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)
Oh God. No. No more. Please, just let me be.
Of course, I didn’t say that. Rather, I asked wearily, “How?
“You’ll spy on him. His comings and goings. Who he does business with. All of it. And then, you’ll report back to me.” I dipped my chin in an attempt to stop myself from saying something Vincenza would take offence to. She went on. “We can still take his life. We’ll just go about it differently. We can ruin him, Vicky. Take everything he loves until he’s as miserable as we are.”
Speak for yourself, sister.
What if I didn’t want that?
All I wanted was a peaceful life. I wished Enza could see what this hate was doing to her. I didn’t want to end up like her, cold and calculating. I still had a sliver of fire in my heart. Unfortunately, it was often used to warm my sister.
Suddenly, Vincenza’s expression changed and a cat-like grin settled on her face.
“What is it?”
I could feel the ice pumping in her veins when she explained, “Your husband will never find peace with you as his wife. After today, he’ll always sleep with one eye open, never knowing when the next attack will come.” Her teeth gleamed as she said all too happily, “It will be torture.”
My sister helped me stand, smoothed down my blood-spattered dress, took my hand then dragged me to the mirror. What a contrast my reflection was compared to what it had been a mere hour ago. My hair was a tangled mess, mascara stained my under-eyes, lipstick smeared. Dress creased with a seam torn at my shoulder, and my neck…
Large purple handprints collared my throat.
Vincenza sighed, muttering, “You can’t go out there like this.” She did her best to fix me, re-doing my hair and reapplying my makeup, but when she moved to attempt to cover the bruise at my throat, I lifted a hand, stopping her.
“Leave it.”
She looked at me curiously. “Suit yourself.”
Regrettably, nothing could fix the state of my dress. We tucked in the split, fraying seam but the dark red stains would have to stay. And so, with my sister by my side, we left the safety of the room, walked towards the opposite end of the hall and paused, just outside the reception doors.
Vincenza turned to me. “Ready?”
No. I wasn’t ready. I would never be ready. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. And now, here I was, stuck dealing with the consequences of my own actions.
Ugh.
“I’m ready,” I said, unenthused.
The doors opened, we stepped inside and two hundred heads turned simultaneously, and not a single one of them looked happy. Apart from the traditional Italian music playing in the background, this had to be the most disturbingly somber wedding reception in recent history. The expected chatter was absent. No one spoke, or laughed. They all just sat in their chairs, looking miserable. My stomach tensed as I passed each table and they simply turned away, refusing to acknowledge me. Even my own family members.
It hurt especially when Zio Como stood, threw his linen napkin down on the table and thundered away in the opposite direction.
Even with my sister by my side, it was clear. I was utterly alone.
We approached the bridal table. My heart began to race when Ettore stood and walked around to meet us, not stopping until we were toe-to-toe. Now that I had a second to take him in, I noticed things I hadn’t before.
He towered over me in a way that made me feel small and insignificant. His hazel eyes had a touch of forest green in them. And he was muscular enough to knock me down with the slightest wave of his hand.
Ettore looked as though he might have considered doing just that.
I had never been very good at hiding my emotions so I knew what he saw right then was a girl who was terrified of him. And then he sighed, holding out a hand to me. I turned to my sister in panic. Without a care for my fragile disposition, she handed me over to this… this… beast of a man. Our hands touched and I blanched. His palm curled around mine and I fought the urge to hyperventilate. When he began to walk us towards our chairs, I almost dug my heels in, refusing to go. But, instead, I did what was expected of me.
Like the good girl I was, I complied.
Ettore helped me to my chair, pushing it in after me, then took the seat to my left. Vincenza sat unassisted to my right. And there we remained, soundlessly, for what seemed like hours.
During that time, a man approached our table, smiling, with a camera in hand. I noticed my husband tense until his body was rigid as a flagpole. I sat up dutifully as the man lifted the camera and just as he was about to take the shot, Ettore stood so quickly that his chair warbled loudly in the quiet space, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.