merge our families, Gian. We are two of the most influential families in New York, each with their own successful shipping company.” Darion glanced my way. “Imagine what a powerhouse we’d be once the companies merge.”
“And now you suddenly agree with this arrangement after you had a mouthful to say about it when father first broke this news to us?”
“I don’t agree with it, no. If I could, I’d help you storm out of this church and run your ass to Italy. But you and I both know you’ll never defy Father, no matter what he expects of you.”
“Don’t start, Darion.”
“Hey, I know, brother,” he chimed in. “You’re the crown prince, and one day you’ll take father’s place at the table. And this is a sacrifice you have to make.” His gaze met mine. “Right?”
For a moment, I was sure it was a challenge that flashed in his dark brown eyes. Like when we were kids, the times he would dare me to do something that would get me in trouble, and me getting in trouble meant him slithering his way into our father’s good graces for a while.
I rolled my eyes just as the piano started the slow tune of Canon in D, the guests all rising to their feet. My appreciation for fine music eased some of the tension that rolled in my shoulders. As the cello joined the ballade, it formed the perfect fusion of classical notes and heavy strings. It was a beautiful sound only to be wrecked by the reality of why we were all here.
First, Emilio Moretti appeared, his gray beard unable to hide the smug look on his face. The bride’s father dressed in a black tuxedo as if it could conceal the fucking insect he truly was. Then my bride-to-be stepped in next to him, layers of lace hugging her tiny waist, flaring out into an elegant ball gown, with her face hidden behind an exquisite embroidered veil suited for a princess. Her shoulders were squared, her every step confident as elegance radiated off her. Daniela Moretti caught the eye of every boy whenever there was a social gathering that required all family members to attend. But over the years no one could come near her. Emilio made sure she was never in the public eye too much, a move I now recognized as a way to keep her untouched and a worthy trade for when it would suit him most.
I clasped my hands and widened my stance while watching Emilio escort his daughter down the aisle. As they approached, I had to suppress the need to either storm out in a theatrical display to cause a stir or put a bullet in his fucking head.
Emilio leaned closer to Daniela, whispering something in her ear. What could a father possibly say to a daughter he was trading like cattle?
Through the veil, I could see Daniela show no reaction to her father’s words, a prized performance by a loyal daughter. Emilio nodded in our direction, a subtle acknowledgment of his approval. I couldn’t hide my disdain by pretending to welcome his blessing. This union made a mockery of something sacred, and it placed a curse on the Silvestro name—something I didn’t take kindly to.
Daniela stepped up to take her place in front of the priest, her small frame held with pride. I couldn’t help but wonder which thoughts occupied her mind, knowing she had no control over what was about to happen. I’d be a liar if I said the idea of playing God over a woman’s life didn’t stir something within me. Entice me. But that was precisely the part of me I had worked so hard to suppress and ignore. Something I spent night after night cloaking with secret endeavors.
The priest started the formalities, preaching about the beauty of matrimony while we stood and listened. Father Francesco had been on our family’s payroll for as long as I could remember. Numerous priests who had roamed these poorly ventilated halls that smelled like candle wax and Murphy’s Oil Soap were paid employees of the Silvestro family. They wouldn’t have been able to hide their indiscretions if it weren’t for the influence of our community. Another thing I’d be changing the day I stepped up as head of the Silvestro empire. Dirty fuckers had no business fucking breathing.
I glanced at the bride, her striking red hair and her face barely visible through the thick lace of her veil. If she had felt any type of peace before, experienced contentment in any way up until this moment, I hoped she cherished it because after today it would all be gone. Daniela Moretti’s life would never be the same now that she had been given the Silvestro name. My name.
Chapter Three
“I do.”
Two simple words. One single moment. Forever bound to the Silvestro hierarchy. Gian Silvestro and his brother, Darion, had a reputation among the women in this city. New York was filled with an abundance of rich and self-entitled young men, and the Silvestro brothers’ names crossed the lips of many women.
The Silvestro family was one of the most influential in the city. Even I knew that—a girl who had been kept hidden as much as possible, preserved and protected for the day her innocence would be traded for an ally. And the Silvestro family was a powerful ally to have.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
My heart thumped, and my insides churned as my conscience struggled with how wrong this all was. I thought the hard part would be standing here until the priest announced us as married. But I was wrong. As Gian gently clasped the veil between his fingertips, I held my breath and closed my eyes, anticipating our first kiss with nothing but fear. Just the thought of kissing a man whose name I only knew from meaningless gossip and the occasional social event was daunting. My father made sure I was guarded in a way that left no escape, not even to steal my first kiss.
I felt the lac
e being lifted, yet I couldn’t get myself to look at him. I was too busy forcing myself not to run, the nervous weight of concrete in my belly begging my feet to move. It was only when I felt his touch against my chin that I exhaled and opened my eyes. The moment our gazes locked without the barrier of a veil, I stared into the eyes of my husband. His amber irises resembled limpid pools of gold as he stared at me, the dark lines of a hardened man fiercely present in his expression. His square jaw and cleft chin lifted with pride, a thin faint scar visible on the edge of his top lip. At first glance, Gian Silvestro was handsome. Dapper and clean-cut. Intimidating. But I didn’t know this person who stood before me. I didn’t know the man I had just exchanged vows with.
I searched for what I was so sure I would see in his eyes, only to find it surprisingly absent. Questions. Confusion. Surprise at the flaw that so prominently set me apart from a crowd. It wasn’t there in the way he continued to stare at me. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing but an expression of stone, and a reflection of resentment in his eyes framed with thick, black lashes.
He frowned, thick dark brows slanted inward as he hesitated. We stared at each other as if caught in an argument. As if we were both fighting what was about to happen—what needed to happen. He licked his lips, and my insides coiled, anticipating our first kiss. The kiss that would seal today’s formalities. The kiss of husband and wife.
My first kiss.
He leaned down, and I glanced at his glistening lips, his bottom lip thicker than the top, which had the perfect bow. My heart hammered, my chest rapidly rising and falling.
Closer. Closer. I could smell him now. Wild spice and pepper. It enveloped me while this man overwhelmed all my senses.
Gian reached up and placed a palm against my cheek. Warm. Gentle. Caring. And it calmed the uncertainty that raged inside me, allowing me to lose myself in the moment. The moment his lips finally touched mine.
My heart stopped as he fused his lips to mine with a fiery kiss that erased the hundred guests staring at us. I expected nothing more than a chaste kiss. A mere peck on the lips. But it was soft and slow, comforting in a way I needed it to be. With a subtle touch of his tongue, he beckoned me to open for him, and I did. He tasted of peppermint, the perfect blend along with his spice-infused cologne. After a single lap of his tongue against mine, he ended our kiss with a delicate touch of his lips. He pulled away, but I was frozen, my eyes still closed as his taste lingered.