CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Serafina
Two days until the wedding
Arabella: So, do you want to read the new chapter I wrote? I had been stuck on it for a while.
Me: YES, PLEASE!
Arabella was an amazing author. Well, she was my favorite. She had a special way with words, but she doubted her writing skills too much. I guessed that was every writer.
That was how we met, after all.
I always loved reading romance books, feeling some kind of pull toward their love stories because I had always known that I would never have one like that of my own.
I wasn’t destined for love and romance.
I only had a duty to fulfill for the rest of my life.
So, one day I decided to get lost in a love story that would never be mine. A romance that had been gnawing at me for months, the characters whispering for me to tell their stories. So one random night in my dorm room, I started writing on the notepad on my phone and the words just seemed to flow.
It was silly, to be honest.
I really didn’t think anyone would read my book when I posted the chapters for free on a reading app. But ten chapters later, and a few thousand views, a name popped in my inbox.
Arabella Rose.
I had found her published books a year before I decided to write my own and read her whole backlist. So, color me surprised when I found her message as she told me that my story had intrigued her and she couldn’t wait to read more.
Our friendship started with books, and somehow, we became friends that understood each other on a different level, a soul connection. Sure, we didn’t know each other’s real name and we both understood the need for privacy, so this was a boundary we never crossed.
But I knew I could trust her.
I knew I could depend on her.
And I knew if I ever needed her, if it was life and death, she’d come running.
Arabella: I know you need the distraction today.
Me: Don’t remind me, please.
Arabella: Weddings can be… joyous.
Me: If I remember correctly, you told me yours wasn’t.
Arabella: Yes, my first wedding wasn’t but my husband and I renewed our vows and that was joyous.
Me: That’s because you love each other.
Arabella: He hated me at first…
Me: Right…
Arabella: So maybe you can learn to love him. You said there’s nothing inherently wrong with your fiancé and that he was attentive. Then what’s the problem?
My problem was his brother.
See, I couldn’t tell Arabella everything about my arranged marriage because while she was my best friend, my only friend… I still had to maintain my family’s image and our privacy. I couldn’t tell her why I was marrying Matteo and why this marriage was so important to our families.
I couldn’t exactly divulge or confess to my online friend that my family was part of the Italian mafia and that my future husband was the heir to an organized crime syndicate.
Me: The problem is that his brother is a pain in my ass.
Arabella: Why don’t you tell your fiancé that his brother is harassing you?
Me: I’m new to their family and I don’t want to be the reason that more distance is created between the two brothers. They already seem like they don’t get along or I get the feeling they don’t.
Arabella: Why do you say that?
Me: There’s a lot of… tension between them. It’s like they have a personal vendetta against each other.
Since the night at The Pit, I hadn’t seen Adrian once.
Matteo, on the other hand, I had seen plenty. After all, it was our courtship period and the goal was for us to get to know each other.
We had two dinners with my family.
And then we spent a day at the Salvatore’s art galleries in New York. Of course, chaperoned by Damon and Giulia. The whole thing had been structured, modest… almost like we were characters in a different time period. Two centuries ago.
Our courtship was meant for us to get to know each other. To assess each other.
And I had assessed Matteo plenty.
If there was one thing I understood of my future husband it was that he was competitive with his brother in a way that was more than just simple sibling rivalry.
Though it was never direct, every time Adrian’s name surfaced in a conversation, Matteo somehow always had to prove that his brother was too irresponsible… too impulsive… too depraved.
A monster, he had reminded me the night we watched Adrian’s fight at The Pit.
It couldn’t be more obvious that Matteo didn’t like Adrian.
And that he saw Adrian as a rival.
In pride. Ego. Wealth. Status.
Then it made me start to wonder if he was afraid of being overthrown. But that didn’t track according to Giulia’s tales of her brothers.
Adrian was the Salvatore’s Capo—he commanded a crew of soldiers and associates. He did the dirty work that didn’t get spoken about at dinner tables and had earned his rank in blood.
He was respected, feared, and politically important. Men were loyal to him.
But the throne was never his to inherit, and according to Giulia, he had no interest in it.
Matteo was the Underboss. The polished heir. The future of the Salvatore name, waiting on Enzo’s retirement or last breath. I understood the pressure he was under. As heir, every move Matteo made was measured against some invisible standard set by his father and by the Cosa Nostra.
On the other hand…
Adrian existed outside all of that—free to be reckless, free to disappear. He seemed to prefer it that way and he was perfectly satisfied with his status now.
So, why?
Why did Matteo look at Adrian like the only man born to steal what was always meant to be his?
Arabella: Sibling rivalries?
Me: Perhaps…
Arabella: Or insecurities?
What could Matteo possibly be insecure about?
And why did Adrian hate him?
I remembered our time at the stable, when I had seen pure rage and hatred in Adrian’s eyes at the mention of Matteo.
He said I knew nothing about his relationship with his brother and he wasn’t wrong.
I shouldn’t have cared. I had no reason to care… but for some absurd reason, I was curious.
I was marrying into this family and understanding their dynamics was simply part of that. My curiosity was a practical necessity, nothing more. After all, Matteo was going to be my husband. I needed to understand him better than anyone else.
That was solely the reason why I was curious.
A knock at my door interrupted my thoughts. I glanced up, my heart skipping a beat with that familiar anxiety that had become my constant companion.
“Just a minute,” I called out, quickly typing a final message.
Me: Gotta go. I’ll read your chapter tonight. Talk later?
Arabella: Stay strong, beautiful. Talk later!
I tucked my phone under my pillow and smoothed my dress before opening the door. To my relief, it was Giulia, her face flushed with excitement, eyes sparkling with an energy that seemed impossible given the circumstances of our lives.
I just couldn’t understand how she was always so… cheery.
“Serafina!” she exclaimed, grabbing my hands. “It’s here! Your dress has arrived! Thank God, my mom and I were starting to get worried. She called the store this morning and made it very clear they didn’t want to test her patience.” She paused, inhaling like she was out of breath.
“Woah, slow down,” I said. “I always had faith we’d get my dress on time.”
Because I had faith my wedding was going to be perfect.
It had to be perfect.
The dress. The bride. The groom. The guests. The food.
Everything was going to be… perfect.
I believed it.
“It’s good that you had faith because I was freaking out a little. But my mom spoke to the designer whom she’s very close to and she was promised it would be delivered tonight!”
She tugged at my arm, pulling me into the hallway. “Come on, it’s time for your final fitting. I’ve been dying to see how it looks on you.”
I allowed her to lead me through the maze of corridors. The fitting room was located in the east wing of the mansion, a space I hadn’t visited before.
This morning, my father, Damon and I landed in New York. Originally, we were going to stay at one of our own apartments, but then Enzo wanted to host us at his estate.
It was only for two nights, he had said.
A gesture of good faith, Damon had called it.
One roof, two families—no weapons drawn, no bloodshed.
I was the future bride of the family and this would be my home soon. My presence was welcomed; I wasn’t dangerous to them.
But after sixteen years and a massacre that had carved itself into the memory of everyone in both families, Enzo Salvatore opening his home to my father and my brother wasn’t a small thing.
When we entered the fitting room, Beatrice was already there, a glass of champagne in her delicate hand as she inspected my wedding dress.
My breath stalled for a moment as I took it all in. The wedding gown was displayed like a work of art, its intricate lace and dainty beading catching the light.
“Ah, Serafina, you’re here,” Beatrice said, her voice carrying that distinctive authority.
She waved us in, tutting. “Come in. Let’s see how this masterpiece fits you.”
Giulia let go of my arm and I walked farther inside the room. The dress was even more beautiful up close.
Italian silk, hand-embroidered with pearls and crystals that formed delicate floral patterns. It was the kind of gown that belonged in a fairy tale, the kind I’d dreamed of as a little girl.
Until my dreams had shattered at fifteen. When I finally understood what my life would become, and that I would never have a fairy tale.
“Giulia, why don’t you help her undress?” Beatrice instructed before taking a sip of her champagne.
As Giulia assisted me with my clothes, I caught Beatrice studying me with an expression I couldn’t really understand. There was something in her eyes that wasn’t quite coldness, but not warmth either. A measured assessment, perhaps.
“You’ve lost weight,” Beatrice observed as I stood in my undergarments. Thank God, I had worn something presentable. “The dress may need some adjustments.”
“It’s been a stressful few weeks,” I admitted, feeling suddenly vulnerable under her gaze.