Stolen Sanctuary (The Omertà Brotherhood #3)

1. Vivi

VIVI

I’m getting married today.

I bounce on the balls of my feet, unable to contain my excitement. It doesn’t matter how high my heels are or how much they pinch my toes, I can’t stand still.

“I’m finally going to be Mrs. Valori.” Just saying it out loud puts a goofy smile on my face, my anticipation reflected in the floor-length mirror.

There’s a crack running across the lower half of the glass. The distortion makes the skirt of my dress look frothy, chaotic. Even more than it did when I removed it from the garment bag.

I sway, layers of satin and lace and tulle swishing around my feet.

The dress is heavy. Beautiful, I guess, but significantly fussier than I would’ve picked myself.

With acre after acre of lace and beads, it’s more suited to a European queen from two centuries ago than a modern bride who’s just shy of twenty-one.

Father told me his staff selected it. That it’s the expected style for an event that’s so significant for our family. The Family.

It’s funny, though, because if my dress is supposed to scream Important!

, my makeshift dressing area does the opposite.

Someone—probably another one of Father’s people—has turned one corner of the nursery into my bridal suite, furnished with that cracked mirror, a no-nonsense table, and a hard wooden chair.

Ugh, that chair. My butt and back are still sore from sitting motionless for ages as one of Father’s employees did my hair and makeup.

The whole process was awful. So incredibly awkward.

The woman was doing her best to turn my flushed, freckled skin and riotous, waist-length hair into something within shouting distance of elegant and glamorous.

I was doing everything I could not to freak out at having a stranger’s fingers all over my head and face, every one of her exhales bathing me in moist, coffee-scented heat. She was so physically close, and I haven’t had another human being that close to me in a long time.

That’s all about to change.

I bite my perfectly painted lips. Anxiety and anticipation chase each other through my bloodstream as I lock eyes with my reflection. “You’re going to have a husband. Be touched by your husband, from this day on and for the rest of your life.”

The girl in the mirror giggles. Silly, lovestruck. Excited and terrified and beyond ready. Not just for Tino and his kisses and caresses, but for what’s going to happen after the honeymoon.

My wedding gift. The one Father and Mother and Tino promised.

I fumble inside the pocket of my dress, the one detail I genuinely love, and am instantly wrapped in bittersweet warmth when I find the well-worn surface of the stone hidden there.

It’s one of three. A token from my childhood. A tiny, insignificant object that’s kept me tethered to memories of happier days. Of the three little girls who used to live a carefree life before reality intervened and I was sent away, separated from my little sister and best friend forever.

Millie is gone, never coming back.

But my sister…

Emotion tightens my throat and my eyesight blurs even as my reflection’s smile stretches wider. I’m finally going to be reunited with Elena. I’m getting her back. It’s not just going to be me and some old, judgmental nuns. I’m going to have a sister again. And a husband. I’m going to have a family.

So, who cares if my dress looks ridiculous and my bridal suite is a musty corner of an old church? I wouldn’t give two hoots if we were outside the public bathroom in a bus station. All my dreams are about to come true. “I’m finally going to be Viviana Valori.”

There’s a rap on the door. I turn, hoping to see a familiar face. Instead, another one of Father’s nameless assistants comes in, dropping off a bottle of champagne. It’s already open. She pours me a glass and leaves without saying a word.

Guess I’m celebrating all by myself.

The bubbles tickle my nose and stir up a funny feeling in my stomach. Like helium balloons bouncing against a ceiling with nowhere to go. I was hoping my mother would be here to help me celebrate, but I haven’t seen her yet today.

I take another fizzy sip. In the mirror, my smile dims. I haven’t seen anyone other than Father and his staff since I arrived from Italy last night.

I know they’ve sent Elena away until after Tino and I are back from our honeymoon.

A safety precaution, Father said. But I was sure Mother would be here.

She’s just as excited about this wedding as I am.

She’ll be here soon. Maybe she’s tweaking final details for the reception or helping the florist ensure the altar arrangements are perfect.

My soon-to-be husband is particular about things like that. He likes everything just so.

Just like Father.

Another sip from the glass and I teeter on my heels. I catch myself on the rickety table, the champagne bottle rattling against the rough surface as I plop into the chair.

I had no idea getting ready for the first day of the rest of my life would be so exhausting.

I’m short, barely clearing five feet. I assumed getting dressed would be easy. Shorter body, fewer clothes. The nuns always just tossed a secondhand dress over my head, and we got on with the day.

Putting on bridal couture is nothing like that.

I blame my curves. Maybe it’s all the pasta they fed me at the convent.

Maybe I was just born to look this way. I’ve never been a spindly kind of girl, not even when I was little.

Ever since I hit puberty, my breasts and stomach and bum have formed more of a robust number eight than an hourglass shape.

No matter how hard Father’s staff tried, tucking and pulling and cinching the dress, the result is more lumpy meringue than magazine cover bride.

There’s also a corset thing that pushes my sizable chest almost past the limits of my strapless neckline, and some industrial-strength underwear that’s manhandling my lower body into smooth lines beneath the bell-shaped skirt.

Plus, the thigh-high stockings. The frilly garters.

The viciously high, red-soled shoes.

And a pound’s worth of hairspray and pins keeping my curls confined to the top of my head.

Between the effort it took to get me all primped and primed and the jet lag from my flight yesterday, I’m running on fumes.

Through the ancient church walls, I can make out heavy footsteps and rumbling male voices.

It’s almost time.

My cheeks are flushed, my eyes unfocused and overly bright as I carefully trade the champagne flute for my veil. I can hear Father and the priest talking in the hall. I strain my ears, wondering if the groom is out there too.

If he is, I can’t tell.

I pause, the cathedral-length veil hovering over my head. I haven’t seen or heard from Tino in years. Since right after my accident.

Two years without contact.

That was the arrangement our families made. I had to stay in the convent, in Italy, until our parents decided our relationship could continue. Only then would Father summon me. Only then could we see each other again.

I wonder if Tino sounds different. Looks different.

If his lips will feel different when we kiss.

The butterflies in my stomach are drunk, crashing into each other as they swirl around and around, whipping up a cyclone. That last sip of champagne was a bad idea.

The door opens just as I manage to wrangle the veil onto my head. The hair comb is off-center, and I’m wrestling the gauzy fabric from a cluster of bobby pins as Father steps into view.

“It’s time.”

My tongue is thick and fuzzy. Speaking takes effort. “I’m just?—”

“Taking too long.” He adjusts the veil with a hard tug. I hear the fabric rip somewhere over my right ear. Father doesn’t notice. Or care.

That’s not like him.

He doesn’t look at me as he pulls the blusher portion over my face.

The long part of the veil is made of whisper-thin silk chiffon edged with satin, but the shorter bit covering my face is thicker, almost impossible to see through.

Heavy lace and beading are woven on top of multiple layers of tulle.

I can barely see anything, my vision reduced to hazy pinpricks and blurry shadows.

I sense more than see Father step back. Feel the weight of his gaze as he gives me a critical once-over.

The alcohol makes me brave enough to ask him, “How do I look?”

A pause, then, “You’ll have to do.”

Not exactly a resounding endorsement, but it’s all I’m going to get.

It doesn’t matter what he thinks, Vivi. There’s only one man whose opinion matters now. Your husband’s.

I’m so ready to see him. To end the last chapter of my life and start the new one.

Before I’m able to take a step, Father grips my upper arm painfully, pinning me in place.

“Your mother and I have entertained your fairytale fantasies long enough, Viviana. Whatever else you think this marriage is, you need to be very clear about one thing: today you are fulfilling your duty to your family. You will go to the front of the church and say I do in front of the priest and your family and the congregation. You will belong to your husband. You will follow his orders. Do as you are told. Do you understand?”

My tongue feels furry, oversized. My thoughts champagne-soaked and sluggish. “I, uh…”

For as long as I can remember, the nuns were very clear about one thing: You will honor and obey your husband, Viviana. It is your duty.

I know what everyone expects of me. I have for the past ten years. Still, it takes more effort than it should to answer, “Yes.”

It barely registers. Father’s voice is clipped.

Cold. “When I sent you to Mother Superior, my instructions were explicit. After what you did, they were to keep you out of trouble. Teach you to be obedient. Your life is one of obligation and service, Viviana. If you fuck this up, it’s not just your life on the line. ”

“What? I don’t understand.” I try to squirm out of his grip, but Father squeezes harder. “I’ve been good, Father. I did everything the nuns instructed, learned every lesson they drilled into me. You don’t need to worry about me being defiant.”

Not again.

I know firsthand how one decision, one fatal misjudgment, can tear your life apart before it’s even started.

I’ve spent every day since I left Chicago atoning for what I did. I’ve been the perfect, obedient daughter. Have trained to be the perfect, obedient wife.

I did everything that was required to get to this day. To Tino. My sister. To get my life back.

I won’t let Father accuse me of being something I haven’t been in a long time.

I haul in a shaky breath, working hard to make my voice reach beyond the heavy veil.

“I left you and Mother and Elena without causing a scene. I’ve lived in another country for more than half my life, away from my family, waiting for your permission to return.

And now, here I am, as summoned. Wearing this dress and these shoes and this veil, exactly as instructed.

I’m ready for the wedding that the Valoris and Salviatis agreed to.

I know what my duty is, Father. I’m ready to fulfill it. ”

I’m genuinely excited to—because it means I get him. The boy I’ve been in love with for as long as I can remember.

“Good.” Father’s voice is harder than his grip. “Remember that. Because if you fail in any way, Viviana, you won’t be the only one who suffers. Your sister will, too.”

“Elena? What—how?”

“Just do as you’re told. And know that if you don’t, Elena will pay with her life, and you’ll have even more blood on your hands.”

I’m silent. Stupefied. Between his threat and the champagne, I’m barely able to piece together a coherent thought as Father pulls me out of the room.

No. This isn’t how today is supposed to go…

I try to shake the cobwebs from my head, claw back the excitement I felt just moments ago.

It’s fine. Stay calm. Do what’s expected. Everything will be fine.

In less than an hour I’ll be Mrs. Valori. The last ten years of loneliness will be behind me.

I’ll have my first love and my sister.

I push Father’s toxic warning out of my head and focus on one thought: It’s all going to be fine.

No. Not just fine.

Perfect.