Chapter 54 - Serafina
SERAFINA
It’s like a fever dream. A fever nightmare… Is that a thing?
From the moment Zeno came to walk me down the aisle to when Alessio pushed me into a limo after the ceremony and everything in between. The walk, the vows, the kiss.
I’ve kissed Alessio hundreds of times, but none of them felt like that. Possessive. Claiming. Like he was reminding me he’s won. It was also more lifeless than previous instances, since he’s not pretending to be a loving boyfriend.
This time, I’m the one pretending.
I press into the furthest corner of the limo, staring out the window.
Thankfully, he ignores me, instead typing on his phone.
The drive is fairly painless, though the seat could be compared to sitting on needles, and my fingers won’t stop tugging on my veil, occasionally even tapping out a pattern I’ve found relaxing on more than one occasion.
While I spent most of the ceremony staring at nothing, I did scan for Amara twice, but couldn’t find her.
Alessio was determined to make this thing as big as possible, but leaving out his cousin is interesting.
I long to ask if she’s okay or if she’s chosen to stay away by her choice—which I’d prefer, I’m not sure.
Maybe he’s hiding her, using her for his next nefarious plan.
Alessio doesn’t speak until the driver parks beside the hotel, which I never thought I’d be excited to see.
The church was the horrible beginning, and this hotel will be the ending.
Here, many people will be socializing, which should keep Alessio busy, and if he wants this wedding to appear real, like we’re a happy couple, then he’ll have to let me dance with Zeno and be around Vanessa and Anastasia.
“You’ve done well so far. Keep it up for a few more hours. All I want is for you to play a happy bride. You will eat what is put in front of you. You will dance when I say. You will live your last night as a free woman and fucking enjoy it. At ten, we will leave the reception.”
Ten. It’s five now. Five hours to go.
Three hundred minutes, if my math is correct. Practice from hanging around Lev all these months.
Lev… My heart clenches. If he was trying to mask his emotions inside the church, he failed. I’d never seen a man look more murderous.
“Do you understand?”
“Sì.”
Alessio slides out of the vehicle and reaches in to help me out. I hate needing his assistance, but this monstrosity of a dress demands it. He helps me out of the car and, with a dangerous glint of unbridled warning, hauls me towards the doors for what’s about to the worst night of my life.
The fever nightmare continues. Suddenly, we’re immersed in cheers, though without any recollection of the bitchy wedding planner directing us. Through it all, I seek the table where Alessio and I will be seated and then spot the one with the bride’s family.
Zeno claps, masking his expression. Vanessa’s beside him, also with a practiced smile.
Anastasia, Nero, Dimitri, and Katya are at their sides, doing nothing to hide their boredom.
And then there’s Lev, seated in the last chair, his murderous expression solely on Alessio until catching my eye. Then, they soften.
The meal passes, and I don’t recall what was placed in front of me or even how much I ate of it.
Conversations around me are a buzz, with the occasional person becoming louder when they approach our table.
Alessio takes the lead, leaving me to exist in my mounting dread.
Dread that as the hours tick away, so does his life—and possibly mine.
Eventually, Alessio stands, and I’m nearly thrilled at the concept of him fucking off so I can breathe again—until his hand comes into view. A slow musical number starts from the DJ, and trepidation hits heavier and harder at the expectation of our first dance.
When I don’t take his offer, that bitchy wedding planner’s hiss echoes. I’m starting to think Alessio should have wed her, considering they have the same temperament.
My hand is numb as he helps me to my feet and directs us to the dance floor. He pulls me closer, keeping one of my hands in his while his other rests on my hip. He leads, his gaze locked above my head while his lapel and I compete in a staring competition.
“You’re doing well. After this, you will dance with your brother, and then it’s tradition each of the other three Capos get their turn. After that, you will retreat to our table. I have business to discuss with others, and we will go to our room later. Understood?”
“Mhm.”
“Smile. Look content.”
I tip my head, staring at his chin rather than his eyes, and plaster a forced smile on as the song ends and the cuffs of his grip release me to the next man. Someone safe, representing home.
Zeno swings me far away from Alessio, who dances with someone from his family as more people join the dance floor. Not Amara, though; her, I still don’t see.
Vanessa and Nero, locked in their own dance, get close enough that I pick up Vanessa’s whispered encouragement. “You’re doing great. A few more hours.”
Zeno spins me around, his eyes unsettled on my face, veil, and then the dress. “You okay?”
“As well as I can be. Wondering how much of a mistake this is about to be.”
“As much as a mistake I was for allowing this. So much can go wrong. The Cosa Nostra will be dangerous after this.”
“I’ll hide if I must.”
“I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”
“I fucked up, didn’t I? This won’t end. Why did I think it would? His organization will rightly blame me. They’ll try to keep me, since the marriage went through. I’m a Vitale technically.”
Serafina Vitale. Gag.
“It’ll be done before the marriage gets consummated. It’ll be over by tomorrow. If that doesn’t work, I’m selling this to the Commission as a blood debt, since Alessandro is the reason my father is dead. They can punish me if they need someone to blame. Trust me, Sera, you’ll be fine.”
I hope so.
The song quickly blends into another one, and a tap on Zeno’s shoulder has him turning before Nero sweeps me up with a muttered, “Go dance with your girl. She’s actually pretty decent at it.”
Nero claims Zeno’s place, but his dancing is slower and more awkward. “Well, mini-Mancini, always thought one day, I’d be dancing at your wedding, but never like this.”
“Me neither.”
“Although it’s tradition for you to dance with the other Capos, I figured I could keep you busy before those old assholes annoy you.”
“I’m grateful. I have no interest in dancing with any of them.”
“Between me, Z, Lev, and Dimitri, we could occupy all your time. At least, that was Lev’s idea, but Zeno shut it down ’cause all the traditionalists will get pissy.
Besides, they’re annoying but harmless, and it’s smart to make tonight look as normal as possible.
” He tilts his head towards the table Lev and Anastasia watch us from. “What’s going on between you and him?”
What gave it away?
More like, what didn’t give it away?
“Excuse me?”
“Lev. I’m not stupid. All evening, you’ve continued to search for him. You’d have to be blind to miss it.”
Have I? Fuck.
“And he won't stop staring at you. Or, if he does manage to, it’s to glare at Vitale. For a second, it seemed like he was about to end your entire wedding when the priest told you two to kiss.”
“Did Z notice?” The last thing I need is this going south because my brother chooses today to pick a fight with Lev over my choices.
Nero shrugs. “If he has, he hasn’t said anything.”
“Fuck,” I groan, dropping my head onto his chest. “We didn’t mean to. I mean, he resisted for a long time.”
“Hey.” Nero reaches between us, tipping my chin up. “I’m not here to rat you out. It’s okay. Are you happy?”
“The happiest.”
“Then it’s fine.”
“You’re not mad?”
He shrugs again, spinning me faster and further away from others. “You know I’ve always seen you like a sister, so doing my big brother duty and all that—yeah, I’m mad at him, but only because I’m protective of you. At the end of the day, you deserve to be happy. We all know Vitale isn’t it.”
I snort, glancing around to see if anyone’s overheard, but they’re all lost in their own worlds. “Thanks, Nero. I do plan on telling Z…eventually. After today.”
The song ends before his response, and immediately, someone else appears at my elbow. At first, I think it’s Lev sticking to his plan about ensuring no one but the four of them dance with me, but a quick glance at stranger says otherwise.
“Santino Romano. May I have the next dance?”
With a parting grimace towards Nero, I rest my hand in Santino’s.
Three more dances, and it’ll be over.