The Mafioso's Forced Bride

1. Giada

Giada

The lace at my throat scratches every time I breathe.

My mother pulls the bodice tighter while my sister pins another white rose into my hair. Her perfume fills the bridal room, sweet and sharp enough to coat my tongue. Lilies crowd every table.

“Stop moving,” Mama says.

“The lace hurts.”

“It’s lace. It doesn’t hurt.”

She yanks the ribbon at my waist. The bones inside the dress press against my ribs.

“It does hurt.”

My sister snorts. “Must you argue about everything today?”

“I’m not arguing. You said it doesn’t hurt, but you’re not wearing it.”

Mama catches my chin between her thumb and finger. Her nails bite my skin.

“Giada. You’ll go into that church. You’ll smile. You’ll marry Giuseppe Lombardi. For once in your life, don’t embarrass this family.”

The church bell rings above us.

The sound strikes inside my skull. I jerk, and a pin scrapes my scalp.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” My sister shoves the pin deeper. “Hold still.”

There will be six more bells after the priest presents us, followed by photographs, a receiving line, and the drive to the hotel. I memorized the order.

My fingers twitch against the skirt. I press the pads of my thumbs to each fingertip in order. One, two, three, four. Again. One, two, three, four.

Tardigrades have survived exposure to the vacuum of space, I remind myself.

“Stop doing that with your hands,” Mama says.

I flatten them against the dress. The silk is smooth beneath hundreds of tiny lace flowers.

I’m twenty years old. Old enough to marry. Old enough to have children. I want three, though one would be enough. I will love my children. I don’t know if they’ll love me back. I’m not easy to love—impossible to love according to my family—but I know I will love them very much.

I’ll make our house calm for them. Meals will happen on a schedule they can rely on. I won’t allow anyone to laugh at things my child says or does. And absolutely no one will touch them without prior warning or permission.

I want a family of my own. For that, I need a husband. I need sex too.

I’m still a virgin, but that will change tonight. I think I’m ready. I know about sex. Of course, I already knew the mechanics—that the penis goes inside the vagina and semen can cause pregnancy. But to get an idea of what to expect, I watched porn.

The women in the videos made noises. I’m not sure if I can make those same noises, but I’ll try tonight. It might be hard with Giuseppe looking at me. With his huge, naked, wrinkled body next to me.

But I’ll try.

I’ve only met Giuseppe once, at our engagement dinner.

He’s sixty-two and has already buried two wives.

He sat at the head of Papa’s table with his stomach pressed against the edge and a veiny red nose.

Two of his sons are older than I am. His daughter asked if Papa had included instructions for taking care of me.

My brothers laughed.

My sister told them I ate the same breakfast every day and covered my ears when the blender ran. More laughter.

“She talks too much,” one of Giuseppe’s sons said. “She hasn’t stopped saying weird things since we arrived.”

“Tape fixes that,” Giuseppe said. “I can put it over her mouth when I fuck her. Her pussy will be warm whether she’s strange or not.”

Everyone laughed again. Except me.

Later, while I stood beside the dining room door, Giuseppe came behind me and pinched my backside hard enough to bruise. I screamed. My glass struck the floor and broke.

I don’t like to be touched, especially when it’s unexpected.

He found it hysterical. Like a party trick.

Papa made me apologize for the glass.

I turn to Mama now and ask, “Will Giuseppe hurt me?”

Her lips press flat. “He’ll be your husband. He’ll do anything he wants to you.” Her stare hardens. “And you’ll let him.”

My sister fixes her curls in the mirror. “Maybe he’ll keep her locked away so she doesn’t embarrass him.”

Mama grunts and drops the veil over my face. It brushes my nose and catches on my eyelashes.

The bell rings again, and I cover my ears.

Mama slaps my hands down. “Stop. Can you act normal for just one hour?”

The door opens before I can tell her I don’t know what normal means, and Papa fills the doorway.

His eyes settle on my hands. My fingertips are moving again. I can’t stop.

Papa steps inside. He takes my upper arm.

His fingers close hard enough to leave marks.

“This union means a lot. An alliance between the Rafinellis and Lombardis is tremendously beneficial to our family. Remember how lucky you are, Giada, that any man at all agreed to marry you, much less Giuseppe Lombardi.”

“I don’t feel lucky.”

His fingers tighten. “Beggars can’t be choosers. You’ll walk down that aisle, speak only when the priest tells you, and don’t make any noises during the vows.”

“What kind of noises?”

“Any noises.”

Papa pulls me into the corridor.

The hallway is warm. Men stand along the walls. Their jackets bulge over guns. A man pats Papa’s shoulder. Someone presses against my arm.

I jerk away.

Papa bends close. “Behave, or so help me, Giada…”

He doesn’t finish his threat before the organ crashes into the wedding march, but he doesn’t need to.

Every note shakes the floor under my shoes. The bell rings again above it. The handful of guests rise in the sanctuary, a scrape of wood and shoes and a dozen or so bodies moving together.

The double doors ahead are open.

White flowers cover the pews. Candles burn along the aisle. Winter coats pack the benches in dark rows. Faces turn toward us.

At the altar, Giuseppe waits beside the priest.

His tuxedo strains across his protruding stomach. He wets his lips when he looks at me.

I stop.

Papa jerks my arm. “Walk.”

“I need one minute.”

Papa does not release me. “No.”

“Thirty seconds.”

“Move.”

My shoes stay against the stone.

He wraps my arm against his side and drags me through the doors. Papa’s nails dig into the soft skin above my elbow while my feet stumble into pace.

One step. Another.

The organ pounds.

Perfume and lilies and hot candle wax. The veil sticks to my lips. Lace scratches my neck unbearably. A man coughs three times. Giuseppe’s daughter whispers to her brother and hides a laugh behind her program.

Tardigrades have five body segments, including the head.

One step. Another.

The aisle runner catches the toe of my shoe, but Papa hauls me upright.

“Smile,” he says through his teeth.

I move my lips apart.

“Not that much. You look deranged.”

I close them.

Giuseppe reaches for me when we arrive. His damp fingers wrap around mine. I pull once, but Papa blocks the aisle behind me.

“Giada,” he says.

His warning needs no explanation. The last time I refused him, my lip split against my teeth.

I leave my hand inside Giuseppe’s.

“Beautiful,” Giuseppe says. His eyes travel down the front of my dress. “Worth waiting for.”

The priest opens his book.

Papa joins Mama and my siblings in the front pew. Giuseppe’s family sits across from them. His sons trade a look. His daughter smiles at me, then taps one finger against her mouth.

Tape.

The candles blur into long yellow bars. The organ stops, but the silence is worse. Fabric rustles. A shoe squeaks. Someone breathes through a blocked nose.

The priest welcomes both families. He speaks about God, duty, marriage, and two houses joined in faith. Giuseppe rubs his thumb across my knuckles.

I try to pull my hand free.

His smile remains for the guests. “Don’t,” he hisses.

The priest keeps reading.

My dress cuts under my arms. The netting moves against my cheeks with every breath.

Tardigrades can enter a dry state called a tun.

My name comes from the priest. He asks if I come here freely.

Papa sits ten feet away, his stare pinning me.

I want children. A kitchen where nobody yells. A little girl who can tell me her dress hurts, and I will believe her. A little boy who can eat the same meal every morning, and no one will smear other food across his mouth while people laugh.

Giuseppe’s fingers close around mine again.

This is the price.

“Giada?” the priest says.

I force air into my lungs and open my mouth to answer—

The church doors slam against the walls.

Men shout behind us.

The priest ducks. Guests scream and spill from the pews as armed men flood the center aisle. Men in black coats with raised guns fill the aisle.

Giuseppe drops my hand.

Gunfire tears through the church.

He runs.