Chapter Forty-nine
Alessia
That dinner marked the beginning of the wedding journey.
Preparations took over, pulling me in without giving me a choice.
Growing up in California, I forgot how Italians turned weddings into something far greater.
Tradition piled on tradition, endless occasions unfolding before the ceremony itself. Nothing about it was simple.
The one good thing was Leonid’s absence. He left after that dinner three days ago, business dragging him back to California. From the urgency in his tone, the situation seemed serious. With him gone, I could manage Vincenzo more easily than I ever could him and his father together.
Vincenzo was unpredictable. At times, he defended me when his relatives pressed too hard with their questions. In another life, under different circumstances, he might have passed for a friend. The kind Matvet had been.
The car stopped outside an elegant bridal boutique, its windows gleaming with light and gowns on display.
Savina stayed at my side as always, while one of Vincenzo’s aunts climbed out first. She had made herself the planner of everything.
Last night she announced she would take charge of the cakes.
Today, she dragged me out to find the gown.
Tomorrow, I wouldn’t be surprised if she declared herself my flower girl.
Trying on the dresses felt like torture.
Not because they lacked beauty. They were exquisite, each one flawless in design.
But every time I looked at myself in the mirror, all I could see was Rodion.
I wanted him to be the one waiting for me in white.
I could almost picture that subtle smile of his, the one that melted me every time.
I wondered how he was healing. It had been some time now, but I was aware of the risks.
His body was fragile, his immune system suppressed so it wouldn’t reject the kidney.
One wrong move, one infection, and everything could collapse.
He had to be patient, though patience had never been in his blood.
All I had to hold on to was the plan Dmitri and I built. It was blind faith, since I didn’t even know if he realized how quickly the wedding was being pushed forward. But he promised, and I clung to that promise.
The aunt dismissed every opinion I offered in the boutique, settling on a custom design. Once satisfied, she marched me through shops for jewelry, shoes, and linens until I felt stripped of choice.
By the evening, we stood outside a café, coffee mugs in our hands, waiting for the driver. Instead, a different car pulled up.
Vincenzo stepped out. “You are coming with me now.”
Too tired to argue, I slid into the car. He drove in silence, while I sat drained from hours of pretending to smile and nod at his aunt’s orders.
The ride was short. He stopped in front of a club where music already pounded through the walls, promising chaos.
I turned to him, confused. “We are going in?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t drink,” I said, uneasiness curling in my stomach. This was unexpected.
He opened his door without looking at me. “You will. You are the bride, and my friends hosted this party for us. Get out.”
My stomach sank. A party. Shit.
I knew better than to drink because I was dangerous when I drank. I agreed to things I would regret, things I might not remember. Sometimes I remembered half of them, which was worse.
Vincenzo came around and opened my door, his hand resting casually on the frame. I hesitated, but what choice did I have? None. I stepped out, my nerves already tightening.
The music grew louder as we walked to the entrance. I didn’t know what the night would bring, only that no one prepared me for this. Still, I promised myself I wouldn’t drink.
We went upstairs to the VIP lounge. Vincenzo’s friends were already there, lounging with glasses in hand. I recognized one of them from the café days ago. Two women were with them, too focused on dancing in front of the men to notice me. Their laughter cut through the heavy beat of the music.
I sat quietly, holding a glass without drinking. Vincenzo settled beside me, restless, sipping on and off while he and his three friends slipped into business talk.
One of the ladies, a blonde, staggered over and dropped into the chair across from me. She sipped her drink, eyes narrowing as if she were trying to see through me. “So, how do you like your wedding, Alessia?”
She was drunk. “Just simple,” I answered.
She laughed, “Simple? I don’t think that’s what’s being planned. Are you two even close? You look too distant for people about to marry.”
“You are drunk,” Vincenzo cut in.
“No, I’m not.” She waved him off and turned to the redhead across the room. “Come here, help me figure these two out. Do you see anything between them?”
The redhead leaned on the arm of the sofa, grinning. “You still don’t like Vincenzo, do you?”
The blonde tossed her head back. “I don’t. But I care enough to want to know.”
The redhead’s grin sharpened. “Then let’s find out. Let’s see them kiss.” Her words cut through the music, and every pair of eyes shifted to Vincenzo and me.
I froze. Kiss who? No. Never.
The blonde slammed a bottle onto the table, liquor splashing against the glass. “You kiss, or you drink.”
One of Vincenzo’s men chuckled. “She’s saving herself for marriage.”
“That’s enough,” Vincenzo said, his voice colder.
But they didn’t listen. They started chanting, banging the table in rhythm. “Kiss, kiss, kiss.”
Was this the price for walking away from the man I loved, with only a fragile plan holding me together? They wouldn’t stop. And when I saw Vincenzo lean back, as if he would let them carry on, my panic spiked. I couldn’t kiss him.
So I grabbed the bottle. “I will drink.”
The burn seared down my throat, fire spreading through my chest as I forced the sip down. I hissed against the heat, but I didn’t stop.
The lounge went silent, eyes pinned on me.
“There,” I said through clenched teeth.
The blonde smirked. “Clear the bottle, or kiss.”
“You can’t be serious,” I shot back.
“Oh, we are,” the redhead said, her voice sing-song.
I raised the bottle again and swallowed a sip. It clawed down my throat, stinging my eyes. A curse slipped out, but I kept drinking. The next mouthful dragged tears down my cheeks. Still, I drank, because it was better than kissing another man.
Before I could finish, Vincenzo’s hand closed over mine. He took the bottle, tipped it back, and emptied it in one drag. The slam of glass against the table made the wood shudder. “There.”
The air thickened with tension; no one laughed again. One of his friends tilted his head. “What’s wrong with you two, man? Are you forcing her into this?”
Vincenzo’s glare cut across the room. “Fuck off.”
“Clearly, something is off here,” the blonde started, but Vincenzo stood abruptly.
“You know what, we’re leaving.”
Oh, hallelujah.
He didn’t need to tell me twice. I pushed to my feet, my head already light, and hurried after him as he cut his way through the lounge. We moved down the stairs quickly, Vincenzo’s stride faster, while I rushed to keep up.
Outside, the night air struck me like a blessing. Cool and fresh, it cleared nothing, only confirmed what I already felt—I was tipsy.
The valet pulled up in the car. Vincenzo snatched the keys, and we slid inside.
The drive was quiet, the city lights blurring into streaks of color through the window.
“She likes you,” I murmured, the words spilling before I could stop them. “The blonde. She still likes you.”
“Shut up,” he snapped.
I chuckled, tapping a fingertip against the glass, tracing little shapes into the fog. “And you like her too.”
“If you think this is how you’ll convince me to call off the wedding, you’re wrong.”
“I’m not convincing you. I’m just telling you.” A laugh slipped out, light and careless. I leaned my forehead against the window. “You’re in love.”
“You don’t know shit about me.”
“I’ve figured you don’t hate me. You’re just going along with the wedding because it’s supposed to happen.”
He scoffed. “It will happen. And I’m preparing for it. Trust me.”
“Why?” I turned my head toward him, though his eyes never left the road. “But I get it. That’s how this life works. If I were you, I wouldn’t let it happen.”
I shut my eyes, shaking my head as if that would stop the spinning.
“No, listen.” I shifted in my seat. “If it were just an arranged marriage, fine. But when your father is using you? That’s different.”
A burp slipped out, bitter alcohol rising in my throat. I grimaced, then kept going.
“What I don’t understand is…” my words slurred softer now, “will he wait for the child to grow up and be the heir, or… wait.” Curiosity pried me upright again.
“Does the current boss get to leave a will, like, stating who should take over the family business? Because I know your father’s old.
If he’s planning to get another son, he won’t live long enough to raise him like he did with you. ”
Vincenzo’s grip on the wheel tightened. His eyes flicked toward me. “What son?”
My stomach churned, the alcohol twisting inside me until I thought I might be sick. “The child he wants me to carry.” My thoughts blurred as nausea climbed. “Can you pull over, ple—”
The car screeched to a halt. I opened the door and stumbled out, collapsing onto the pavement and retching. The burn of liquor and bile tore through my throat until nothing was left.
The slam of the door echoed behind me. Vincenzo moved closer until he was standing beside me.
“I get sick when I drink,” I muttered, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “God, I hate this.”
“Did you say you would be pregnant with my father’s child?”
I stood up straight, my head lifting to him, confusion and dread colliding. “What?”
His hand shot out, clamping around my wrist. The twist of his grip made my skin burn.
“What agreement did you make with my father?” His voice was low but dangerous.
“Vincenzo…” I tried to pull away, panic sparking within me. “You’re hurting me.”
“Answer my question!” he roared, twisting harder until pain seared through my hand.
“Okay. Okay.” My breath hitched, the sharpness cutting through my drunken haze. “He… he wants me to carry his child. The one who will be the heir.”
Silence fell. I saw the shift on his face before his grip loosened and he let go. He stepped back, the streetlights catching his features, his eyes a shadowed storm of shock, rage, and betrayal.
I realised what I had done. “Vincenzo, look—”
He chuckled, low and bitter, his head nodding once. “I see. So he already has plans for the heir.”
“Vincenzo.” My voice cracked. He moved toward the car. “Vincenzo.” I ran after him, desperation clawing at my throat. “Wait, please.”
“What?” he barked. I staggered back, bracing a hand on the car for balance. “What more do you have to say?” His voice rose. “Or what more don’t I know? Spit it out. Because apparently, I’m the idiot here.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Sorry for what?” He raked a hand through his hair, the movement jerky. “For agreeing to do it? Do you know what it feels like to be sent on deals like a dog? And when things go wrong, I’m useless. Replaceable.”
Tears blurred my vision until the world became a shapeless mass of light.
He laughed again. “I had a feeling. And here it is—the truth. And yes, one can become an heir as young as ten years old. And you—” his voice faltered, then hardened, “you are just like him.”
I shook my head, choking on a sob. “Don’t say that. I was dragged into this.”
“You came back,” he thundered. “You returned to use him, just like he plans to use me. So congratulations.”
He turned, ready to walk away, but lurched forward when my trembling hand reached for him. “Vincenzo, come on. Fine. What would you have done if you were me?”
“You could’ve told me.” He stepped into my space, his eyes burning straight through me. “How did you even look me in the eye knowing all that? I knew there was something. I expected something, Alessia. But not this.”
His chest rose and fell like a storm. “I never thought I was the scraps. Do you know what would have happened? I would have been eliminated the moment you got pregnant, because he knew I’d realise the child wasn’t mine. And after you gave birth, you’d be eliminated too.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “You—” A shadow shifted behind him, and I screamed. “Vincenzo, watch out!”
He turned faster, hand moving to the back of his pants, but the figure raised both hands.
“I come in peace. Is everything okay?”
That cap … the flower man? Hearing him speak, I caught the Russian accent.
“Yes.” Vincenzo stepped in front of me, opening the car door and motioning. “Get in.”
I didn’t argue. I slid into the seat, twisting at the last second to catch one more glimpse of the man. The puzzle clicked together—he was probably from Dmitri, part of our plan.
The stranger stepped back as Vincenzo slammed my door, circled the car, and climbed in. The engine roared to life, leaving the man behind.
Vincenzo’s silence was like a cage. His hands gripped the wheel like iron, his face tight with hurt, torn open by truths he was never meant to know. And I couldn’t blame him. If it were me, I’d bleed the same.
Before I realized it, we were pulling up to the house. I unbuckled slowly, still desperate to speak.
“Vincenzo,” I began, but he cut me off.
“Get out.”
“I’m sorry. We never talked. We weren’t close enough for me to—”
“Alessia.” His voice dropped low. “Get the fuck out.”
“Okay.” The lump in my throat grew as I pushed the door open. Once I stepped out, the engine roared, tires screeching as he drove off again. This didn’t look good. I had messed up.