Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
vittoria
Following the stern-faced wedding planner through the Mariano mansion, I feel like I'm walking toward my own execution.
Just days ago, I was in Belfast, dreaming of a life beyond my father's control.
Now I'm choosing fucking floral arrangements and cake flavors for a wedding I never wanted, to a man who's colder than my own father, something I didn't think was possible.
"We'll start with dress fittings," the planner, Mrs. Rossi, says briskly. "Mr. Mariano has arranged for several top designers to bring their collections. We'll find something suitable."
I nod mechanically, my mind spinning. It's too much, all at once. At least my mother was allowed to come for this part. As we enter a large room that's been converted into a temporary bridal salon, I see her sitting on a plush couch, her face tight with worry.
"Mam," I breathe, rushing to her. She holds me tight, and for a moment I let myself be a scared little girl again, seeking comfort in my mother's arms.
"Oh, my darling," she whispers, her Irish lilt thick with emotion. "Are you alright?"
Before I can answer, Mrs. Rossi clears her throat. "We should begin," she says, gesturing to the racks of white gowns. "We have a lot to get through."
My mother's grip on my hand tightens briefly before she lets go. "Of course," she says, voice steady despite the pain in her eyes. "Let's see these dresses then."
The afternoon drags on with endless fucking lace and tulle. Dress after dress gets paraded in front of me, each more elaborate than the last. I try them on like a doll on display, modeling for my mother and Mrs. Rossi.
"You look beautiful, Vittoria," Mam says, dabbing at her eyes as I step out wearing dress number forty-two of the day.
I take a deep breath and turn to the mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back. The dress is stunning. Flattering, intricate, and hugs my curves. Sleek but elegant, with diamonds around the waist—not too many, but enough to make it stand out.
I should be happy I found the perfect dress, but all I see is a cage of white fabric binding me to a future I never chose.
"It's perfect," Mrs. Rossi declares. "Mr. Mariano will be pleased."
At Cesare's name, ice runs down my spine. Our conversation from this morning replays in my mind, his words both a threat and a challenge. I'm still not sure how to navigate this shit, especially him. He's so cold, so distant. There's no way being married to him will bring me anything but misery.
I'm destined to be one of those wives stuck in a loveless, hate-filled marriage.
"Vittoria?" Mam's voice breaks through my thoughts. "What do you think, love?"
I force a smile, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "It's beautiful, Mam. This is the one."
As Mrs. Rossi bustles off to arrange alterations, my mother comes to stand beside me. Her hand finds mine, squeezing gently.
"Are you sure about this, Vittoria?" she whispers, voice low enough that only I can hear. "It's not too late to back out. We could leave; go somewhere they'd never find us."
For a moment, I let myself imagine it: running away with my mother, starting fresh somewhere far from my father's reach and the Marianos’. But reality crashes back hard.
"You know we can't, Mam," I say softly, squeezing her hand. "They'd never stop looking. And even if we managed to disappear, what about Father and the boys? We can't leave them to face the consequences."
My mother's face falls, brief hope extinguished. "I know," she sighs. "I just hate seeing you sacrificed like this."
Before I can respond, Mrs. Rossi returns with a seamstress. "We'll need to take in the waist slightly," she says, all business. "And perhaps lower the neckline a touch?"
I nod numbly as the seamstress starts pinning and adjusting. My mother steps back, watching with a pained expression. I hate that she's feeling this as much as I am, but there's nothing either of us can do. The situation is fucked. In less than three weeks, I'll be married to a man I barely know.
A man who sees me as property.
As Mam and I prepare to leave, Cesare appears in the doorway. His presence immediately fills the room, demanding attention without him saying a word.
"Ah, Vittoria," he says, eyes raking over me like I'm livestock. "I trust everything is proceeding smoothly?"
"Yes, Cesare," I reply, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "We've made good progress."
He nods, seemingly satisfied. Then his eyes land on my mother, and his expression shifts to cool politeness. "Mrs. Costa, I hope you've found everything to your satisfaction?"
My mother straightens her spine, meeting Cesare's gaze with a strength I've always admired. "The arrangements are lovely," she says, her voice steady. "Though I admit, I'm still getting used to the idea of my daughter marrying so young."
Cesare's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I assure you, Mrs. Costa, Vittoria will want for nothing as my wife. She'll be well cared for."
The implication hangs heavy: I'm a possession to be cared for, not a person with desires and dreams. I feel my mother tense beside me, but before she can respond, I step in.
"It's been a long day," I say, forcing another fake smile. "We should go. Thank you for your hospitality, Cesare."
He nods, eyes never leaving mine. "Of course. I'll have a car take you back. We'll speak again soon, Vittoria."
As we walk out, I feel his gaze burning into my back. Mam's hand finds mine, squeezing tight like she's reassuring herself I'm still here, still hers—at least for now.
In the car, silence weighs heavily between us. I want to comfort her, tell her everything will be alright, but the words stick in my throat. We both know it'd be a lie.
"Vittoria," my mother finally says, voice barely above a whisper. "I need you to promise me something."
I turn to her, seeing the tears she's been holding back all day finally spill over. "Anything, Mam."
She takes a shaky breath. "Promise me that no matter what happens, no matter how hard things get, you'll never lose yourself. That fire inside you, that spirit, don't let them extinguish it."
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I think of Cesare's cold eyes, of the life stretching ahead of me, and for a moment I'm not sure I can make that promise. But looking at my mother's pleading face, I know I have to try.
"I promise, Mam," I say, my voice stronger than I feel. "I won't let them break me."
She pulls me into a fierce hug, and I breathe in her familiar scent, trying to memorize this moment. Soon, these embraces will be rare luxuries I can't afford.
The car stops at our house, and I see my father standing in the doorway, his eyes dark with rage.
Shit. He's in a foul mood. What could have possibly gone wrong now?
As we approach the front door, tension radiates from my father like heat. His jaw is clenched; fists balled at his sides. Whatever happened, it's bad.
"Inside. Now," he growls.
Mam and I exchange worried glances before hurrying into the house. The moment the door closes behind us, my father explodes.
"What the hell were you thinking?" he roars, face red with fury. "Talking back to Cesare Mariano? Challenging him? Are you trying to ruin everything?"
My heart pounds. What is he talking about?
"Commenting on your age gap? Surely you can't be that fucking dense, Vittoria?"
I glance at Mam. Someone told him what she said to Cesare.
"Domenico, please," Mam starts, but he cuts her off with a look that could kill.
"Stay out of this, Siobhan," he snaps. "This is between me and our disobedient daughter."
He turns back to me, eyes blazing. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"
I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "I didn't mean any disrespect, Father. I was just—”
"Just what?" he interrupts. "Just throwing away everything we've worked for? Do you have any idea what's at stake here?"
"I do," I insist. "I understand the importance of this alliance."
My father laughs, harsh, humorless. "You're nothing but a pawn in this game, Vittoria. Your only job is to do as you're told and keep Cesare happy. Is that clear?"
His words sting, but I force myself to stand tall. "Yes, Father."
He steps closer, hand raised like he's going to hit me. I flinch, but the blow doesn't come. Instead, he grabs my arm, fingers digging painfully into my skin.
"If I hear one more word about you causing trouble," he hisses, "I'll make you regret the day you were born. Do you understand me?"
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. He releases me with a shove, and I stumble backward on my heels. I try to steady myself, but I can't. I fall hard, the back of my head smacking against the coffee table.
Pain explodes through my skull, and I cry out as dark spots cloud my vision.
"Go to your room," he orders like nothing happened. "Don't even think about coming out until dinner."
I scramble to my feet and flee upstairs, vision blurred by tears and pain throbbing in my head. As I reach my room, I hear my mother's muffled voice pleading with my father. Their argument fades as I close the door and finally let myself break down.
I sink to the floor, back against the door, and let the tears flow. The weight of everything crashes down: the loveless marriage ahead, losing my freedom, constantly fearing I'll disappoint Father or anger Cesare.
It's too fucking much.
For a moment, I wallow in self-pity. But as the tears subside, familiar anger rises inside me. Anger at my father for treating me like property, at Cesare for his cold indifference, at the entire system that lets women be traded like cattle for men's benefit.
I stand, wiping my face roughly. Mam's words echo in my mind: "Don't let them extinguish that fire inside you."
I won't let them break me. I refuse to lose myself completely. Mam managed to survive. I know I can too.
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts. "Vittoria?" Mam's voice calls softly. "Can I come in?"