3. Chapter 3
Chapter three
Luciana
“R eally? You’re selling her to The Butcher? “
Rolando, the epitome of professionalism, maintained his composure throughout dinner. As soon as all the men departed from our home, he unleashed a tirade upon my father with fierce intensity and passion.
“It is not selling, Rolando, this is an arranged marriage that is beneficial for both families,” my father responded.
“It is a death sentence,” he said, unable to contain the rage in his voice. “You know what he has done. What she’ll inevitably be dragged into.”
My heart pounded in my chest as I listened to Rolando’s words, my eyes widening with a mixture of shock and confusion. I had never seen him like this before. His usual calm demeanor had been shattered by an intense fervor that sent shivers down my spine.
I glanced at my father, who seemed unfazed by my brother’s outburst. His face remained stoic, eyes fixed on Rolando. He had already decided and there was nothing the other man could do to sway him.
“Father,” I said, “Why is he called ‘The Butcher?’ What has he done?"
His gaze shifted to meet mine, filled with resolve. “The Butcher is not a man one should cross paths with.”
“That’s not even fair-“ Martina started.
“All of you, go to bed!” Father said, commanding us like we were children again. “I won’t hear another word about this.”
Martina and Rolando ignored him and continued to argue. Me? I had accepted my fate and didn’t care anymore. I had to save Martina. She had the brightest future ahead of her, and this was a small price to pay.
If The Butcher was a dangerous man, good. Hopefully, he would kill me so I wouldn’t have to spend my life with him.
A small part of me still clung to the possibility that we could truly love each other. But that part was a foolish dreamer, blind to the harsh reality of the situation. As much as I wanted it to be true, when I looked into Emilio’s cold eyes at dinner, I knew our love would be nothing but an illusion.
“I said, to bed!”
His deep, gravelly voice cut through the air like a knife, sending shivers down our spines. My siblings and I glanced at each other nervously before quickly scattering to our rooms, hoping to avoid any further confrontation.
It was only eleven o’clock. There was no way sleep would come to me after the events of the evening.
I had to know how Emilio gained that grotesque nickname.
With a sense of urgency, I reached out and snatched my phone off the wooden nightstand, feeling the cool metal against my fingertips. My heart raced as I tapped on Gianni’s saved number, the screen illuminating against my fingertips. This simple action felt like a lifeline, a connection to someone who could help me in this moment of need.
“Hey Stranger,” he said.
“I need your help,” I responded.
The words were meant to come out as calm and composed, but somehow ended up vomited together in one string.
“Not ‘Gianni, it’s been forever since we talked!’ Or, ‘Gianni, it’s so good to hear your voice?’”
“It’s important. I’m getting married to Emilio Renzetti.”
“The Butcher? I can’t believe you said yes.”
If there was anyone who held incriminating information on my fiancé, it would undoubtedly be my cousin. Gianni, with his cunning personality and expertise in intelligence work, was well known for his role as a trusted informant to my powerful Uncle Fabrizio. Any secrets or indiscretions that taint Emilio’s reputation are likely in the hands of my relative.
“It’s not like I had a choice. Wait, did you know about this?” I asked him.
“It’s my job to know things like this.”
“ Fucking... ugh, whatever.” I was pissed and felt betrayed that he didn’t give me a heads up, but there were more pressing things to worry about. “What do you know about him?”
“Enough.”
“Care to elaborate?”
Gianni sighed into the phone. “Look, the dude isn’t going to kill you, if that’s what you’re worried about. But this is the Mafia; what are you expecting? That he has a nine to five and sometimes gets to work from home?”
“You suck.”
He chuckled. “Sorry to depress you with my realism. Anyway, I got to go. Talk to you later.”
“Hey wai-“ I said, but he had already hung up the phone.
Ugh. If it was possible to disown your cousin, I was going to figure out how to do it. Screw Gianni. And screw my father for setting up the arranged marriage.
But most of all, screw Emilio, for existing.
“It doesn’t matter to me,” I said.
The wedding coordinator looked at me expectantly. She had just asked what type of flowers I would like to decorate the inside of the church.
She, Emilio and I were crammed into a room, trying to get our wedding planned in the three-week deadline. I couldn’t bring myself to care about the aesthetics or appearances of this situation; after all, the marriage was nothing more than a transaction to benefit both parties involved.
The coordinator nervously looked over at Emilio. I imagined she didn’t see too many unenthusiastic bride-to-be’s.
Emilio looked at me. “White roses?”
I liked white roses well enough.
“Sure,” I responded.
“And what would you like to do for music? A live band or a DJ?”
I shrugged again.
“Live music, a quartet. Only classical covers,” Emilio said. It appeared as though he finally gave up on asking for my feedback.
“Well, that’s it for now! I’ll leave you two be.”
The coordinator hastily rose from her seat and exited the room. I couldn’t blame her; the awkward tension between Emilio and myself must have been uncomfortable to witness.
“Try not to be so excited,” he mused.
“Ha!” I didn’t bother suppressing my laugh. “And you are?”
“Absolutely not. But this is an important business transaction, so don’t screw it up.”
From the very beginning, I knew that this marriage was purely a business transaction. Yet, hearing him speak it aloud for the first time caused my stomach to twist into uncomfortable knots. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease wash over me. It was as if the words were a slap in the face, shattering any lingering illusions I may have had about love or romance in this arrangement. My heart clenched as I tried to push away the sinking feeling in my gut.
“I won’t be the one who screws it up,” I said, glaring at him.
With a gentle yet firm grip, his warm hand cradled my face, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheek until it rested on the small indentation of my dimple. A mixture of nausea and butterflies danced in my stomach.
“Maybe. But this face better be all smiles on our wedding day.” He ripped his hand away. “There will be a lot of important people there.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
He waved his hand dismissively, a silent signal telling me the subject was being dropped.
I clicked my tongue. If Emilio “The Butcher” Renzetti didn’t slice me into pieces, it was becoming increasingly clear he might annoy me to death.
“Anyway, I’m going to go home now,” I said, standing up.
He grabbed my arm. “Not yet.”
“We’re done here. There’s no reason for me to stay.”
“I’m taking you home.”
I jerked my arm away from his grasp, the sudden force making him stumble back a step. Surprised by my boldness, I looked at him with narrowed eyes. “I don’t need you to take me home, Emilio. I’m perfectly capable of getting there myself.”
“Your dad may have let you drop your security detail, but that isn’t going to fly with me. You’re marrying into one of the most powerful families in the city. You need protection.”
The condescending tone in his voice only fueled my determination.
“I don’t need protection,” I asserted firmly.
His eyes narrowed into slits, and the corners of his mouth turned down in displeasure. A chill crept down my spine as his gaze bore into me like an icy dagger.
“Fine,” I replied through gritted teeth.
He nodded curtly, satisfied with my submission. As we made our way out of the wedding planning office and towards the sleek black car waiting outside, a sense of unease settled over me. The realization that my freedom was slowly slipping away became painfully apparent.
Emilio opened the car door for me, a silent gesture of chivalry that contrasted with his earlier brusqueness. Reluctantly, I slid into the leather seat, feeling its cool touch against my skin. Emilio took his place behind the wheel, his hands gripping the steering wheel with a controlled intensity. The engine roared to life, its power vibrating through the car.
We drove in silence, the only sound permeating the air being the low hum of the engine and the occasional sweeping wisp of wind as we passed other vehicles on the dimly lit streets. The cityscape outside blurred into streaks of lights and shadows. I stared out of the window, fixating on the distant stars that flickered against the dark canvas of the night sky.
A sense of relief washed over me when Emilio pulled up in front of my house. I quickly opened the car door, eager to escape from the vehicle as fast as possible.
“Have a good night,” he said.
I gave him the finger.