Alessia
Valentino put his guards outside the honeymoon suite, locking me in as if I were a prisoner instead of his bride. The door might as well be iron bars, trapping me inside this gilded cage. I pace the room, fingers clenching and unclenching as anger and humiliation churn inside me. Each step reminds me of how little control I have, how I’m nothing more than his possession.
Then I hear it—the unmistakable sound of a woman’s scream, muffled but clear enough to reach me from down the hall. I grip the edge of the dresser, struggling to keep steady as fury courses through me. He’s flaunting his infidelity, making sure I hear every moment of it.
I catch my reflection in the mirror and pause, questioning why I’m still in this dress, hours after the ceremony. My makeup is flawless, my hair perfectly styled, but I barely even recognize the person looking back at me. As the tears finally fall, I begin to pull the pins from my hair and remove the makeup, trying to strip away everything that ties me to this day.
Sinking onto the edge of the bed, I bury my face in my hands. Every fiber of my being screams to run, to escape, but I know there’s no way out. Valentino’s grip on my life is ironclad. I think back to all the times I dreamed of a different future, one filled with love and happiness. How na?ve I was to believe that was possible.
A knock at the door startles me. I quickly wipe the tears from my face and take a deep breath, forcing myself to regain some composure. When I open the door, a young woman from the estate staff stands there with a tray, her expression polite and professional.
“Mrs. Comiso, I’ve brought you some tea and a plate of fruit and cheese,” she says, her voice calm but gentle.
“Thank you,” I reply quietly, stepping aside as she places the tray on the small table.
“If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ring,” she adds, offering me a sympathetic look, likely noticing the tear stains on my face, before quietly leaving the room.
The door clicks shut behind her, and the silence settles around me, leaving me feeling even more alone. I sit down and pour myself a cup of hot water, letting the chamomile tea bag steep. Picking at the fruit, I’m grateful for the small gesture of kindness on what feels like the cruelest night of my life.
With the warm cup in my hands, I step out onto the balcony. The soft night air brushes against my skin as I gaze over the estate grounds stretching out before me, bathed in moonlight. Everything appears peaceful and calm, a sharp contrast to the turmoil I feel inside.
Leaning against the railing, my thoughts wander to the life I’ll never have. What would it be like to marry for love, to live freely, without the chains of this world? What if I had been born far away from the mafia’s reach, where power and control didn’t shape every decision, every breath?
The thought lingers, bittersweet, but I know it’s only a fantasy. There’s no escaping this life.
Walking back inside, I slowly untie the ribbon at the back of my wedding dress, loosening the tight corset. The dress slips off my shoulders and falls to the floor in a pile of satin and lace. Stepping out of it feels like shedding the last pieces of the day, a small, fleeting relief. I pull on an ivory silk nightgown and climb into bed, the exhaustion of it all finally taking over.
Sleep pulls me under, and for a few brief hours, I escape the nightmare of my new life.
* * *
A rough shake jolts me awake. Blinking, I look up and find Valentino standing over me, fully dressed, with an arrogant smirk plastered on his face. “Rise and shine, princess . If we don’t leave soon, we’ll miss our flight.”
I sit up, my head still foggy from sleep. “You made me spend my wedding night listening to you fuck another woman, and now you think you can waltz in here and make demands,” I say, rubbing my eyes, my voice filled with barely restrained anger.
“That’s exactly what I think,” he replies, his voice dripping with condescension. “You’ll have to get used to how things work around here, princess. I’m the one in control of everything. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for you.”
“You’re disgusting.”
He chuckles, dismissing my words with a shrug. “I’ve been called worse. Now get up and get dressed. We have a flight to catch, and I won’t tolerate being late.”
Slipping out of bed, I pad to the bathroom to take a hot shower. The warmth soothes my tense muscles, allowing me to feel a momentary sense of peace.
As I step out of the shower and reach for a towel, I realize in my rush to get away from Valentino, I forgot to grab my clothes. I hesitate, not ready to face him like this. My nightgown is still in the bathroom, but it doesn’t offer much coverage. I stall for time by blow-drying my hair, knowing I’ll eventually have to go out there.
Ensuring the towel is tightly secured, I crack the bathroom door, hoping he’s left the room. I’m disappointed when I spot him lounging on the bed, scrolling through his phone. When he notices me, he lowers it, his gaze locking onto mine.
“Did you forget something?” he asks, his tone mocking while his eyes rake over my body.
Ignoring him, I walk to the closet with my head held high, determined not to let him see how much his gaze unnerves me. I can feel his eyes on me, scrutinizing every move, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. Grabbing a simple dress from the closet, I slip it on quickly, making sure to keep my back to him the entire time.
When we’re ready to leave, he steps toward me, placing a hand on my lower back and guiding me out of the room. “Remember, , you’re mine now,” he says, his voice low. “When we’re in public, you’ll act the part. Smile. Be the perfect wife. Understood?”
Silence. It’s the only act of rebellion I can manage right now. Valentino won this battle, but the war is far from over. Each day, I’ll be plotting, planning, waiting for the right moment.
I will survive. I will escape. And one day, I will be free.