Chapter 11 #2
Foundation covers the worst of the damage. Not all of it, you can still see the fading bruise under my eye, but enough that I look less like a victim and more like a bride.
My hair is swept up in an elegant style, loose tendrils framing my face.
Simple. Classic. Beautiful.
The dress fits perfectly. I'm not surprised considering the clothes Adrian bought me previously were all in my size.
The bodice isn’t too tight, which is great considering my ribs, but it has a build in bra that lifts my breasts, and the bodice is structured and beaded.
The skirt is heavy, all those layers of tulle making it hard to move freely, especially with my injuries.
I would comment on that as some sort of metaphor, but no one here wants to hear it.
The veil is secured in my hair with pearl-tipped pins that dig into my scalp.
I look like a princess.
I feel like a prisoner.
When I'm finally ready, someone comes to escort me. Not Gemma. A man in a black suit who doesn't meet my eyes.
I go willingly.
I disassociate until we come up to the Nero mansion. It’s beautiful in the daylight.
A masterpiece of New York architecture, but when I see the guests arriving, my stomach drops.
Everyone is dressed in their best. Flowers overflow across every available surface, and I swear I see a dozen photographers.
This isn't a wedding. It's a spectacle.
I'm led through a side entrance, away from the crowds. Upstairs. Down hallways that all look the same.
Until we reach a suite at the far end.
The door opens, and inside, I see Adrian.
He's wearing a black tuxedo that fits him perfectly. His dark hair is styled back. He looks every inch the Manhattan heir.
Powerful. Dangerous. Beautiful.
He's arguing with someone. An older woman. She turns slightly, and I catch sight of those silver eyes.
This is Bianca, Adrian’s mother.
The head of a mafia family.
She's tinier than I thought.
"—told you courthouse," Adrian's voice is cold. Furious. "Not this. Not a fucking circus."
"Watch your language." Bianca's tone is sharp. "And this is not a circus. This is a statement. The heir to the Nero family doesn't get married in some dingy courthouse like a common criminal."
"You overstepped."
"I did what was necessary." She looks at him as though she is bored. "Every head of family and business associate will see you married and settled.”
"I didn't want—"
"What you want is irrelevant." Bianca's voice cuts like glass. "You got a girl pregnant. You brought her into this family. Now you'll do it properly."
They both turn when they hear the door open.
Bianca sees me first. Her expression shifts from bored to assessing and calculating. She looks tiny next to her son, but there is something shrewd about her, and I immediately know she's not someone to be crossed.
"Well," she says, a warm smile spreading across her face. "Don't you look lovely."
I stand there like a deer in the headlights, too scared and skittish to move.
Adrian's eyes are on me, and I shiver at the hungry I see there.
"Leave us," he says to Bianca.
"Adrian—"
"Leave, mother. Let me talk to my fiancé.”
For a moment, I think Bianca will refuse. But then she inclines her head slightly and walks past me toward the door.
She pauses. Leans close enough that only I can hear.
"The bridal suite is down the hall. Second door on the left. You'll wait there until it's time."
Then she's gone, and I'm alone with Adrian.
He moves toward me slowly. Like I'm something that might bolt. Maybe he's right.
"You look beautiful," he says quietly. He takes me softly into his arms, and I melt, just slightly. It feels good to be comfort. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
"I'm sorry about the wedding." He gestures vaguely. "I wanted it to be simpler. Quieter. But my mother—"
"Is your boss," I interrupt.
He glares, but I don't care if he's insulted.
My voice is steady despite everything. "You said if I was good, I could see Gabe. I'm here. I'm wearing this dress. I'm going to marry you." I lift my chin. "I've been good."
Something flickers in his eyes. Approval? Satisfaction? Lust?
Gemma’s words echo in my mind, and I wonder if I could indeed us some power over Adrian.
"After the ceremony," he says.
"No. Now. Before I walk down that aisle." I take a step toward him. "You want me to do this? Fine. But I want proof my brother is alive. I want to see him."
"That's not possible." He’s talking to me like I am a child who he is trying to keep calm, and I feel myself growing annoyed.
"Then I'm not walking down the aisle.”
Adrian's jaw tightens. "Don't make threats you can't follow through on, Seraphina."
"It's not a threat. It's a condition." I'm shaking but I don't back down. "Show me Gabe is safe. Let me talk to him. Then I'll say my vows, and we can move on.”
For a long moment, he just stares at me. I can see him calculating, deciding if I am bluffing.
I'm not. He'll have to drag me down the aisle, and he will realize that I can put on just as big of a spectacle as his mother.
Finally, he pulls out his phone. Taps something. Turns the screen toward me.
It's a video.
Gabe is sitting in what looks like a hotel room. He's bruised, not as bad as me, but bad enough, and he looks terrified. But he's alive.
A voice off camera: "Say your name."
Gabe looks confused, but he complies.
"Gabriel Romano."
"And the date."
He rolls his eyes.
"October 26th." His voice shakes. "Sera, if you're watching this—I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never meant—"
The video cuts off.
Gabe is alive. He's hurt and scared but he's alive.
I feel a sense of relief.
"He's at one of our safe houses," Adrian says. "Unharmed. Fed. Comfortable.” He tucks the phone in his tuxedo. “Not that he deserves it.”
"Why is he bruised?"
"He was like that when we found him." Adrian's voice is matter of fact. "I've been gentle with him."
Tears burn my eyes. "Can I talk to him?"
"After the ceremony."
"Adrian—"
"After." His voice hardens. "You wanted proof. I gave it to you. That was the deal."
I want to argue. Want to demand more. But I can see in his eyes that I've pushed as far as I'm going to get.
"The bridal suite," I whisper. "Bianca said—"
"I'll have someone take you." He moves past me toward the door. "One hour, Seraphina. Then you become my wife."
It feels like a threat.
I hate him. I hate this.
And yet...I would comply. Because there’s really no other choice. Gemma was right. Our child ties us together.
I follow my handler into the bridal suite. The furniture is white, filled with fresh Ivory flowers, and it’s elegant and cold.
There’s a full-length mirror, and I avoid looking at myself.
I’m alone for only a moment before I hear the click of heels and the creak of the door.
I look up and Bianca is walking through the door, her silver eyes calculating.
"Nervous?" she asks.
"Terrified," I answer honestly.
"Good. That means you're smart." She moves into the room with the grace of someone who owns every space she enters. "Most girls would be pretending to be brave right now. Putting on a show to try and show me they are worthy.”
"I'm too tired to pretend.” I close my eyes slightly. “And honestly, I don’t want to be worthy of this family.”
She smiles and sits in one of the white chairs, crosses her legs. She gestures to the one across from her. "Sit, Seraphina. We should talk."
I perch on the edge of the other chair, my dress rustling around me.
"Do you know why I arranged this wedding?" Bianca asks.
"Because I'm pregnant."
She laughs. It's a cold sound. "That is partially why," she says. "This wedding is about legitimacy. About making sure that child you're carrying is recognized as a Nero heir and making sure that my own son is safe. Being a Nero comes with many perks."
"I don't care about being a Nero—"
"You should." Bianca leans forward. "That child you carry is already in danger.
The Morozov family. The Marinis. A dozen other families who'd love to see the Neros fall will target you.
" Her eyes are sharp. "Without our protection, without our name, your baby would be a target. A liability. A weakness to exploit."
The words settle over me like ice.
"So, you see," Bianca continues, "this isn't about you. It's about that child. About making sure they have every advantage. Every protection. Every opportunity."
"By forcing their mother into a marriage she doesn't want."
"Yes." Bianca doesn't flinch.
I want to hate her. Want to rage at her. But there's something in her expression. Something almost... understanding.
"You're worried about Adrian, aren't you."
Bianca's smile is thin. "Very perceptive."
"He doesn't seem to want your help."
"No." She stands, moves to the window. "But you will see when that child is born. A mother's love knows no bounds. I'll do whatever is necessary to protect Adrian, even if it means protecting him from himself."
I swallow thickly.
"You need to understand something. It's important." She turns to face me. "I was twenty-one when I was arranged to marry Adrian's father. I didn't want to. I had dreams. Plans. A life I'd imagined. I was forced to give up all that to secure the line of a criminal syndicate."
The words sound clinical. Transactional. I don't know what she's getting at, but I'm hooked.
"But I also learned how to control that family," Bianca continues.
"How to make myself indispensable. How to turn my position as wife and mother into real power.
Power unlike anything I could ever imagine.
" Her eyes gleam. "When my husband died, I didn't step aside for Adrian.
I took over. Me. The woman who was forced to marry in. I became the Don," she smirks.
I stare at her. "You're telling me I could do the same." I want to point out that would require her son to be dead, but I saw how fierce she was when she talked about Adrian. She would not take kindly to that.