Blood Wedding: A Mafia Romance

THALIA Dinner was in the formal dining room, a space that probably seated forty people comfortably but tonight only held about twenty. The Torrisis on one side, the Corsinis on the other, with Salvatore at the head of the table and my father at the foot. Very symbolic. Very tense. I ended up seated between Rosa and Nico, across from me sat Dante. I'd only seen him briefly at the wedding reception yesterday. He'd been in the corner with some other men, drinking and looking bored with the whole thing. Now I got a much better look and immediately understood why people found him intimidating. He was identical to Rafael in terms of features, same bone structure and coloring, but everything else was different. Where Rafael had been polished and controlled, Dante was rough. There was a scar cutting through his left eyebrow from something violent. His hands were scarred too, knuckles that had been broken and healed wrong. He wore his grief like armor, face completely shut down, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping. He looked at me exactly once when I sat down. His eyes were the same brown as Rafael's had been but colder, empty. Then he looked away and didn't acknowledge me again. Great start to our future marriage. Salvatore stood up with a wine glass in hand. Everyone went quiet. "We gather tonight in mourning," he began. His voice was steady but I could hear the strain underneath. "My son Rafael was taken from us in an act of cowardice. He died protecting his wife, upholding the values we hold sacred. Honor. Loyalty. Family." He paused, looked directly at me. "The alliance between our families was bought with Rafael's blood. We will not let that sacrifice be meaningless. In three days, Thalia Corsini will marry Dante Torrisi. The bond will hold." My father raised his glass. "To Rafael. And to the alliance." Everyone drank. I forced down the wine even though it tasted like ash. Dinner was served and people started talking in low voices, careful conversations that avoided mentioning the obvious. The murder. The investigation. The fact that everyone in this room was probably a suspect. I pushed food around my plate and tried to look like I was eating. Rosa leaned closer to me. "Dante will come around," she whispered. "He's angry now but it will pass." I glanced across the table. Dante was staring at his plate like it had personally offended him, not eating anything either. "He blames me." "He blames himself more." Rosa set down her fork. "They were twins. He thinks he should have known something was wrong. Should have been there to protect Rafael instead of you." That made a twisted kind of sense. I was the outsider, the stranger who'd been thrust into their family. Of course Dante would rather his brother had died protecting literally anyone else. Halfway through the meal, Giulia appeared. I'd met Rafael's younger sister briefly at the wedding reception. She was nineteen, beautiful in that effortless way some people just are, with long dark hair and their mother's green eyes. Tonight she looked awful. Eyes red and swollen, face pale, movements jerky and uncertain. She sat down next to Dante without a word. He immediately put his hand on hers. The first soft gesture I'd seen from him. She gripped his fingers tight enough that her knuckles went white. "You should eat something," he told her quietly. "Can't." Her voice was barely audible. "Every time I close my eyes I see him." I understood that feeling perfectly. Apparently we had something in common after all. Salvatore was watching his daughter with concern that looked almost painful on his hard face. "Giulia, perhaps you should rest." "I'm fine, Papa." She wasn't fine. Anyone could see that. But she picked up her wine glass with a shaking hand and drank anyway. The dinner dragged on for another hour. People were just going through the motions, pretending this was normal when nothing about it was normal. Finally Salvatore stood and dismissed everyone. My family would be staying at a hotel nearby for the next few days, but I was expected to remain at the compound. Officially it was for my protection. Realistically it was so Salvatore could keep an eye on me. I was heading back to my room when someone grabbed my arm. I turned and found myself face to face with Dante for the first time since the wedding. Up close he was even more intimidating. Taller than Rafael had been, or maybe he just seemed that way because of how he carried himself. His hand on my arm was firm but not painful. "We need to talk," he said. "Okay." He led me down a hallway I hadn't been in before, to what turned out to be his office. Dark wood, leather furniture, weapons displayed on the walls. Very different from Salvatore's polished space. This room looked lived in, used. There was a jacket thrown over one chair and papers scattered across the desk. Dante closed the door behind us and leaned against it, arms crossed. "I don't want to marry you." "The feeling's mutual." "But we're going to do it anyway because my father demands it and your father agrees." He moved away from the door, walked to the bar cart in the corner and poured himself a drink. He didn't offer me one. "So let's establish some rules. This is a business arrangement, nothing more. We share a name and that's it. Don't expect me to touch you or spend time with you or pretend this is anything other than what it is." "Which is?" "A political move to salvage an alliance that should have died with my brother." He drank, his eyes never leaving my face. There was nothing soft in that gaze. Just cold assessment. "You'll have your own room. Your own life. Stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours." It should have been a relief. He was offering me exactly what I needed, space to investigate and freedom to move around. But something about the way he said it, like I was a problem that needed managing, made me angry. "Your brother died saving me," I said quietly. "I didn't ask him to. I didn't want him to. But he did it anyway and now I have to live with that. So don't act like I'm the enemy here, Dante. I'm just trying to survive like everyone else." He laughed. Actually laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Survive? You want to talk about survival?" He set his glass down hard enough that I heard it crack. "My twin brother is dead. The person I shared a womb with, who knew me better than anyone, is gone. And the last thing he did was throw himself in front of bullets meant for a woman he'd known for three weeks. So forgive me if I'm not particularly sympathetic to your survival story." "I was there," I said. My voice was shaking now. "I was underneath him. I felt every bullet hit. I heard him die. Don't you dare act like you're the only one who lost something." "Lost something?" He moved closer, got right in my face. "You lost a stranger you were forced to marry. I lost my brother. They're not the same thing." "No, they're not. But that doesn't mean..." "It means I don't want to hear about your feelings or your trauma or whatever else you think we're going to bond over." He stepped back, his expression completely closed off. "You're a Corsini. For all I know, you set this whole thing up. Maybe you and your family wanted the alliance to fail. Maybe Rafael was the target all along and you played victim perfectly." I stared at him. "You actually think I had something to do with it." "I don't know what to think. All I know is my brother is dead and you're still breathing." He walked to the door, opened it. "Three days. Then you're my wife on paper and nothing else. We don't talk unless we have to. We don't touch. We don't pretend this is real. You exist in this house and that's it. Are we clear?" My hands were shaking. I wanted to scream at him, wanted to tell him exactly what I thought of his accusations. But what was the point? He'd already decided I was guilty of something. "Crystal clear," I said. "Good." He gestured to the open door. "Get out." I walked past him, my shoulder brushing his as I went. He didn't move, didn't give me any extra space. I could feel the heat coming off him and smell whatever cologne he wore mixed with whiskey. Up close like this, the resemblance to Rafael was almost painful. But Rafael had been kind. Dante was ice. I made it three steps down the hallway before I heard his door slam behind me. The sound echoed through the empty corridor. I stood there for a second trying to get my breathing under control. My chest hurt. My eyes were burning but I refused to cry. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction even though he couldn't see me. He thought I'd killed Rafael. Or helped kill him. After everything I'd been through, after holding his brother while he bled out, Dante actually believed I could have been involved. I walked back to my room in a daze. Rosa had left a lamp on for me, which was thoughtful. The bed was turned down. Everything looked peaceful and normal. But nothing was normal. Nothing would ever be normal again. I sat on the edge of the bed and put my head in my hands. Three days. I had three days before I married a man who hated me. Who thought I was a murderer. Who would spend the rest of our lives making sure I knew exactly how unwanted I was. This was going to be hell. But I'd made my choice. I was staying. I was going to find out who killed Rafael and prove to everyone, including Dante, that I had nothing to do with it. Even if it meant living with someone who despises me.