Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Elena
The lawn was carpeted in flowers. The whole manor dripped with luxury and precision—guests in designer everything, New York's power families on full display. And me, the bride, standing there waiting for my groom to show up.
I'd already changed into the most elaborate wedding gown imaginable. This expensive, complicated dress came from New York's most famous bridal designer. I used to picture myself walking down the aisle in something I'd made with my own hands, marrying the man I loved.
Today, all of that became an impossible dream.
The ceremony time crept closer. Still no Dante. Alfredo promised me he'd show. I stood alone at the end of the aisle, my made-up face hidden behind the veil, both hands gripping the bouquet like a lifeline.
Finally, footsteps. Uneven weight.
I lifted my stiff neck and saw him—my soon-to-be husband. Dante wore a designer tuxedo that matched my dress, same brand. He walked toward me slowly.
The memory from three nights ago hit me. My face flushed. I said his name anyway. "Dante."
His face was still striking, but his eyes were ice. He leaned down, lips near my ear, voice like a ghost. "Congratulations, Elena. You finally got what you wanted—to be my wife."
I started to speak. He grabbed my wrist. Hard. Hard enough to make me want to scream, like he was trying to crush bone.
People turned to look. I bit down on my lip, kept myself quiet. I just stared up at him. "What are you doing?"
"I'm going to make you suffer." He smiled. To everyone else, we probably looked romantic. But his words dropped my heart into my stomach. "Starting today, your nightmare begins. I'll make you regret marrying me."
Pain brought tears to my eyes. I twisted my wrist, trying to break free. Dante released me suddenly, and I lost my balance—fell backward, hit the ground hard.
Someone in the crowd gasped. "The bride fell!"
Everyone stared. Curious. Amused. Because the Don married a maid—once word got out, we'd be a joke.
"Can't even handle this?" Dante didn't offer his hand. Just mocked me coldly, then walked away toward his spot at the end of the aisle, leaving me on the ground.
My hands balled into fists. The dress was too tight, the heels too high. I couldn't stand on my own. Then Alfredo appeared in a crisp suit and hauled me up.
"Today, I'll stand in for your father and hand you over to Dante." His words were cold, like I wasn't a person but cargo he was transporting.
My heart bled.
The violinists started playing. Guests took their seats. Every eye landed on me. I avoided their gazes, held Alfredo's arm, and didn't look at Dante or the guests. Just stared at the red carpet beneath my feet.
This was the path to misery.
Worse—I chose it myself.
Alfredo led me to Dante. He placed my hand in Dante's with a serious expression. Dante wore an elegant, handsome smile. His eyes held no joy.
My hand rested in Dante's palm. The red marks where he'd grabbed me earlier formed a deep ring. I trembled.
The old priest read the vows, asked the question meant to symbolize love and loyalty. "Dante Moretti, do you take this woman to be your wife, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, until death do you part?"
Dante looked at me. Performed being in love for everyone watching. I heard his deep voice say, "I do."
The face turned toward the guests was infinitely gentle. The half facing me carried bone-chilling cold. When my turn came, Dante squeezed my wrist hard again. I pushed through the pain and answered in a shaking voice. "I do."
"Now, exchange rings."
Two rings engraved with each other's names sat on a small tray. Dante slipped the ring bearing his name onto my finger, then kept squeezing my knuckles. He said, "Perfect fit."
I nearly passed out from the pain. With shaking hands, I picked up the other ring and slid it onto Dante's finger. His hand was large and elegant. After I finished, I gently stroked his finger.
His expression darkened. He yanked his hand back, face black as murder.
I forced a smile. Dante knew nothing about my deal with Salvador. I was a victim of this transaction. But wasn't Dante one too? Even if he hated me, hurt me—I couldn't blame him.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife." The old priest looked at us kindly. "You may kiss the bride."
Dante froze for several seconds. I saw the struggle in him. So I lifted the veil myself, stood on my toes, and leaned toward his lips. Dante instinctively turned his face away, repulsed by my closeness.
My heart clenched.
"Salvador's watching," I whispered.
He turned back, eyes burning with undisguised fury. Then his hand cupped the back of my head. He pressed a warm kiss to my lips. It lasted one second. He pulled back, wiping his mouth with his fingers casually.
He was disgusted by me. Utterly.
My throat turned bitter. I reminded myself again—this was just a transaction. Once I gave him an heir, this suffering would end.
Next came the reception. Lucia took me back to change into a new dress—a gold, form-fitting gown. Lucia saw the obvious finger marks on both my wrists. She gasped. "My God, Elena, what happened?"
"Nothing." I covered the bruises, found some scarves, and wrapped them around my wrists. They hid the red marks and looked decorative.
In the ballroom, Dante was nowhere. But I had to work the guests, accept blessings—genuine or fake—from people I didn't know. I did well. Greeted everyone. Made conversation. Salvador couldn't come downstairs because of his condition, but I knew he was watching.
I needed to please him.
Soon Dante appeared in more casual clothes. He walked to my side, saw the smile on my face, and looked disgusted. "Stop with that fake smile. It's hideous. You know that?"
I met his gaze, said softly, "I'm sorry."
Dante laughed coldly. His left index finger hooked a nearby wine glass. It tipped over. My calf went cold. The hem of my dress was ruined.
"Whoops. Slipped." He waved dismissively.
I stared at this gorgeous, childish man. Took a deep breath. Grabbed scissors from a nearby cabinet and cut off the stained part of the dress. The gown became a mini dress instantly.
As the fabric tore, I caught Dante's shocked expression.
"I still have guests to entertain. Excuse me."
I left Dante and walked toward another cluster of guests.
A group of daughters from various families stood there. Their expressions were perfectly masked, but I could tell—in their eyes, I was still a maid. Even married, even the lady of the house now, their contempt wouldn't disappear.
"Thank you for coming to the wedding." I raised my glass to toast them. No one responded.
A girl I didn't know in a pink dress spoke up. "A maid doesn't get to toast us."
I sensed her hostility, lowered my arm, and turned to leave.
She grabbed me, stepped closer, looked me up and down. "Is that dress a hand-me-down? Cut up like that—ugly. Even uglier on you."
She covered her mouth, laughed. The others joined in.
I glanced down at myself and pulled my arm free from her grasp. "Beauty isn't something with a fixed definition. To me, this dress is beautiful in every form. If you don't like it, you're free to look away."
Her face went red with rage. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
She shoved me. I hit the floor hard.
Second time today. This fall was worse—the short dress ripped with the impact, exposing my thighs completely.
Silence. Then whispers rose like a tide.
Someone laughed. "Look at that maid! How embarrassing!"
I instinctively looked for Dante.
He stood at the other end of the room, champagne in hand, watching me with interest. He didn't walk over. Didn't help. Didn't even move. That look wasn't concern for his wife—it was watching a joke get what she deserved.
I looked away. No one would help me. So I pushed myself up.
The tear in my dress ran all the way to my hip.
I couldn't hide it. Didn't bother trying.
I dusted off my hands, walked up to the girl who pushed me.
"You have embarrassed the mistress of the Moretti family in front of everyone here.
I'll make sure Dante and your family know exactly what happened. You will answer for this."
Then I picked up a glass of wine and raised it to the guests. "My apologies for the interruption. It was merely a small mishap. I hope it hasn't affected everyone's enjoyment of the evening."
I didn't wait for their reaction. Turned and walked toward other guests.
After that, I never looked in Dante's direction again.
I circled the room with my wine glass, clinked glasses with people I'd never met, smiled, accepted congratulations.
Some were genuine. Most weren't. I took them all, said thank you until my face went numb.
The reception finally ended. Guests left. Staff cleared the tables. I returned to the master bedroom—now decorated as our wedding suite. Salvador had it set up. Luxury furniture everywhere. Deep red carpet by the bed. White roses on the nightstand.
And in the center—the bed covered in bright red rose petals, still wet with drops of water.
My belongings had been moved from the attic into Dante's room. I didn't have much—my few clothes hung quietly in one corner of the closet, looking completely out of place.
I showered, changed into a silk nightgown someone had left out. Sat on the edge of the bed and waited for Dante.
I waited a long time. My husband never came.