8. Bianca
8
BIANCA
I feel like I’m floating above my body, watching the scene unfold before me as if it were happening to someone else. The weight of my wedding gown suddenly feels even more suffocating, and I can barely breathe as I try to process the reality of what’s happening.
I’m getting married. Right now. And not just to anyone, but to Rork O’Malley, the man who has just been crowned the winner of the tournament. The same man who is my parents’ most hated enemy.
I can’t wrap my mind around it. How could this be happening? How could the blond suitor I had admired from afar, the one whose strength and skill had captivated me throughout the tournament, turn out to be the one person my family hates above all others?
The masks , I think, my stomach sinking to my goddamn knees. Mia’s idea is how Rork was able to sneak in and compete undetected. No one would ever recognize him in a mask. Mia had warned me that the masks were a bad idea. If I hadn’t insisted on the theatrical masked touch, I wouldn’t be standing here, feeling like I’m about to pass out, knowing I’m about to be forever linked to Rork O’Malley.
I chance a glance over at my parents. My father’s face is a mask of fury, his eyes blazing with a rage I’ve never seen before. It terrifies me, the depth of his anger. I’ve always known my father to be a formidable man, but this? This is something else entirely.
Mama looks stricken, her face pale and drawn as she watches the ceremony unfold. I can see the tears glimmering in her eyes, and I know that she’s just as shocked and horrified as I am.
She had told me that she thought Rork had a crush on her, which is why he and Papa fought. And now… now he’s marrying her daughter .
I want to vomit.
My younger sisters’ expressions mirror our mother’s, but it’s Sofia’s gaze that I try to catch, wanting to seek some kind of reassurance or comfort from my older sister. But she’s staring straight ahead, her jaw clenched, her hand clasped tightly with Dominico’s. Both look angry, clearly struggling to maintain their composure. A vein in Dominico’s forehead is pulsing.
As the priest begins to speak, his words washing over me in a dull buzz, I feel a wave of panic rising up within me. This can’t be happening. I can’t be marrying Rork O’Malley.
Even Rork’s honeyed words about promising to be a good husband, to cherish and protect me, don’t make me feel better. How can he stand there and make such promises, knowing the hatred he harbors for my family? Does he really expect me to believe that he’ll be a loving, devoted husband when his sole purpose in being here is to cause my parents pain?
I may be young, but I’m not stupid. Growing up as the daughter of the most powerful Mafia Don around, I’ve learned to read between the lines, to recognize the difference between sincerity and deception. And right now, every instinct in my body is screaming at me that Rork’s words are nothing more than bullshit, a trap designed to lure me into a false sense of security.
I can feel the weight of his gaze on me, the intensity of his stare boring into my skin like a physical touch. But instead of the warmth and affection I might have hoped for from my new husband, all I can see is a cold, calculating determination.
He’s not looking at me like a man looks at his bride, but like a predator eyeing its prey.
I’m like a lamb being led to the slaughter, helpless and vulnerable in the face of Rork’s machinations. And what’s worse, I know that there’s nothing my parents can do to save me now. They’re the ones who were so determined to marry me off to the highest bidder that they never stopped to consider the consequences.
My father promised us that he would find us good men. He promised .
And he broke it. In his desperation to marry me off, he broke his promise to me.
A white-hot anger begins to lick through my veins. How could my parents have been so blind, so foolish? Did they really think they could control every aspect of my life, that they could trade me like a commodity without any regard for my own desires or well-being? Did my father really need to walk all four of us down the fucking aisle?
Isn’t Sofia’s marriage enough? She’s married to Dominico Sicura, son of Vincenzo Sicura, another powerful Mafia Don. Dom and his family would protect us unmarried girls, chase off any persistent suitors and ensure we were safe. Why did we have to be married as soon as possible? Why did this have to be our father’s last wish? Why?
In a moment of vicious clarity, I realize that they have no one to blame but themselves for the mess we’re in now. They fucked around, and now they’re finding out.
I’m so lost in my own thoughts, consumed by the anger and fear coursing through me, that I don’t even realize the priest has stopped speaking. It’s only when I feel Rork’s hand tightening around mine, his grip almost painful, that I’m jolted back to reality.
I blink, my eyes focusing on the scene before me. To my horror, I realize that everyone is staring at me expectantly, waiting for me to say or do something. But I have no idea what’s going on, too caught up in my own inner turmoil to have paid attention to the ceremony.
A flush of embarrassment creeps up my neck, my face feeling hot. But I force myself to maintain my composure. Plastering a smile on my face, I clear my throat and speak up.
“I’m so sorry, Father. I’m just so overwhelmed with happiness at the thought of marrying Rork that I didn’t quite hear what you said. Can you please repeat the question?”
The priest seems to buy my excuse, his expression softening as he nods in understanding. “Of course, my dear. It’s a momentous occasion, after all.”
How much did Papa pay you off to marry me to a virtual stranger? I wonder.
He clears his throat, his voice taking on a more formal tone as he addresses me once again. “Bianca Marino, do you take Rork O’Malley to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love, cherish and obey him, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?
I feel a flash of irritation at the word “obey,” bristling at the idea of being expected to submit to my husband’s every whim. Fuck that. Fuck all of that.
But I know that now is not the time to make a scene, not with the eyes of everyone upon me.
So, I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the words I know I have to say. “I do,” I declare, my voice steady and clear even as my heart twists painfully in my chest.
I can feel Rork’s gaze boring into me, his eyes intense and searching. There’s a flicker of something in his expression that I can’t quite read, but it sends a shiver of unease down my spine.
He’s studying me, weighing and measuring me like a prize horse at auction. And I know that he’s not fooled by my act of happiness and contentment, that he can see right through my facade to the fear and anger simmering beneath the surface.
But I refuse to let him see me flinch, to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much his presence unnerves me. He wants to lie to everyone about how he will love and cherish me? I’ll lie, too. I hold his gaze, my chin lifted in a silent challenge, even as my stomach churns with dread.
The priest continues with the ceremony, but I barely hear his words, too focused on the man standing beside me. My husband , now and forever.
As the final blessing is given and the crowd erupts into applause, I feel a sense of resignation wash over me. This is my life now, for better or for worse.
But even as I smile and nod, playing the part of the brushing bride, allowing Rork to brush a kiss against my lips, I know that this is just the beginning. I may have said “I do,” but my heart is screaming “I don’t.”
And as Rork takes my arm and leads me back down the aisle, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just signed my own death warrant.
* * *
The reception is in full swing, with music and laughter filling the air as guests mingle and celebrate. But for me, the festive atmosphere feels like a cruel mockery of the dread and despair that have taken root in my heart.
As I sit at the head table beside my new husband, I can feel the weight of my family’s worried glances upon me. They know, just as I do, that this marriage is not a cause for joy. Papa barely touched his meal while Mama looks like she’s been crying—but it’s not happy tears.
I try to put on a brave face, to smile and nod and play the part of the happy bride. But with every passing moment, the sense of impending doom grows stronger until it’s all I can do not to scream or cry or flee the room entirely.
A dark cloud descends upon me, a suffocating sense of foreboding surrounding me that I can’t shake no matter how hard I try. I don’t understand how the guests can be laughing and dancing. Don’t they see that this is a farce? That this is not a true marriage? How can they be having a good time when I’m suffering?
Just then, I see Sofia and Dominico making their way toward me, their expressions tight with concern. They reach my side and pull me away from the head table. Sofia leans in close, her voice urgent and low.
“B, are you alright? You look like you’re about to faint.”
I force a smile, knowing everyone and Rork are watching me. “I’m fine, Sof. Just a little overwhelmed, that’s all.”
But Dominico isn’t buying it. He takes my hand in his, his grip firm and reassuring. “Bianca, listen to me. I know this isn’t what you wanted—hell, it’s not what any of us wanted—and I can’t even begin to imagine how you must feel right now. But I promise you, I will do everything in my power to get you out of this situation. The Sicuras are behind you. You have my word.”
I want to believe him, to take comfort in his promise of help and support. But even as I nod and murmur my thanks, I can’t shake the feeling that it may be too little, too late.
Because Dominico is up against a formidable opponent in Rork O’Malley. The man is clearly ruthless, cunning, and utterly determined to make my parents suffer to the bitter end.
And something tells me that he won’t give me up without a fight.
I glance over at Rork, taking in the hard set of his jaw and the cold, calculating gleam in his eyes. He’s watching me, his gaze never leaving my face even as he laughs and jokes with the guests around him.
It’s as if he’s waiting for me to make a move, to try to escape or defy him in some way. It unnerves me as I know that he’ll be ready for me when I do.
As the reception draws to a close, fear overwhelms me, trying to claw its way out of me. The moment I’ve been dreading all night is finally upon me—the moment when I leave with Rork.
My father guides me over to Rork, but before we get too close, Papa grabs my arm, the grip tight and desperate.
“Bianca, listen to me,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “I will find a way to bring you home. I won’t rest until you’re safe and free from that monster’s clutches.”
I feel my throat tighten with tears, my heart swelling with a bittersweet mix of love and resentment. Part of me wants to believe him, to cling to the hope that he’ll be able to save me from the nightmare that my life has become.
But another part of me, the part that has grown cynical and jaded after years of watching my father’s machinations, knows that it may be a promise he can’t keep. Because as powerful as Papa is, Rork O’Malley is a force to be reckoned with.
“Papa…” I start, my voice trembling with the weight of all the things I want to say. But before I can finish, Rork is there, his hand closing around my other arm like a vise.
“I hate to interrupt this touching family moment,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But I believe it’s time for my bride and I to leave. We have a long journey ahead of us.”
Oh, God. What does that journey entail? A shudder of fear runs through me at the thought of being trapped in a car with Rork, speeding away from everything and everyone I’ve ever known and loved.
No one will be able to protect me.
My mouth suddenly tastes like pennies as saliva pools under my tongue, and it takes everything in me to not throw up right on Rork’s shoes.
My father’s grip on my arm tightens, his eyes blazing with fury as he glares at Rork. “You son of a bitch,” he snarls. “You may have won this battle, O’Malley, but the war is far from over. I will not rest until my daughter is safe and you are rotting in the deepest pits of hell where you belong.”
Rork just laughs, a cold, mirthless sound that makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. “Bold words, Marino. But we both know that you’re in no position to make threats. Bianca is mine now, and there’s nothing you can do to change that.”
He turns to me, his green eyes glittering with a possessive intensity that makes my skin crawl. “Come, my wife. It’s time for us to leave.”
And with that, he rips me away from not only my father, but everything I’ve ever held dear.