12. Isabella
twelve
Isabella
I made a deal with the devil.
So, here I am, standing in front of the mirror in the suite arranged for the bride in a small chapel, caught by surprise. Even if we didn’t discuss where the wedding would be, I talked to Clara and was invested in the wedding plans. Now, I’m questioning myself and how this slipped by me.
I can’t blame Clara for not being honest with me. After all, she works for the family. Clara, a petite woman my age, was thrilled when I met with her to plan my wedding. For me, the ceremony was not as important as it was to avoid Salvatore.
Why did he choose to get married in a chapel if our marriage has a deadline? A marriage in front of God should last forever, until death do us part. It is too late now to question his choices; I sealed my future the moment Salvatore discovered who I was.
My hair is perfectly styled in a low updo, and my makeup is immaculate. I run my hand down my champagne lace mermaid wedding dress that hugs my curves in all the right places. I chose the dress. I didn’t want to marry in white, and in a way, I wanted to impress Salvatore, to show him what he will never have. I adjust the veil, letting it fall from my bare back down to the floor. The lace of the veil doesn’t cover the opening of the dress from the back that ends just an inch from the beginning of my behind.
I take a deep breath and straighten my posture, preparing myself to face my future husband and enter a new chapter of my life.
The ceremony should include less than fifty people, mostly high-ranking men in the family and their wives. None that I knew. We agreed only on a ceremony with a dinner. No party, no music. Pictures for my father and the public.
“You ready?” Clara peeks from behind the door.
I grab the bouquet from the sofa and turn to her. “Yes. Let’s do this.”
She widens her eyes in admiration. “You are beautiful, and this dress is… Wow, I don’t have words.”
“Thank you, Clara.”
“Well, let’s get you married then,” she chirps, and I follow her as she walks out of the room.
I walk down the aisle alone with small, confident steps, my head held high, taking in confused looks and raised eyebrows as I walk toward my future husband. His eyes haven’t left me for one second as I walk toward him.
I take his outstretched hand, and he pulls me toward him. He lowers his lips to my cheek, near my ear. What looks like a kiss on the cheek isn’t.
His breath brushes my skin, and his deep, amused voice fills my ear. “Are you trying to get my men killed? Is that why you chose this dress?”
I smile, pulling away and turning toward the man who will marry us.
This is it. Today, I’m going back to the life I ran away from. The life I hated. The difference is, this time, I chose the villain, but under my rules.
“Dearly beloved...” The ceremony starts, and as soon as we say I do , we are announced man and wife.
Before the priest even says, “you may kiss the bride,” Salvatore pulls me to his body and slams his lips on mine, not giving me a chance to react.
He kisses me with his eyes open, his stare penetrating my soul. I can’t even blink as I let him devour me in front of all these people.
This isn’t a kiss like we shared in my apartment, lustful and passionate; it’s more. It’s consumed by hunger and domination, showing them his possessiveness. Showing them he owns me.
It’s a show for his men.
Anger rises through my spine, and I bite his lip. The copper taste of blood fills my mouth, and he growls. He kisses me harder. More tongue. More sucking.
I moan.
He pulls from me with a smirk on his face. Lost in our little game, I forgot all the people cheering and clapping. I don’t get to think before Salvatore wraps his hand around my waist, pulling me to him as we walk through the crowd and into the waiting car.
A few weeks ago, I was in this same room on my hunt to find some dirty information about Salvatore, to prove what I know now. I was so confident in myself, and in my mission, that I lost the game. And now I’m in a room filled with people I don’t know, married to the man I wanted to slam and air his dirty laundry.
Clara did a beautiful job with gold and white, and the outcome is classy. White roses and long candlesticks in the middle of the tables give the decor an expensive look.
Everyone that was in the chapel is now sitting in their place and cheering as we walk in. Everyone here is involved with or is La Cosa Nostra.
The few people I know are my husband, Gabriel, and mysterious Dante, who I have seen plenty of times but haven’t spoken a word to. He only nods or grunts when I try to communicate with him.
Clara, I know too, but she isn’t sitting. She is taking care that everything is going smoothly.
Cece is the only one on my side. She is the only one who knows my past, so when I called her and explained the situation I’d got myself in, she was understanding.
I make sure she sits beside me. And so, while I try to hear what Salvatore and Gabriel are talking about, I’m also listening to her. She is very curious about the people around her. As a lawyer, she has learned how to read people and their body language.
“You know how fucked up this is, right?” she says, looking around the room.
“What is? Me marrying out of nowhere, or all these people with different expressions on their faces.” Since we sat at the table an hour ago, I noticed there are people who are happy for our little sham of a marriage, and there are people who are indifferent, like they would rather be somewhere else. I also noticed a few with hatred in their eyes. If looks could kill, I would be dead by now. And from the look of the man that sits at the far end of the room, Salvatore would be too. The man hasn’t taken his eyes off him, like he’s taking notes on everything he is doing. I wonder if Salvatore has seen him.
“Well, both. But more than that, this room stinks of testosterone and dark energy. Like, very, very dark. Like something bad is going to happen,” she says.
I chuckle. “Ah, don’t exaggerate. Nothing bad is going to happen. At least, not tonight. I’m sure Salvatore made sure everything is under control. He wanted this marriage. He’d better make sure that there will be nothing bad happening.”
“Well, let’s hope so.”
I tune Cece out the moment I hear Salvatore say something about sending pictures. Gabriel says, “Ruggeri has them. Exclusive video of your ceremony.”
Did he kiss me like that for the video to send to my father? Asshole. Of course he did. Disappointment crawls inside me, but I turn to them, wanting to participate in their exchange. I can’t blame him. This was the purpose of our marriage.
“We have been receiving phone calls constantly from the moment those pictures were sent,” says Gabriel.
“Did you answer?” I ask, unconcerned when they both look at me with annoyance.
“No, I’ll leave that to you, Salvatore,” Gabriel says and looks at him, exchanging the look only they understand. The same way I sometimes do with Cece.
“I’ll let him stew for a couple of hours.” Salvatore smirks. “Let's finish our dinner before the pieces fall like dominoes.”
I look between them, realizing that I have no idea what they’re talking about and that I have no clue what Salvatore has planned.
He told me important things involving me and my role, about Federico, and why he needs an alliance with my father. Other than that, I don’t know his enemies. Especially if there are any in this room. And I know some are in this room because I can feel their eyes on us, like they are plotting our demise.
Someone taps their fork against their glass, and all attention turns to the man in question. The older man is sitting at the table next to ours. He looks like he may be in his sixties, with a look of hate or even disgust, concealing it as all eyes turn to him.
He doesn’t want people to see his hatred, but I did. I saw it. He never took his eyes off Salvatore.
After the chatter stops, he speaks.
“As you all know, I used to be Salvatore’s father's right-hand man. I was there from the day he was born. I watched him grow and become the man he is today. I was like his second father.” He gives Salvatore a menacing look, a hidden meaning behind his words. “I just wish your father was here today so he could see you committing to continue his name, his legacy.” Salvatore stiffens beside me, and without thinking, I put my hand on his thigh, giving it a little squeeze. With a smirk, the man raises his glass. “Congratulations, to Salvatore and to the future, to continuing your father’s legacy.” He drinks from his glass, but no one except him drinks until Salvatore drinks first. After that, the chatter in the room comes back and everyone continues doing what they did before. Everyone except Salvatore and Gabriel, who are staring at the man who said he was like his father. The tension between them makes me shiver.
As soon as Salvatore gives his attention to me, I ask. “What’s going on?”
His jaw ticks. “Nothing for you to worry about tonight.” I narrow my eyes at him and open my mouth to argue when he adds, “We should retire to our room.”
Why do I have a feeling that what that man said has affected him? And I know he won’t share it with me. Acknowledging my defeat, I nod.
I don’t know these people anyway, and the tension is something I can do without.
“Can you make sure my friend is taken care of? She will need a ride home.” I look at Cece, who is in deep conversation with a woman next to her.
“Sure.” He leans over and whispers to Gabriel.
I hug my friend before I take Salvatore’s hand, letting him lead me toward the exit.
I expected our exit to be followed with cheers and whistling, people yelling ‘bed her’ and all that Italians do on the wedding night, but I was wrong. I exhale a breath of relief that I don’t need to handle that.
When the elevator door opens, Salvatore’s hand finds the naked skin on the small of my back, ushering me inside. Like he’s sensing my thoughts, he says. “The first thing I did when I took over from my father is erased the bloody sheets. That is a personal thing, and no woman should be judged on the blood on the sheets. As for the man, if he thinks he has something to prove by his actions in bed, then he is not fit to be in the family.”
I look at him in awe; I didn’t expect that from him. But if he what I found on him, then I shouldn’t be surprised.
As soon as we enter the suite, I slip off my shoes on my way to the bathroom, leaving them behind me. As soon as I close the bathroom door, I pull on the zipper of my dress, letting it fall to my feet, leaving me in nothing but a G string. I’m about to enter the shower when the door opens, and all the air leaves my lungs when Salvatore appears.
I still and so does Salvatore. His blue eyes darken as his eyes capture every inch of my naked body.
The heat of his gaze burns my skin, turning me into an instrument ready to play just for him. My belly flutters, my core tingles, and the slickness between my legs begs me to rub my thighs together.
A shiver passes through me, and I swallow as I focus and remember where I am. In the bathroom, with Salvatore wearing only my panties. “Do you mind?”
He chuckles. “I do, actually. You are now my wife.” He takes a step inside, closing the door behind him. “I own you, Bella,” he says in a deep, low voice.
“No, you don’t. I don’t belong to anybody. I’m not property.”
“But you do.” He takes a step toward me, and I take a step back until my ass hits the sink where he traps me between his arms. I close my eyes, exhaling in defeat. Why do I always find myself in the same situation with him?
“Do you want to know how I know that?” His eyes search my face, and he looks from my neck to my cheeks that are burning. He leans down, his eyes penetrating mine, his lips inches from mine as he speaks. “Your red neck, your flushed cheeks, and the want in your eyes. You look like a flower ready to be plucked.” His lips brush my cheek, his breath brushing my ear, and the back of his hand almost touching my aching nipples.
“And if I touched you right now, if I put my hand on your delicate body, you would tremble. If I pulled your panties to the side, I could see how wet you are. With just a touch, your thighs would be dripping, and that is how I know I own you."
My weak knees cannot take his rough voice and penetrating gaze. If I weren’t backed against the sink, I would be a puddle on the floor beneath his legs.
“Ever since that day in my office, I’ve wondered how you would taste, how you would feel. And don’t think you can fool me; I know you’re thinking the same.”
He’s right. This is what I always wanted. What my mama told me about how it should feel. I wanted to feel weak in my knees and butterflies in my stomach. I can still feel his hands touching mine from that day in his office. But he is the wrong man.
It shouldn’t be him.
This is my worst nightmare.
“You are delusional,” I bite out, trying to deny everything he said.
He backs away from me a little, narrowing his eyes. “No, I think I’m in a perfect state of mind. You, on the other hand, need to look in the mirror and tell yourself the truth. I’ll just wait for you to beg me to touch you. To fuck you.” He pushes away from me, leaving me aching and in denial.