Chapter 19 Giulia #2
Luca is standing at the altar, Romeo beside him as best man. He's wearing a black suit that fits him perfectly, his dark hair styled back, and his expression completely neutral. He looks devastatingly handsome… and utterly unreachable.
His eyes meet mine as I start down the aisle, and I search desperately for something, anything in his face, that might indicate he feels something other than cold obligation. But there's nothing.
I force myself to keep walking, to keep my head up and my expression serene, even though every step feels like I'm walking toward my own doom.
I reach the altar, and Luca takes my hand.
Despite everything, I feel heat flood up my arm as if his touch was electric, my entire body warming to his touch and everything that I know could come with it.
Everything that I’ll never have again.
The ceremony is mercifully brief. The priest leads us through the traditional vows. I hear myself speaking the words, promising to love and honor and cherish, and my chest aches with every word, because I do love him. I do want to honor and cherish him. But he doesn't want any of it from me.
When it's Luca's turn, his voice is steady and clear, each word perfectly enunciated. He sounds like he's reading from a script, delivering lines he's memorized but doesn't believe. "I, Luca Moretti, take you, Giulia Ciresa, to be my lawfully wedded wife."
The words should fill me with joy—should make me feel like I'm finally getting what I've wanted since I was sixteen years old. Instead, they just make me want to cry.
"You may kiss the bride."
Luca turns to me, and for just a moment—just a fraction of a second—I think I see something flicker in his eyes, something that might be the ghost of what we used to have. But then it's gone, replaced by that professional blankness, and he leans in to kiss me.
His lips touch mine for barely a second.
It's perfunctory and brief, a performance for the witnesses gathered in the chapel.
There's no warmth in it, no hint of the passion we shared when I was Valentina and he was the man who made me feel alive.
It's the kiss of a stranger fulfilling an obligation.
When he pulls back, I feel the coldness of it fill me where heat was before. He's just confirmed everything he said in the hallway two days ago; made sure I understand exactly what this marriage is going to be.
The small gathering applauds politely, and I force myself to smile and play the role of the happy bride, giving no indication that my heart is breaking into a thousand pieces.
Romeo looks deeply uncomfortable, his usual steady composure cracked by the tension radiating from Luca.
Savannah is trying to smile supportively, but I can tell she’s struggling to maintain the charade, too.
I’m sure Romeo has told her everything, which only makes me feel worse.
My father looks tense and irritated, like he’s being forced to endure a pantomime that he doesn’t want to be a part of any more than anyone else does. And Luca looks like he wants to be anywhere but here.
We walk back down the aisle together, his hand barely touching my arm, and I can feel the distance between us. There's a wall of ice separating us that no amount of proximity can melt.
The reception, such as it is, is even worse.
It's held in one of the formal dining rooms back at my family home, with a small dinner for the immediate family and the witnesses.
Luca and I sit beside each other, and he doesn't touch me once or look at me.
He doesn't speak to me unless someone directly addresses both of us.
We're married, but we might as well be strangers.
There’s no cake cutting or first dance, no toasts. It’s almost awkward in how clear it is that the guests know this is a quiet, shameful wedding, a ceremony for a daughter who has done something no mafia daughter ever should.
When it's finally over, when the last guest has left, and the staff has started cleaning up, Luca turns to me for the first time all evening.
"I'll meet you at the house," he says, his voice flat. "I have some things to take care of first."
"Luca—"
"I'll see you later, Giulia."
He walks away before I can say anything else, leaving me standing alone in the empty dining room, still wearing my wedding dress and feeling more isolated than I've ever felt in my life.
—
The house my father gave us is beautiful.
It's a brownstone in Brooklyn, not far from my father's estate but far enough to provide the illusion of independence. It’s three stories, recently renovated, with modern appliances and elegant furnishings.
It should feel like a dream come true—a house of my own, finally, with a handsome husband and a baby on the way.
Instead, it feels like a prison.
I arrive before Luca, in a car driven by one of my father's men, who helps carry in the few bags I packed. Most of my things are still at my father's house—I'll have them moved over the next few days. But for tonight, I have enough.
I wander through the empty rooms, my footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors, and try to imagine what it would be like if things were different—if Luca loved me, if we were starting our life together with hope and excitement instead of resentment and obligation.
But I can't. The fantasy won't come. All I can see is the reality of what I've created.
I change out of my wedding dress and into leggings and an oversized sweater.
I know there’s no point in waiting around in my dress for Luca to come back…
it will only make me seem sad and desperate.
I don’t even know if I want us to have a wedding night, as things are…
although I expect we’ll have to, just to make it official.
I’m no virgin any longer, but I’m guessing we’re supposed to consummate it anyway.
I wash off the makeup and take down my hair, and when I look at myself in the bathroom mirror, I see the truth written all over my face. I'm exhausted. I look devastated. And Luca doesn’t come home for a long, long time.
I hear the front door open around midnight. My heart starts racing as I hear Luca's footsteps on the stairs, coming closer to the master bedroom where I've been sitting on the bed, waiting for him. The door opens, and he stops when he sees me.
"What are you doing in here?" His voice is cold and distant.
"It's our wedding night." The words sound pathetic even as I say them. "I thought—"
"You thought what?" He moves into the room, but he doesn't come closer to me. He stays near the door, like he's ready to leave at any moment. "That we'd consummate the marriage? That I'd take you to bed and we'd pretend everything is fine?"
"I just thought—"
"I've had all of you I want, Giulia." The words are meant to hurt, and they succeed.
"I've had you in almost every way a man can have a woman.
I've touched every inch of your body. I've been inside you more times than I can count.
And all of it—every single moment—was based on a lie.
" His upper lip curls. “Unless you want me to fuck you in the ass? We didn’t do that, as far as I can recall. Must not have been on your list of fantasies.”
I flinch back, my face heating. "Luca, please—"
"I'm sleeping in one of the other bedrooms." He turns toward the door, and I feel panic rising in my chest. "You can have this room. I'll take the one down the hall."
"Don't go." I stand up, my voice breaking. "Please don't go. I know you're angry. I know you hate me. But please—please don't leave me alone tonight."
He stops, his hand on the doorframe, and for a moment I think he might stay—that he might show me even a shred of the compassion he used to have. But then he looks at me over his shoulder, and what I see in his eyes makes me sink back down onto the bed, my stomach turning over with dread.
"I can't even look at you without feeling sick," he says quietly.
"Every time I see you, all I can think about is how you lied to me.
How you manipulated me. So no, Giulia. I'm not staying with you tonight.
I'm not touching you. I'm not giving you anything except what I'm legally obligated to provide. "
"Luca—"
"Goodnight." He walks out, closing the door behind him.
And I feel like I’m going to shatter into pieces.
I collapse onto the bed and sob—over what I've lost, what I've destroyed, and for the man I love who can't even stand to be in the same room with me. I cry for the baby growing inside me who will be born into this cold, loveless marriage.
I cry until there are no tears left, until my body is exhausted and my throat is raw and my chest aches. And then I lie there in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence of our perfect new house, knowing that this is my life now.
This, forever, until death do us part.
—
The next morning, I wake up with swollen eyes and a pounding headache.
I can hear Luca moving around downstairs, and for a moment I consider staying in bed and hiding from him, avoiding the inevitable confrontation.
But I can't hide forever. I force myself to get up, wash my face, brush my teeth, and make myself presentable.
Then I go downstairs, my heart pounding with anxiety about what I'm going to find.
Luca is in the kitchen, making coffee. He's already dressed for the day in dark jeans and a black T-shirt, his hair still damp from the shower. He doesn't look at me when I enter.
"We need to establish some ground rules," he says without preamble, his voice flat and businesslike. "If we're going to make this work, we need to be clear about expectations."
"Okay." My voice is hoarse from crying.
"First, we have separate bedrooms. You can have the master. I'll take the one down the hall. We don't share a bed. We don't—" He pauses, and I can see his jaw tighten. "We don't have a physical relationship. That part of our relationship is over."
I want to argue, but I’ve learned by now that there’s no point. I force myself to nod. "Understood."
"Second, in public, we present a united front. We're a happy couple. We're in love. We're excited about the baby. No one—and I mean no one—can know the truth about our relationship. Do you understand?"
I sink down onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. "Yes."
"Third, you take care of yourself and the baby. You go to all your doctor's appointments. You eat properly. You don't do anything that might put the pregnancy at risk. Because that child is the only reason I'm here, Giulia. The only reason I'm going through with this."
The words hurt, but they're not surprising. He's made it clear that his only interest in this marriage is the baby. "I'll take care of myself," I say quietly.
"Good." He pours himself a cup of coffee, and I notice he doesn't offer me one.
"I'll be working most of the time. I have responsibilities to your father, Romeo, and the organization.
So you'll have the house to yourself during the day.
You can do whatever you want—decorate, invite friends over, whatever. Just don't expect me to be here."
"What about at night?"
"I'll come home when I can. But don't wait up for me. Don't expect me to have dinner with you or spend time with you. This is a marriage on paper only, Giulia. We're roommates who happen to share a last name. That's all."
I feel the urge to argue again, to beg him to give us a chance.
I want to tell him that we can work through this if he'll just try.
But I can see in his eyes that it won't make any difference.
He's made up his mind. He's built a wall between us, and nothing I say is going to break through it.
"Is there anything else?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes." He finally looks at me, and the coldness in his eyes makes me want to cry all over again.
"Stop trying to make this into something it's not.
Stop looking at me like I'm going to suddenly forgive you and fall in love with you again.
It's not going to happen, Giulia. What we had is dead.
You killed it. And no amount of wishing or hoping or trying is going to bring it back. "
"I understand." I force myself to blink back the heat burning at the back of my eyes. I feel like I’ve cried all my tears out, but if there’s more, I don’t want to shed them in front of him right now.
"Good." He sets down his coffee cup and grabs his jacket from the back of a chair. "I have to go. I'll be back late." He walks past me without another word, without touching me, without even a goodbye. The front door opens and closes, and then I'm alone in the beautiful house my father gave us.
I have everything I thought I wanted, and it's turned into a nightmare I can't wake up from. I place my hand on my stomach. The tears come again, and I let them fall. There's no one here to see them or care.
Just me and the ghost of what we used to have, haunting the empty rooms of this beautiful house that feels like a prison. This is my life now.
And I have to find a way to survive it.