Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
vittoria
I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror, barely recognizing the woman looking back.
The wedding dress is fucking gorgeous. It fits like it was made for my body, hugging every curve right down to my ankles, where it flows into a dramatic train.
My hair is swept up in an intricate updo, adorned with delicate pearl pins.
I look every inch the blushing bride.
Inside, though? I'm a complete mess.
As the stylist puts finishing touches on my makeup, my mind keeps wandering back to that night in Cesare's study.
The kiss we shared was unexpected, electric, and it awakened something in me I didn't know existed.
For those brief moments, I forgot about the arranged marriage, family obligations, the dangerous world we live in.
I was just a woman, desired and wanted.
But then reality crashed back. Cesare dismissed me like I was nothing, his expression unreadable. In the two weeks since, we've barely spoken beyond wedding preparations. The tension between us is suffocating, and I'm constantly on edge.
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts. "Come in," I call out, grateful for the distraction.
My mother enters, eyes immediately welling with tears as she takes in my appearance. "Oh, Vittoria," she breathes. "You look absolutely beautiful."
I force a smile, trying to ignore the anxiety twisting my stomach into knots. "Thank you, Mam."
She crosses the room and takes my hands, expression serious. "Are you ready for this, love?"
Am I ready? To marry a man over twenty years older? To become wife to one of the most powerful and dangerous men in Boston? To leave behind everything I've ever known? To become stepmother to six kids who already hate me?
Fuck no, I'm not ready. But I don't have a choice.
"As ready as I'll ever be," I reply, squeezing her hands.
Mam's eyes search mine, and I know she can see the turmoil I'm trying to hide. "Remember what I told you," she says softly. "You're stronger than they know. Don't let them extinguish that fire inside you."
I nod, feeling the weight of the key she gave me, now hidden in the back of my phone case. It's a reminder of who I am, of the strength that runs through my veins.
"It's time," the wedding planner announces, poking her head into the room.
My mother gives my hands one final squeeze before stepping back. "I love you, Vittoria," she says, voice thick with emotion. "No matter what happens, remember that."
"I love you too, Mam," I reply, fighting back my own tears.
As I make my way to the doors leading to the decorated gardens, my father appears at my side. His expression is stern, eyes filled with warning.
"Remember your duty," he says low, grabbing my arm and digging his fingers into my flesh as he curls my arm around his. "Don't embarrass our family."
I nod stiffly, not trusting myself to speak. The wedding march begins, and the doors swing open. Hundreds of faces turn to look at me as my father leads me down the makeshift aisle.
I force myself to smile, to play the part of the blushing bride.
The gardens look incredible. It's been snowing all week, and white covers everything like a fairy tale. Lights twinkle from the trees and snow crunches beneath the white carpet under my feet. I hadn't expected something so beautiful. Mrs. Rossi outdid herself.
It's breathtaking and heartbreaking at the same time.
At the end of the aisle stands Cesare, looking devastatingly handsome in a tailored black tuxedo. His eyes lock onto mine as I approach, expression unreadable. For a moment, I'm transported back to that night in his study, remembering the heat of his kiss, the feel of his hands on my body.
I push the memory away, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.
As we reach the altar, my father places my hand in Cesare's. His grip is firm, almost possessive. "Good luck," Father says, tone cold and impassive.
Cesare's eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn't respond. Instead, he turns his gaze to me. I hate that I can't read him, hate that he's so good at hiding his emotions while I'm drowning in mine.
The ceremony passes in a blur. I recite my vows on autopilot, promising to love, honor, and obey a man I barely know. When Cesare slides the ring onto my finger, I feel its weight like a shackle around my soul.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest declares. "You may kiss the bride."
Cesare leans in, lips meeting mine in a kiss that's far more chaste than the one we shared in his study.
But even this brief contact sends electricity through my body.
As he pulls away, I notice his eyes are darker than usual, but he blinks and they're back to that cool, calculating look he always wears.
We turn to face the applauding crowd, Cesare's hand firm on my lower back. As we make our way down the aisle, I catch sight of his children. Lorenzo's expression is carefully neutral. The rest can't hide their pain. They lost their mother not long ago. This is too much for them.
I can't blame them for hating me.
Cesare leads me into the house where the reception is being held, hand firmly on my back. My stomach fills with dread. I have no idea what to expect. With my father, I can gauge his moods, know when he's about to lash out. But Cesare? He's an unknown, and I fucking hate that.
"You two make such a lovely couple," coos an older woman I recognize as one of the Syndicate bosses' wives. I’m pretty sure her name is Bridget, and that she’s married to Ronan Delaney. "I'm sure you'll be very happy together."
"Thank you," I reply automatically, leaning into Cesare's side like I'm supposed to. "We're very excited to start our life together."
What a fucking lie.
Cesare's arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer. To anyone watching, it looks affectionate. But I can feel the possessiveness in his touch, the silent reminder that I belong to him now.
As the night drags on, anxiety builds in my chest. The champagne I've been sipping does nothing to calm my nerves. I know what's expected tonight, what I've been groomed for my entire life.
But the reality is more terrifying than I imagined.
Tonight, Cesare takes what's left of my innocence.
Finally, after what feels like forever, Cesare announces it's time to retire. Cheers and suggestive comments follow us as we leave the ballroom.
My legs feel like jelly as we head upstairs.
We reach Cesare's room, and the moment the door closes behind us, his hand falls away from my waist. He steps back, putting distance between us.
"You played your part well tonight," he says, voice cool and detached. "I trust you'll continue to do so in private."
I swallow hard, fighting back the fear and uncertainty threatening to overwhelm me. "Of course," I reply, proud my voice sounds steady. "I understand my role in this marriage."
Cesare's eyes narrow, studying me with an intensity that makes me want to squirm. But I hold his gaze, refusing to show weakness.
He reaches for his tie and starts undoing it.
This is it. The moment I've been dreading.
Cesare's eyes never leave mine as he removes his tie and starts unbuttoning his shirt. I stand frozen, unsure what to do or say.
"Turn around," he commands softly but firmly.
I obey, heart pounding as I feel him step closer. His fingers find my dress zipper, slowly pulling it down. As the dress pools at my feet, leaving me in nothing but lacy white lingerie, I fight the urge to cover myself.
I've never felt so exposed, so vulnerable.
Cesare's hand trails down my bare back, his touch sending shivers through me. "Beautiful," he murmurs, breath hot against my neck.
I close my eyes, steeling myself. This is my duty. It’s what I was raised for.
He turns me to face him, his eyes raking over my body with unconcealed hunger. "Are you afraid?" he asks, voice low and husky.
I consider lying, but something in his gaze tells me he'd see through it. "Yes," I admit softly.
A small smile tugs at his lips. "Good," he says. "Fear keeps us sharp, keeps us alive in this world."
Before I can respond, his lips crash into mine in a searing kiss. Nothing like the chaste peck at the altar. This kiss is all heat and passion and barely restrained hunger.
I find myself responding despite my fear, body arching into his as his hands roam my curves. When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
Cesare leads me to the bed, gently pushing me onto the plush mattress. As he looms over me, his eyes dark with desire, I realize there's no going back now.
This is my life. For better or worse, I'm Cesare Mariano's wife.
"You're beyond beautiful," he says roughly. "Every man in that room wanted you tonight," he murmurs, hands running along my body. "But you're mine, Vittoria. No one else can have you."
His thumb brushes across my nipple, and I bite back a moan.
His hands leave my breasts, skimming down my body. His intense gaze burns into me. My cheeks flush at the look he’s giving me: dark, longing, filled with anticipation. He reaches my thighs, and I press them together instinctively.
He chuckles and pulls them apart, grip firm but not painful.
I gasp as he swipes his tongue along my opening. I try to close my legs again, but Cesare holds them firmly apart. His tongue continues exploring, sending jolts of unexpected pleasure through me.
I've never experienced anything like this.
"Relax," Cesare murmurs against my sensitive flesh. "Let yourself feel how good it is."
As much as I want to resist, to maintain some form of control, my body betrays me. I grow wetter as he continues, small moans escaping despite my efforts to stay quiet.
His tongue finds a particularly sensitive spot, and my hips buck involuntarily. I hear him chuckle before he focuses there, alternating between quick flicks and long, slow strokes.
The pressure builds, a tight coil of tension in my lower abdomen. I grip the sheets, my breath coming in short gasps. Just as I feel like I might explode, Cesare pulls away.