4. Chapter 4
Chapter four
Liria
S leeping on the love seat was miserable. It did turn out to be as hard as rocks, and no matter which way I turned, I couldn’t get comfortable. My lower legs dangled off the end and were exposed to a small draft. Fortunately, there was a blanket in the closet. It was the flimsiest blanket I had ever used, and it had a couple of holes in it, but it was better than nothing.
I woke up in the early hours of the morning. Without the ability to sleep, I got lost in my thoughts. Had I made the right decision agreeing to Ettore’s proposal? Was I absolutely insane agreeing to marry this near stranger?
I was definitely insane. My emotions from last night must have overwhelmed me, and made it seem like the best idea at the time.
But in the cold light of dawn, I realized what a gamble I’d taken. I sat up and pulled the flimsy blanket tighter around me, trying to ward off not only the chill but also the gnawing uncertainty. Ettore was handsome and charismatic, sure, but what else did I really know about him?
I hauled myself off the love seat, my bones creaking in protest after a night on the unforgiving surface. I ambled to the window, peering out at the silent street below. The world was just starting to wake up, it seemed, blissfully unaware of my internal turmoil. Cars were beginning to drive past, their headlights cutting through the morning fog. People walking their dog and the occasional jogger were on the early morning street.
“I take it you didn’t sleep well,” Ettore’s voice cut through my thoughts.
I let out a little squeak and stumbled backwards. I had still been expecting him to be asleep, and he had scared me half to death.
He ignored my lack of grace. “Let’s get ready. We need to get to City Hall at open today.”
“City Hall?” I asked, wondering what errand he could need to run there.
“If you thought I was planning a grandeur wedding, you’re mistaken. This is for business only, and I don’t plan on wasting any more of my time with it.”
His words felt like a slap, cold and harsh against the early morning tension. I felt my chest tighten and a sudden lump form in my throat, forcing a small gasp of surprise to escape past my lips.
“Business…” I echoed his words.
His expression remained impassive. His tall frame was silhouetted against the dim light filtering through the window where he stood, his arms crossed at his chest. He looked intimidating, every inch the ruthless Mafia Don he was reputed to be.
“Be ready in forty-five minutes,” he said, before walking back to his bedroom and slamming the door.
I stepped into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a hot mess. My makeup from last night was smeared all over my face, and my clothes were disheveled.
My eyes scanned the limited counter space for any sign of a toothbrush or spare clothes. Disappointment flooded through me as I realized Ettore had none of these essentials for me. With a sigh, I made do with what I had, squeezing a dollop of toothpaste onto my index finger and awkwardly trying to brush away the stale taste in my mouth. The lack of proper supplies only added to the chaos and uncertainty of my morning routine, leaving me feeling disheveled and unprepared for the day ahead.
Getting kidnapped and then sleeping on that terrible loveseat had done a number to my hair. Fortunately, I had a hair tie in my bag. I took out the elastic band and tied my messy hair back. I still looked terrible, and the idea of going out looking like this horrified me. My father would never let me be seen like this.
Would have . A little voice whispered from the back of my head, and my stomach twisted in unease. It didn’t matter anymore because he was dead.
I tried not to dwell on it and instead walked back into the living room to wait for Ettore. As he put the finishing touches on his appearance, carefully tucking in his shirt and adjusting his tie, we made our way out of the cozy apartment and began our journey towards City Hall. The bustling streets greeted us with a symphony of honking cars and chattering pedestrians. We walked side by side, our steps in sync as we navigated through the sea of people. The sun shone down on us, warming our skin and casting a golden glow over the city. As we approached the grand building of City Hall, its towering pillars and intricate architecture were a sight to behold.
A familiar face waited on the stairs.
“Emilio!” I said, bolting towards him.
Emilio was my best friend’s husband. My opinion of him was no different than most men I encountered in the mafia - just average. But after spending a night with Ettore he looked like a saint shimmering in the sunlight.
“Good to see you,” he said, nodding his head.
I began to ramble, recounting every detail of the previous night and all that had transpired. He listened intently, his eyes locked onto mine, though I assumed he already knew everything. Every now and then, he let out a low grunt of acknowledgement, like a small animal stirring from its slumber.
“Well, Luciana would have been devastated if you died. I couldn’t have that,” he said.
Fortunately, Ettore hadn’t caught up to us. He had taken a call and was arguing with someone in rushed Italian.
“Emilio, what’s going on?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly. “Why am I marrying a man I barely know?”
“There had to be some concessions made. I couldn’t just ask Ettore to rescue you with no benefit to him. At the time, it would have served him better if you were dead.”
Frustration bubbled within me, threatening to spill over in a torrent of questions. Why couldn’t he have saved me? But I knew the answer before I could even ask. He was most likely preoccupied with a myriad of other pressing issues. The weight of this realization settled heavily on my shoulders.
It would have served Ettore better if I were dead. The end of the Alto lineage, the most powerful family in New York City for generations. It would make him the most powerful mafioso in the city.
I suppose this marriage was a small price to pay for my life.
“Well… alright,” I responded.
I watched Ettore angrily hang up his phone. I was very glad I wasn’t the other person on the other side, because from bits and pieces of the conversation I heard, he was tearing them to shreds.
“Let’s get this done,” Ettore said flatly. He turned and looked at Emilio. “You were able to find it?”
Emilio reached into his suit jacket and produced a perfectly crisp, leather-bound folder. Ettore opened it and hastily searched through the documents. My curiosity piqued, I leaned in for a closer look, and my eyes widened in surprise. It was my birth certificate. The paper had only slightly yellowed with age and had an official stamp. Every detail of my existence was recorded on that small piece of paper; my name, my birthdate, my parents’ names. It was so perfect, I was convinced it wasn’t a fake.
I whirled my head and looked at Emilio. “Where did you get that?”
“I broke into your house. Oh, and some guys were there waiting to finish the job.” I must have looked horrified, because he continued. “Don’t worry, I took ‘em out.”
“Right…”
“Let’s go.” Ettore didn’t wait for our responses, instead choosing to walk into City Hall. Emilio and I trailed along behind him.
Inside, the grand hall was filled with a bustling crowd, all going about their various business. Businessmen in tailored suits huddled around discussing projects, while young couples waited nervously to get their marriage licenses. The ornate chandeliers hanging from the ceiling cast a warm light over the inhabitants of the room, creating an atmosphere that contradicted the coldness of Ettore.
He led us to a line labeled ‘City Clerk’ where people were waiting patiently. His presence immediately drew attention. Whispers filled the air and nervous glances were thrown our way. Showing no signs of recognition, Ettore moved forward as if he was used to this kind of attention.
An elderly woman behind a counter finally attended to us. Her eyes widened when she saw Ettore, but she quickly composed herself.
“Marriage License,” he stated flatly, pushing our birth certificates and ID’s toward her. She scanned it and then looked at me with pity-filled eyes before typing something into her computer.
A few excruciating minutes passed as she worked meticulously, her fingers dancing over the keys with a familiar ease. A printer hummed to life somewhere behind her desk, and she finally handed over a thin slip of paper that bore both of our names.
“Here is your Marriage License.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as she slid the document toward us. Ettore took it without a word, folding it neatly and tucking it into his jacket pocket.
As we turned to leave, the woman’s voice halted us in our tracks. “I wish you both a lifetime of happiness,” she said, looking at me with an expression of unease beneath her forced smile.
And although she wished it for us, I doubted we’d be getting it. I managed to utter out a “thank you,” but Ettore didn’t acknowledge her words, instead leading us back down the hallway where the ceremonies took place.
The ceremony room was sparse, lacking any personal touches or warmth. The walls were painted a neutral grey, giving off an impersonal and cold atmosphere. We took our place in a long queue of other couples, all waiting to exchange vows and become legally bound together. As we sat in the wooden pews, we observed as strangers joined in matrimony before us, each with their own unique story and journey. It was a strange feeling, witnessing such intimate moments between people we did not know, but it added to the solemnity and gravity of the occasion.
I glanced at the new diamond ring on my left hand. The one Dillon had given me was gaudy; I hated the shape and the unnecessary embellishments on it. The one Ettore gave me was simple and understated, just how I liked my jewelry.
Lost in my thoughts about the ring, I almost missed Ettore’s last name being called.
“Our turn,” he said, his voice devoid of any sentiment. He led me by the hand, his grip firm yet not uncomfortable.
As we stood before the justice of the peace, a man in his early sixties with kind eyes and a warm smile, I felt my stomach churn in nervous anticipation. He began to speak, reciting words that were familiar from countless films and stories. All the while, Ettore remained stiff and distant next to me.
“Do you, Ettore Moretti, take Hilaria Alto to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do,” Ettore replied mechanically.
“And do you, Hilaria Alto, take Ettore Moretti to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
The room fell silent as I hesitated. Bile rose in my throat as I looked up at Ettore, his icy gaze never wavering from mine. The soft glow of the room suddenly seemed harsher as all eyes fell on me, waiting for an answer.
“I do,” I heard myself whisper. The words felt foreign on my tongue, a commitment that seemed to echo off the sterile walls of the room.
The world whirled by in a blur as we exchanged rings, all the colors and faces blending together into one hazy scene. But then, amidst the chaos, the judge’s voice cut through the fog with six clear words that brought me back to reality.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Oh my god. My first kiss was about to be in front of a room full of strangers. Would they be able to tell I hadn’t done it before? What if I missed and kissed his chin? Would Ettore hate it? A thousand questions ran through my mind in the span of fifteen seconds.
Not that Ettore would be the worst person in the world to kiss. The little voice in the back of my head said, and I promptly told it to shut up.
“Is that necessary?” Ettore asked the judge.
Somehow, his rejection hurt more than the potential embarrassment.
“Well, technically it’s not, but most couples-”
“Great,” Ettore said, interrupting him. “Let’s go.” He grabbed my hand and dragged me towards the door.
This wasn’t how I pictured my wedding, but for better or worse, I was now Mrs. Hilaria Moretti.