Revenge Wedding: I Choose The Reaper

That night, he tried to claim me. He reached for me in the thick, unbreathing darkness of the bedroom, his hand sliding with a proprietary ease up my thigh. My skin crawled. The sensation was an abomination-like the dry skittering of insects over my bare flesh. "I have a migraine," I lied, wrenching my body away with a violence that surprised us both. "The stress." Dante sighed, the exhalation a sound of pure annoyance, not concern. "Fine. Get some rest. You need to look pretty for the photos." I waited until his breathing settled into a heavy, oblivious rhythm before I slipped out of bed. I moved like a phantom into the study. I took out a heavy cream card stock. A wedding invitation. Elena Vitiello & Valerio Moretti. The ink was black. Sharp. It felt final, like a death warrant. I placed the invitation inside a small velvet box, the kind usually reserved for a valuable timepiece. I tied it with a black ribbon. The next morning, while he was slumped over his espresso, I slid the box across the chilly surface of the marble island. "A gift," I said. "For the wedding morning." Dante's eyes lit up with a predictable, childish greed. He shook the box. "Cufflinks? That Patek Philippe I wanted?" "Something better," I said, my voice coated in a false sweetness. "But you have to promise not to open it until the ceremony. Right before you say 'I do'. Keep it in your pocket. It's a... lucky charm." "I promise," he said, kissing the box. "I love surprises." "I know you do." He went to shower. The moment the pipes began to groan, I picked up his phone. He had changed the passcode, but I had watched him enter it yesterday. 0-7-0-1. Sofia's birthday. Pathetic. I didn't waste time with his texts. I went directly to the encrypted app the Families used. The Network. I scrolled past the business deals and turf wars until I found it. A video posted by one of Dante's soldiers, a man named Rocco who was too stupid for his own preservation. The caption: Boss making moves. I pressed play. The video was grainy, filmed in the murky light of a nightclub. It was Dante, in the VIP room of a club. He was raising a champagne glass, his other arm cinched possessively around Sofia's waist. She was flashing the yellow diamond ring I had seen him offer her last week. "To Sofia," he shouted over the concussive beat in the video. "To the woman who makes me feel alive! To our future!" The soldiers cheered. I checked the timestamp. Last night. 9:45 PM. My throat constricted, the cartilage seeming to lock in place. While I was at the sink, scouring the lipstick from his collar with boiling water, he was at a secret engagement party. He had come home to me with the scent of that celebration still clinging to his skin. I checked the comments. User: Capo_Rocco - "Don't let the Ice Princess see this." User: Dante_R - "She's blocked. She doesn't know how to use this app anyway. She's just a placeholder." Placeholder. The word landed in the profound quiet of the kitchen and stayed there, a dead thing. I put the phone down just as the bathroom door opened. Dante walked out, a towel draped low around his waist, steam billowing behind him like a battlefield fog. "Elena, have you seen my phone?" "On the counter," I said, sipping my tea. My grip on the porcelain cup was perfectly steady. "Dante, Rocco posted a funny video." Dante froze. The color drained from his face, leaving his skin the shade of old parchment. "What?" "A cat video. You should see it." He grabbed the phone, his fingers fumbling with a sudden lack of coordination. He tapped furiously, his eyes scanning the screen. I saw his shoulders sag in a wave of relief when he realized I hadn't "seen" anything incriminating. But then his phone buzzed. A text. He read it and cursed under his breath. "Rocco is an idiot." "Is everything okay?" I asked, a study in feigned innocence. "Fine. Just... business. I have to go out tonight. A meeting with associates." "Can I come?" "No!" He answered too quickly, his voice sharp with alarm. "It's... dangerous. Boring. You stay here. Pack for the honeymoon." "Okay," I said. "Have fun with your associates." He dressed quickly, shouting into his phone as he walked out. "Delete it! Delete everything! If she sees it, the Vitiello deal is dead!" The door slammed. I waited five minutes. Then I went to my closet and pulled out a dress I had never worn. It was black. Backless. It was a weapon. "Rocco mentioned they were going to Club Inferno," I whispered to the empty room. It was time to crash the party.