Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
I chanced a look at Ettore. He was an ominously handsome man.
I wasn’t the only one who felt a change in the air around us and we exchange a knowing look, our expressions turning somber and, together, we became solemn. This wedding was the least of our problems. Eventually, we would have to leave and go home together. Ettore now had to live with the woman who attempted a murder suicide in a church and I had a husband who…
No.
It hurt to even think it.
Marriages like ours were common in the ranks. I was under no assumptions that we would ever be more than glorified roommates. There would be no love lost between us and what I had attempted today meant there would also be no trust.
I knew what was expected of me. I would be seen and not heard. Under normal circumstances, I would have born Ettore’s children, but as I had learned, he already had three. He would be free to take on as many mistresses as he wished, so long as he kept them private, and I would be stuck in the prison that was his home, alone and lonely.
I wished things could have been different but I still counted myself lucky.
After all, not many people could shoot the capo of Malocchio and live to tell the tale.
Chapter 4
The importance of traditions
Vittoria
After our shared kiss, the evening wore on in a different bearing. The familiar sounds of chatter and boisterous laughter echoed through the hall. People drank and danced, and I yawned into the backs of my fingers.
I wasn’t sure what time it was, but I could sense it was getting late when a pretty woman approached, crouched between out chairs and said, “Okay, you two. You got through it. And believe me, there were moments I thought you wouldn’t so, you know. Good for you.” It was then that I noticed it was the same woman who had given me the five-minute warning before the ceremony. “Now, all that’s left to do is the smashing of the vase. After that, you can leave.”
My voice came out worn. “Smashing the vase?”
The woman blinked at me. “You don’t know? The two of you hold a vase together then throw it down on the ground, breaking it to pieces. The number of fragments on the ground are the number of years you’ll have together.”
My heart leapt. I straightened, looking between them and said, “Oh, we don’t have to do that. Do we?”
And the woman’s expression fell. “It’s tradition.”
God, was there anything I could do right?
I immediately backtracked. “Well, if it’s tradition…” the words faded out.
“It is,” she said excitedly. Smiling lovingly at Ettore, she leant in and pressed a kiss to his cheek before wiping the leftover lipsticks away with her fingers. “I’m proud of you.”
Ettore simply grunted, and the woman’s smile deepened before she stood and floated away. Not a minute later, she returned with a small vase in hand. Mic in hand, she asked us to stand and we did. I was hyperaware of Ettore’s hand burning a hole in my lower back as we stood front and center. She announced it was time, placed the vase in my hand and stood back at a safe distance, waiting expectantly for the magic to occur.
This wasn’t my tradition, so I looked to my husband for direction. The hand at my back slipped around to rest on my hip as he moved closer. I lifted the vase, waiting. His hand joined my own, gripping the vase tightly.
Our attendees started a slow clap. That clap gained momentum. Cheers of support began. And then, pandemonium. Men stomped their feet. Hands slapped down on tables. Cutlery jangled. High pitched whistles rang through. And when the encouragement turned deafening, I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips.
“On three,” he muttered, then began to count. “One, two, three.”
As one, we threw down the glass vase as hard as we both could. I waited for the smash, but watched in shock as the vase bounced once, then again, landing between us, utterly unharmed.
Oh my God.
My heart stuttered.
Seriously?
The roar died down until a sickening silence settled around us. I didn’t miss the single crowing laughter. How could I when it was unmistakably my sisters?
It was official. The universe was fucking with us.
As far as bad omens go, this one was pretty clear. Zero fragments meant zero years together.
I should have been overjoyed, and yet, there I stood, mildly insulted.
A quick glance at the woman who had organized it had my stomach sinking. She was clearly devastated.
The silence stretched on. I peered up at my husband to find him already looking down at me. His expression was unreadable but I could sense a certain disappointment there. Without a single thought, I slipped my hand into his and held it tight. I didn’t take my eyes off him as I lifted my high-heeled foot, got into position then brought it down over the vase.