I stare at myself in the mirror. This is the dress of my dreams. I never gave much thought to my wedding day, and to be quite honest, I don’t care much for it now. But after speaking with Daniele, I feel hopeful that we could build a good life together.
But I still haven’t seen the groom in over twenty-four hours. The last time I spoke to him, he stormed out of the ballroom with his father in tow. I didn’t see him all of yesterday, and now I stand by the mirror, dressed in my gown, ready to marry this man.
“Oh, you look stunning, cara.” My mother comes into view in the corner of the mirror. She’s dressed in a lavender gown that compliments her skin perfectly. Her brown hair is swept up into an elegant updo, and her face is dusted with the softest makeup to accentuate her features. “I’ve seen the dress already, but seeing you now, all dressed up… a true princess.”
I give her a small smile in the mirror, letting go of a shaky breath as I look over my body. A beautiful floor-length gown with a tight sweetheart bodice holds my breasts perfectly. The skirt cascades down to the floor with a slight side slit that allows me the freedom to move. My hair flows down my back in loose curls, and I wear a tiara—a family heirloom my mother dusted off for this day.
I hear the door to the bridal room creak open, and in walks my father, dressed in his tuxedo. I expect him to at least look somewhat pleased that this deal is finally going through, but instead, I see only the tension locked into his features.
I turn around, my heart already slipping to the floor. “Papá, stai bene?” Dad, are you okay?
His eyes find mine, and from that stare alone, I know something is wrong. A cold weight sinks in my stomach, rooting me to the spot. My mother moves to stand beside him, her face drawn with concern.
“Marcello?” She places a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
My father runs a hand through his graying hair. His shoulders are tight, his jaw clenched.
“Daniele is gone.”
I blink. “What do you mean he’s gone? Gone where?”
“Matteo tells me he left in the night. Headed back to the States,” he explains, and I catch the slight bitterness in his tone. “You won’t be marrying Daniele…”
There’s a flicker of disappointment, but it’s followed—almost instantly—by a rush of relief. I’m free. I had come to accept that marrying Daniele wouldn’t be so bad. But now that he’s gone—likely running from the very thing I feared—it feels like a weight has finally lifted from my chest.
“So… that’s it? No wedding?” I ask, hope fluttering like a dying bird in my chest. I try to keep my voice steady, but it trembles despite me. As much as I hated the idea of marrying Daniele, my father had been counting on it. I had been preparing for it.
“No,” my father says, voice tight. “There will be a wedding.”
I blink. “I… I’m sorry—what?”
“You heard me.”
“I’m pretty sure a bride needs a groom to have a wedding,” I say, my heart picking up speed.
His eyes find mine. Cold. Unblinking. “You have a groom.”
Something in my body freezes. A sudden, unnatural stillness, like the air before an earthquake.
He breathes out the words like they don’t carry the weight of a thousand knives.
“Matteo.”
My entire world splits in two.
Silence. Deafening. My breath catches, and I swear the room tilts.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head as if that might erase what I just heard. “No, Papá, you’re not—”
“I am,” he says. “It’s done.”
“Matteo Davacalli. No.” I take a step back, like the space between us will undo what I’ve heard. “No, this isn’t happening. You can’t do this. This wasn’t the plan. I was supposed to marry his son, the boy I once knew, not… not the devil wrapped in silk and power!”
My knees almost give out. My hands shoot out to the vanity for support, my knuckles going white. My chest tightens, and I forget how to breathe.
He doesn’t flinch. “The deal stands. The name stands. The groom changes.”
I stare at him—this man who raised me, protected me, once swore he’d never hand me over to monsters. And now here he is, offering me up to the biggest one of them all.
The silence stretches. Suffocating.
And then, softly— “You’re feeding me to the Warlord.”
“Marcello, what are you talking about?” my mother asks—voicing exactly what I’m thinking. “She’s marrying Matteo now? As in… the father of Daniele?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” My father sighs heavily, placing a hand on his hip. “The wedding will still take place. You will still get married, and this deal will still go through.”
I can’t believe this.
Only a week ago, we buried my brother in a cemetery just twenty minutes from this very cathedral. That same day, I was betrothed to my childhood friend. And now, a week later, I’m set to marry his father.
I shake my head. “No. Papá, I won’t marry him. I’ll find Daniele—I’ll talk to him. Just two days ago, we were steady, aligned… we were ready to face this together. He can’t just be gone…”
There’s no way he would abandon me. He gave me his word. He promised me.
“There is no other choice, Maria.”
“He’s a widower. His wife passed away not long ago. How do you expect me to be the bride of a man who already had a wife?”
My father pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to maintain his composure. I know he hates when I push back—but I refuse to let him dictate this.
“You won’t be the first woman to marry a widower, and you definitely won’t be the last.”
I throw my bouquet onto the armchair and step toward him, rage and desperation mixing in my blood. The hairs on the back of my neck stand as I close the space between us—the man never meant to be challenged. But right now, I don’t give two shits. This is my life he’s playing with, and I refuse to marry the Warlord.
“You can’t do this to me. I don’t agree to this.” I seethe, my anger rising higher than it’s ever dared with him. “If fucking Daniele isn’t here, then there is no wedding.”
“Watch your tongue, Maria.” The fury in his eyes makes me falter, but the fire inside me pushes through. “I am still your father, and you remain under my care.”
“I am twenty-four, Papá. I’m an adult. I can walk out of here right now, and you can’t stop me.”
I see the muscle in his jaw twitch.
“Not with my name, you don’t. If you walk out of those doors, you’ll be stripped of it all—my fortune, my mercy, my name.” My father storms over and grabs my wrist. “If you leave this cathedral, you will never again be allowed near this family.”
My lips part. A gasp slips free.
“Marcello,” my mother says, her voice sharp and low. “She’s our daughter—my daughter. You won’t speak to her like that. She is the last of our children. Your heir. You’ll disown her over my dead body.”
My father’s eyes dart to hers, and I see the regret hit him immediately. He does love me—I know he does. But he’s running on grief and desperation. We all are.
He blinks, then turns his gaze back to me. Guilt and remorse flicker in his eyes.
“You will marry this man, or our family will pay a price we cannot afford.” His grip on my wrist tightens. “Do you want your brother’s blood to be for nothing?”
“Marcello,” my mother gasps again.
“You know it’s true, Marta,” my father snaps, turning to where my mother stands. “Do you think I want to give her away? To force her into a life she didn’t choose? I don’t have a choice. Without Matteo, we will drown in the pool of blood Antonio left behind.”
My heart clenches at the mention of my brother. I don’t want to accept that he’s gone, but every time we speak of his death, I’m plunged back into the nightmare I’m trying so desperately to escape.
The room falls silent. The only sound is the gentle strumming of a violin as guests begin filtering into the cathedral. I can hear the faint, distant rhythm of my heart breaking with every beat.
“I’m sorry, my daughter,” my mother says, her voice breaking the heavy silence.
Tears brim in my eyes, threatening to spill, but I hold them back. I push down the despair clawing at my chest and dig deep for the strength I need.
“Maria, listen to me. This isn’t just about you—it never was. It’s about our family’s survival. Since your brother’s death, we’ve been exposed. Vulnerable. They hover at the edges, drawn to the scent of weakness. If we’re humiliated now, in front of all these families, we lose everything. Respect. Power. Support. No one will stand with us.”
I swallow hard. “So, this marriage… it’s just politics to you?”
“It always has been.” His voice didn’t waver. “Matteo needs this alliance as much as we do. He wants control in Italy, and we’re the perfect bridge. That’s why he’ll never walk away from this union—because it strengthens both our names. This marriage is our insurance.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. “This isn’t fair…”
“No. It isn’t.” His tone didn’t soften. “But fairness has no place in our world. Think about your mother. Think about what happens if we fall from power. She becomes the easiest target. They’ll go after her first. Do you really want that?”
The knot in my throat tightens. “I… I don’t want that…”
“Then you need to understand something, and you need to understand it now.” He stepped closer. “If you walk away from this, you’re not just walking away from a marriage. You’re turning your back on your family. On everything we’ve built. On the people who love you.”
He paused, eyes locked on mine. “Is that a risk you’re willing to take?”
“I will marry him,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
I hold my father’s stare, refusing to let my eyes waver, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break. But inside, something splinters—quietly, irrevocably.
“I’ll wear the dress. Smile for the cameras. Play the part of the dutiful bride,” I continue, each word tasting like ash. “But don’t mistake my silence for submission.”
I finally look away, not out of defeat—but because I’ve made peace with the war I’ve just agreed to enter.
“If this is what it takes to protect what’s left of this family…” I pause, my voice hardening, “then so be it. I’ll give them a wedding. But don’t ask me to give him my heart.”
“You have ten minutes, and then we need to begin. Come, Marta—you need to take your seat.”
My father holds out his hand to my mother, which she takes, though with a slight hesitation. Her caramel eyes are clouded with resignation and regret, but she says nothing.
The perfect wife of a Mafia boss.
My father’s word is law, and she never challenges it—no matter how deeply it conflicts with what she wants.
Is this what my future is doomed to be?
They leave the bridal room, and I’m left alone to sit in the wreckage of what today has become.
I fucking knew it. It had all gone too smoothly.
I knew something would go wrong, but never—not even in my worst nightmares—did I imagine it would end with me marrying the Warlord.
I leave my room exactly ten minutes later. I find my father waiting by the closed cathedral doors, a cigarette perched between his lips—unlit.
“Mamá will kill you if you light that,” I say, stepping up beside him. “You told her you quit.”
He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. He rips the cigarette from his mouth and tucks it into his pocket.
“It’s only for the scent. I never light it. Your mother made it very clear she doesn’t want me smoking—and her word is law.”
If that were true, you wouldn’t be giving me away to a man almost your age.
I think it, but I don’t say it. What’s the point now? It’s over. I’m seconds away from walking down that aisle, and nothing I say will change it.
“You look beautiful, Maria.”
The doors open, and dread lodges deep in my stomach.
The violin strums the gentle classical piece I picked out just days ago. A piece that once sounded like hope… now sounds like surrender.
I knew it. Things were going too well. I should’ve braced for the collapse.
“Rendimi orgoglioso, Maria.” Make me proud, Maria.
My father’s voice is steady and cold.
There’s no turning back.
The guests see us step into the aisle, and all rise to their feet.
I’m going to be sick. My stomach churns violently, and if it weren’t for Papá’s firm grip on my arm, I would’ve run—bolted down the aisle and never looked back. My heart aches with every step toward the life I didn’t choose.
This. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid.
I don’t want to marry a man twice my age.
I keep my gaze fixed just a few feet ahead as we walk. The sweet, angelic music that fills the cathedral feels all wrong now. It will forever be etched in my memory as the soundtrack to my walk toward the slaughter.
Because that’s what this feels like.
I am the lamb, and waiting for me at the altar… is the wolf.
I steal a glance at Papá. His expression is set, stern, eyes locked forward.
But I—I can’t bring myself to look at Matteo. Mr. Davacalli. My fiancé.
We come to a stop at the altar. I keep my eyes on the floor, trying to steady my breath as the blood rushes through my veins like a storm.
The priest begins to speak, but his voice is distant—muffled beneath the roar in my ears.
“I do,” my father says, his voice cutting through the haze. “I give my daughter to this man.”
Fuck. Here it is.
Papá gently removes my hand from his arm—but I resist. Just for a second. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to do this. This cannot be my fate.
But he doesn’t give me a choice.
With practiced calm, so as not to draw attention, he pries my hand off his arm and places it in a much larger, waiting palm.
I can’t bring myself to look up. Not yet. Not at the man I’m about to marry.
But I feel the heat of his touch, the command in the way he holds me.
“Ti do la mia cosa più preziosa.” I give you my most precious thing. My father murmurs, just loud enough for those at the altar to hear.
“Take care of her.”
I force my eyes up.
The heaviness in my chest is unbearable—like wet cement pouring in, layer by layer, pressing against my ribs, refusing to set, building until I’m on the brink of suffocation.
“Ti amo, amore,” he says softly as he kisses my cheek. I love you, my love.
When he pulls away, I catch it—the sadness in his eyes. But he buries it quickly behind a hollow smile.
Then he steps back, releasing my hand fully into Matteo’s grasp.
The moment our skin touches, a flutter stirs in my chest—soft, disorienting—followed by the sickening churn deep in my stomach. My gaze traces the path from our joined hands, up the length of his arm cloaked in smooth black fabric, until it finally collides with his eyes.
My breath catches. “Mr. Davacalli.”
My voice comes out no more than a whisper. But against the thick silence of the cathedral, I may as well have screamed to the heavens and beyond.
Fuck.
“Maria.” His voice is thick, laden with emotion. His eyes pierce through mine, stripping me bare—leaving me with nothing to shield myself.
“You’re breathtaking, Maria.”
His compliment catches me off guard, so much so that the priest has to clear his throat to get my attention, urging me to step forward with my fiancé. Matteo helps me up, his hand still wrapped securely around mine.
“Please face each other,” the priest says, his white cloak draped elegantly around him, a serene smile on his face.
“Join your hands, please.”
I hand off my bouquet to one of the women seated in the front row—someone I’ve only seen once or twice before. Then, I place my hand into Matteo’s. The warmth that travels up and down my arm is not only distracting but unnerving.
I don’t know why my body decides to short-circuit whenever he’s near me—let alone touching me.
“We are gathered here today…” the priest begins the ceremony, but it all just blurs into the background. My mind circles back to one unshakable truth—I’m about to marry a man I don’t want to marry.
I woke up hopeful this morning, believing I was stepping into a future filled with light. But instead, here I am—being cast to the lion.
Had this been the plan all along? Were they all in on it?
I resist the urge to glance back at my parents.
The ceremony moves on, my thoughts stealing most of my attention. Before I know it, we’re exchanging rings, and the priest finally moves to the part I’ve been dreading.
“Do you, Matteo Angelo Davacalli, take Maria Antoinette Faravelli to be your lawfully wedded wife—to honor, cherish, and protect her, for as long as you both shall live?”
The words echoed off the stained glass windows.
“I do.”
Matteo holds my gaze without a hint of shame. His hands squeeze mine ever so slightly at his declaration. He then reaches down to the ring bearer and takes my ring from the velvet pillow. With careful precision, he slides it onto my finger—a perfect fit.
It’s stunning. A sleek platinum wedding band. It’s the kind of ring I would’ve chosen for myself—had I been given a choice.
“Do you, Maria Antoinette Faravelli, take Matteo Angelo Davacalli to be your lawfully wedded husband? To honor, cherish, and love him as long as you both shall live?”
Love.
Such a heavy word—especially when paired with the Warlord.
How does one love the darkness?
Is that even possible?
“I do,” I say, forcing the words past the lump in my throat.
I’m handed Matteo’s platinum band, and I slide it onto his finger. The expensive metal shines against the sun rays that stream in through the window of the church.
A sigh echoes softly, likely from my father in the front pew.
He was probably holding his breath, worried I’d make a scene.
But I’ve committed to this.
And now, I have to see it through.
“You may now kiss your bride.”
The words fall like a gavel in my mind, locking my spine into place.
No.
We remain facing each other, our eyes locked in a silent war.
Neither of us moves.
I freeze, uncertain how to navigate this moment.
I had braced myself for the younger Davacalli—the boy I once made mud pies with in the backyard.
But the man standing before me now is no boy.
He’s the deliverer of death. Warlord.
The Warlord.
How do I kiss darkness and walk away unscathed? How do you kiss death—and survive it?
I must hesitate too long, because Matteo lifts his large hands to cradle my face. He leans in, and the air between us crackles with electricity.
Sparks kiss the surface of my skin and bounce back into the atmosphere.
His thumb strokes my cheek gently. The pad of his thumb heats the skin he touches, branding me. The cathedral, filled with people, fades away. My eyes flutter shut. I wait, caught between fear and anticipation for what’s to come. This man has assaulted my senses from the moment I saw him across my brother’s grave.
And now…
Inches vanish.
Our breaths tangle together in a cloud of tension—
And then…
He presses his lips to mine.
Fireworks. No—detonations. Explosions of heat and electricity ripple through me, setting my nerves ablaze and short-circuiting every carefully constructed defense I’ve built. My body, traitorous and unthinking, leans into him—into the storm—melting into the impossible warmth of the man who shouldn’t feel like home.
The kiss lasts mere seconds—five, maybe—but it fractures something deep within me. When he pulls away, his eyes are no longer cool and distant; they’re the raging sea. For a heartbeat, I see it all—passion, hunger, danger. A man on the edge of ruin, and I am the tether he both fears and craves. It calls to me, beckons me closer like prey to its predator.
And then he blinks—shutters it all—and the veil falls back into place.
The crowd erupts into cheers, and just like that—the trance is broken.
“May I introduce to you Mr. and Mrs. Davacalli. May their union be blessed, and may they be protected by the Almighty,” the priest announces to the congregation.
They all rise, clapping and cheering.
I tear my gaze away from my husband, the ring on my finger suddenly feeling as heavy as a two-ton truck.
Matteo clutches my hand in his and turns to face the crowd with me, presenting us for the first time as husband and wife.
My lips still tingle from the kiss, and I can’t help but think back to it. My eyes catch my mother, who has tears streaming down her face at the front. My father, standing beside her, remains stoic—his expression unchanged—but I catch the glint of unshed tears in his eyes. Still, I know he won’t let a single one fall. The predators are watching.
Matteo leans down, his mouth brushing against my ear, tickling my senses. “Welcome to the family, Maria.”
He pulls away—no smile, no warmth, no joy. Just the gaze of a man carved from stone, one who carries only a void within his soul, filled with every drop of blood spilled by his hand.
And just like that…
I am officially Maria Davacalli.
The bride of death.
