Tatiana
Chapter thirty-six
This can’t be happening.
This is just a stress-induced nightmare, right?
One of those ‘you accidentally went to school with no pants on’ nightmares that I’ll wake up from in a cold sweat.
Right?
Sweat drips down my spine, cooling the small of my back, and I shiver.
“Ready, dear?” my father asks, his tone dripping with a fake sweetness. He’s not asking.
It doesn’t really matter if I’m ready.
The crowd around us blurs as his grip on my arm tightens, and the wedding march begins.
Giovanni Vitale is standing at the end of the aisle, looking green and sickly and clammy. Just a month ago he was at another altar with another bride-to-be. But that wedding never took place. Nicoletta’s men and the MC club she recruited stopped it.
Surely, someone will put a stop to this wedding, right?
Arranged marriages are a tradition of the old world, right? The nobility in Russia had arranged marriages for power, but this is America, and not the nineteenth century. Surely, we’ve evolved to value women as more than just pawns.
But then, my father has never seen me as anything but an object to be pulled out of storage when I needed to be paraded around. My mother’s not even here today because Nikolai couldn’t sober her up enough to bring her out in public.
I look at my brother standing as best man to Giovanni.
Surely, he’ll stop this. But when I study his face and see his clenched jaw, I know that he won’t.
He can’t publicly go against our father and maintain any sort of control over anything.
I’m not sure he would help if he could. He shares my father’s view on women.
It makes me sick that my own brother can be so disgusting.
Behind Nikolai is another dark-haired man, a brother or cousin or something to Giovanni, I’m sure. I never looked into my arranged fiancé. Maybe I should have.
All I know is the general gossip and rumors that float around our world. His father was killed, and Giovanni had to man up and take the reins of his family branch of the Italian mafia.
He wasn’t ready. He’s known as a partier, a drunk, a drug addict, womanizer.
He’s known to be a violent drunk. Definitely not someone who has earned the respect and loyalty of his men, but maybe that will change now that he’s in charge.
It’s one of the reasons this wedding is happening at all.
He needs the strength and stability of my family in his back pocket in case any of his rivals think of moving in and overthrowing him.
My family.
The Bratva.
Me.
I can barely hear my father as the priest asks him who is giving me away. I stand where I’m supposed to stand, dressed in this sham of a dress.
Giovanni looks seconds from throwing up. It’s nine o’clock in the morning, and I’m sure he was out partying last night and is fighting one hell of a hangover. My mother arranged the wedding with someone from his family, so I have no idea why they thought doing it this early would be a good idea.
The numbness that helped me survive the last month has been replaced by fear. A shiver works up my spine and settles into my belly.
I look down the aisle where Roman, Mik, and Lev stand against the back wall. Lev and Roman have their arms crossed across their chests like they’re on duty, while Mik’s eyes are visibly red.
Surely, they’ll stop this.
How can they watch me marry another man?
A man who might touch me tonight?
A man who might take what isn’t his to give?
When they get to the part where the priest asks if anyone objects, surely one of them will speak up.
They love me. I love them. I can’t marry another man.
This can’t be happening.
Right?
But the priest never asks. He drones on about love and sacrifice and loyalty while my groom sways. I give him a good once over. He’s sweaty, and his hair is greasy.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest says.
“What?” I ask.
We didn’t exchange vows. We didn’t exchange rings. Nothing about this wedding is right.
Giovanni pulls a flask from his back pocket and takes a swig. This can’t be legal, right? I haven’t signed anything. But do mafiosos really care about legality?
What’s tying me to him except for my father’s word and the expectation that I belong to Giovanni now?
He turns and walks the few steps down the platform, and an older woman with salt and pepper hair appears next to me, taking my bouquet and ushering me to a table at the side of the room where placemats for the bride and groom sit.
Someone put a lot of effort into the decorations, but it sure as hell wasn’t us.
It’s all over the top, ornate, decorated.
It looks like a real wedding. I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience.
It’s a real wedding dress, a real wedding ceremony.
The man sitting next to me is a real groom, even if he reeks of sweat and alcohol and too much cologne.
But none of it feels real. There’s no excitement, or relief, or love. My brain can’t quite stitch together the fact that this is real. I’m married. I have a husband. Who I don’t know at all. And who might try to kill me later.
My groom already has a glass of amber liquid in his hand, and it’s not even ten AM. I fold my dress beneath me and sit where I’m supposed to. Hours drag on, plate after plate of food is placed in front of me, only to be removed again untouched.
Mik’s disappeared. Roman and Lev circle the room, glaring at everyone and keeping an eye out for threats, when we all know the biggest threat to any of us is the man sitting next to me.
The carefully coordinated dining service gives way to loud laughter and ruckus conversations. The DJ starts, and tables are moved to the sides as they clear.
My husband stands, and I flinch, not expecting the sudden movement. He sways for a beat before staggering across the room, grabbing the arm of a woman in a tight red dress and dragging her into the hallway.
The guests are drunk.
It’s time to make my exit.
I want to say something to Lev and Roman, but there aren’t any words. And I need to be careful if I’m going to get away safely.
I stand, gathering my small clutch, and walk through the crowd with my head held high, as if I’m just going to the restroom.
A man moves in behind me.
I turn down the hall, and so does he. Just outside the restroom, I turn and confront him. He’s an older gentleman; his face hard and flat.
“I’m assuming you’re my new security detail?”
He neither confirms nor denies it. But what else could he be?
I roll my shoulders back and pull on the tiny bit of bravery I still have.
“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to go to my new home now, please. I have a headache.”
I don’t. But I need to get away.
Luckily, he motions his hand out, letting me know I can walk ahead of him.
He leads me toward a back entrance and out into the cool night air.
Fear grips my stomach, knowing my husband could be lurking out of any corner; knowing that this man could be taking me anywhere.
I look over my shoulder, wishing it was Lev driving me to Giovanni’s.
But I can’t trust that he won’t do something stupid like kidnap me or fight my new guards.
I have to trust that Giovanni knows that hurting me would bring a war to his doorstep. Or, at least, that’s why my father’s letting him think. I’m not sure Dmitri will waste any of his men to avenge me.
The new man opens the back of a town car for me, but I hesitate. If he wanted to, he could shoot me right here. No one’s around. No one would be the wiser. How long would it be before someone noticed?
Wiping my sweaty hands on my dress, I gather the skirt and slide into the car. I guess it’s now or never.
When the new guard slides into the driver's seat, all the unknowns eat away at me.
“What’s your name, sir?”
He doesn’t answer for a long minute, shifting the car into reverse before pulling out onto the street.
“Enzo.”
I sigh a bit of relief. “Enzo. Have you been given instructions for me? Rules I have to follow? Mr. Vitale and I didn’t really get a chance to talk before tonight...”
If he’s been given instructions that don’t involve killing me tonight, I’d like to know sooner rather than later.
The streetlights create a strobe effect in the car, which is silent except for the beating of my heart.
“To get you to the house and to keep you there. That’s it.”
I finally allow myself to rest back against the seat. I guess I’m not dying tonight. That doesn’t mean someone else isn’t going to kill me, or that my husband might want to do the honors himself. But I don’t have to worry about it tonight.
We slide between wrought-iron gates, flanked by two security huts and men with rifles.
Half of the mansion is surrounded by scaffolding and tarps. I’d heard that the Colombian woman started a fire when she escaped. Maybe there’s hope for me yet. If she could escape, maybe I can too.
Except she was stolen from her home, not arranged. If I escape, my father’s not going to take me back in. He’ll send me right back to Giovanni.
Enzo parks and pulls a suitcase from the trunk. My things, I’m guessing.
I follow him into the mansion, where he turns right and down a menacingly dark and bare hallway. When he pushes open a door and steps aside so I can enter, I see... a bedroom. A normal, regular, boring bedroom. It could be a bedroom anywhere.
I don’t know what I was expecting. But this is... nice.
I’m relieved I’m not expected to live with Giovanni. I feel like I would catch something if I had to sleep in his bed. Not to mention what he’s willing to do if sneaking away with another woman at his own wedding is any indication of how he feels about me.
I take the bag from Enzo with a grateful ‘thanks’ before shutting the door behind me and locking it. At least I have an attached bathroom. I won’t have to leave the room for much.
Sitting on my new bed, the silence is oppressive.
Now that I’m safe, or as safe as I can be, behind a locked door, the entirety of the day weighs down on me.
I slip out of my dress and shower off the day, washing the makeup off my face and pulling the pins out of my hair. As the fear wanes, so does my bravery.
I slip into one of Mik’s old shirts, and the faint smell of him causes my eyesight to go watery.
I slide my phone out of my clutch. It was the one thing I made sure didn’t get taken away.
I fire off a text to all three.
Me: I made it. I have a room. I think I'm safe
It’s not much reassurance.
One by one, I watch as they all read it. But they don’t respond.
That’s alright. What can they say? Goodbye? It’s not like they can take on all of Giovanni’s men, storm the mansion, and steal me away. They’d be shot before they made it past the gates.
So, I turn off my phone to conserve the battery and slide beneath the sheets of my new bed, letting that familiar numbness steal the pain away.