Symphony of Sorrow (Empire of Pain #1)

Chapter 1 Chiara

Chiara

Awoman’s wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of her life, so why does this one feel like a bereavement?

Instead of celebrating with my true love, I’m locked in a hotel room waiting for my bitch of a stepmother to come and supervise me while I change out of my hideous confection of a wedding dress.

I sink onto the bed, eyes cloudy with tears.

The fucking dress I’ve been shoehorned into makes me look like a Disney princess on steroids.

It’s not a dress I would have picked if I were marrying for real.

My stepmother chose it from a selection of options sent over by my dear father-in-law.

Sure, they have designer labels on them, but they’re still fucking hideous.

The ring on my third finger, left hand, isn’t much better. The engagement ring is at least ten million carats. It’s so valuable I question why I’m allowed to wear it. Isn’t my husband worried I’ll hock it the first chance I get?

The platinum band Angelo slid on my finger during the ceremony looks plain in comparison. Under different circumstances, I’d have admired the subtle styling. But since being forced to marry entirely against my will, I’m less inclined to compliment his good taste.

It’s hard to imagine how things could get any worse right now. Short of an asteroid slamming into the hotel at a gazillion miles per hour, my mind is blank.

Oh wait. That would actually be an improvement.

Since this is one of the best suites in the hotel, the mini-bar is full, but I steer clear, even though drinking myself into oblivion seems like a fantastic idea.

Vivian will be here within the hour, so I don’t have long to figure out how the fuck I am going to escape this mess. She left to sign some paperwork with my new husband and his father.

I just hope she negotiated a good deal for her prize cow.

The walls close in on me as the reality of my fate sinks in. The options I have are seriously limited. Armed guards surround the hotel, courtesy of my dear husband and his family, with more guards stationed outside the room.

Just as I’m contemplating using the complimentary toothbrush in the bathroom as a shiv, there’s a soft knock on the door. Jesus Fucking Christ. Can’t they leave me alone for a bit?

“Come in,” I yell, wiping a stray tear away because I refuse to let anyone see how fucking desolate I am right now.

The door opens, and a maid walks in with a room service trolley, her eyes focused on the hideous carpet. There’s champagne, fruit, pastries, and other goodies.

This definitely isn’t from my stepmother. That woman is tight as a nun’s cunt. I presume it’s from Angelo. He won’t want his bride to pass out from hunger before he consummates the marriage.

I dare not touch any of it. For all I know, it’s laced with some kind of sedative to ensure my cooperation.

“Thanks.”

“Is there anything else you need, ma’am?”

An idea strikes me. The maid is similar in height and build to me, and her hair color is the same as mine, even if she has it covered with an ugly scarf.

Sure, she’s a few years older, but nobody pays much attention to the housekeeping staff.

“The TV isn’t working,” I say. “I tried pressing all the buttons, but nothing happened.”

The maid frowns and walks over to the massive TV hanging on the wall above the fireplace. While she stares at it, I pick up the bottle of champagne.

I feel bad, honestly I do, but I’m shit out of ideas at this point.

She presses the ‘on’ button and the TV blares to life.

“I think it’s work—” she starts to say before I belt her over the head with the champagne bottle. The poor woman goes down like a sack of potatoes, out for the count. With a bit of luck, she’ll be unconscious for a while.

After stripping off her uniform, I use my silk stockings to tie her hands behind her back and gag her with the cord from the complementary silk robe. No sense in taking any chances.

I heave her into the closet and close the door. It takes less than five minutes to swap my dress for her uniform and pull the headscarf over my hair. Next, I grab the stash of money I brought with me and push it into my uniform pocket, along with the maid’s keycard and ID tag.

The diamond on my finger catches the light, sparkling like a pretty star.

I can’t walk out of this room wearing it.

Somebody will notice. While both rings are worth a fucking fortune, the minute I try pawning them, Angelo or his minions would track me down.

So instead, I slide them off and toss them into the toilet cistern.

Good luck to the person who finds them. I hope the cursed things bring them more luck than they brought me.

Hunching my shoulders and effecting a downtrodden I-work-for-a-minimum-wage look, I quietly open the bedroom door and back out with the now empty room service trolley.

This is the bit where it gets tricky. If anyone looks too closely at me, they’ll realize who I am. I’m counting on the fact that the guards outside my room don’t know me very well.

Not one of them glances my way as I shuffle down the corridor pushing the empty trolley. In this uniform, I’m invisible.

I just need to stay invisible long enough to get the fuck out of the hotel before my new husband steals me away and locks me in an ivory tower for the rest of my life.

There’s a service elevator at the end of the corridor. I release a shaky exhale when the maid’s keycard works, pressing the button for the basement and praying there’s an exit somewhere.

The elevator reopens on sublevel three. We’re in the bowels of the hotel, where staff scurry around like busy little ants. Keeping my head down, I push the trolley down a long, endless corridor lit with harsh fluorescent striplights.

Hotel employees wearing different uniforms pass me, but nobody questions my presence. When I reach an empty storeroom, I find a long coat abandoned over the back of a chair, so I pull it on over my uniform. With the hood up, I look like some poor woman down on her luck.

I abandon the trolley and carry on walking. Finally, after what feels like forever, I reach a fire exit propped open with a box. A guy in a white chef’s coat stands outside smoking. He grunts at me when I slip past, but I ignore him.

The alley’s empty, but heavy downtown traffic rumbles past a few hundred feet away. Freedom is so close now. I can almost taste it.

The temptation to run is strong, but I don’t want to draw attention to myself. There are guards posted everywhere. If they see me running, they’ll wonder why.

My new husband can’t have discovered me missing yet or the hotel would be in an uproar, with men combing every inch of the place.

I leave the alley with my head down, pretending to look at the phone I found in my stolen coat pocket. A guard stationed nearby looks my way but soon loses interest when I turn toward the subway entrance.

Just as I reach the steps down to the station, a cab brakes to spit out a guy in a suit. Before he’s fully disembarked, I dive in. He throws me a filthy glare, but I ignore him.

“Drive!” I flash the driver a wad of cash.

His eyes light up, and he steps on the gas.

Not a moment too soon.

As we pull away, I look back. All hell has broken loose outside the hotel.

A small smile flits across my lips, but I don’t allow myself time to relax. Not completely.

This is only the first step. Chances are I’ll be running for the rest of my days.

If my stepmother doesn’t kill me, my husband probably will.