My uncle took my clenched fist and made to hand me over to my new master. The stranger watched me carefully. I stared in fright. And the second my cold knuckles brushed his warm hand, I jolted as if I’d been shocked and pulled away, clasping my bouquet between both hands in a death grip.
“Vittoria,” Zio Como reprimanded. “You must take Ettore’s hand.”
“I’m sor-” But the beginnings of my apology were cut off when Ettore spoke and his voice was deep and rich like warm melted dark chocolate.
“It’s fine.”
The priest looked at me with an air of dissatisfaction but at Ettore’s nod of consent, the ceremony began. The priest preached about trust and loyalty, and I withered on the inside.
You’re going to hell, Vicky.
The ceremony went on at a snail’s pace and I prepared for what was coming. Then, the part I’d been dreading finally came. The priest nodded to my sister and she stepped forward, gently taking the ends of my veil and lifting it up and over my head. My face must have been paler than it felt because Vincenza whispered, “Breathe. Think about papa and just breathe.”
I nodded and when I turned back to the man beside me, he snuffled out a soft laugh at my unwillingness to relinquish my bouquet.
My body was on fire. My neck burned and the apples of my cheeks blazed as the priest began with, “Ettore Scala, do you take this woman, Vittoria Vero, to be your lawful wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do you part?”
He didn’t even hesitate. “I do.”
My brows narrowed at the man beside me as the priest asked the same of me. “Vittoria Vero, do you take this man, Ettore Scala, to be your lawful husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do you part?”
Where he was without hesitation, my reluctance went unconcealed and I froze.
After a long moment, the priest prompted, “Vittoria?” but I remained still and unmoving.
“Now,” my sister hissed from behind me. “Do itnow.”
Muttering in the pews commenced and my husband-to-be frowned deeply at me while, in my head, I found clarity in my own whispered words. “For papa.”
“Well?” The priest had long lost his patience. “Do you take this man to be your husband or not?”
Time seemed to slow as I dropped my bouquet, holding onto what had been concealed inside. My heart ached as I lifted one shaking hand, pointed the gun at my intended and stated roughly, “I’d rather die.”
I pulled the trigger, shooting Ettore Scala point blank. He barely moved as the bullet pierced his flesh. Blood seeped from between his fingers and it was only when he winced that I remembered I wasn’t done here.
I glanced back at my sister and found her wild eyed and grinning victoriously at Ettore. Her gaze met mine and her smile faded. Vincenza gave me a sharp nod and I smiled sadly in return.
Until we meet again, sister.
I spun frontward, towards the wedding’s attendees, and lifted the gun, turning it on myself.
The shot rang out and everything went black.
Chapter2
A deep regret
Vittoria
A mere millisecondbefore I pulled the trigger a second time, I was shoved harshly, but the gun went off with the bullet travelling upwards through the roof instead of its intended target, my skull. My breath left me in a whoosh as I landed forcefully on the cold marble floor and my vision completely shorted out before stars danced in my eyes. Winded, I gasped as something large and heavy fell onto my body, pushing me down. And when I regained focus, I immediately wished I hadn’t because what I saw in front of me was the gloriously enraged face of Ettore Scala. He gripped my forearm, lifted it effortlessly, then slammed my hand against the ground, and I watched in terror as the gun skidded across the marble, stopping under a pew.
My heart raced when I came to understand the reality of the situation.
Ettore Scala was still alive. Regrettably, I was too.
Plans foiled, I searched for my sister amongst the chaos but there were too many people skittering around for me to land eyes on her. My gaze swept the scene. Our bridal party was in disarray. My bridesmaids were huddled together, scared senseless, while one of the groomsmen held my Zio Como up by his shirt, yelling into his face so hard that spittle sprayed my terrified uncle. My stomach ached and my breathing slowed when I realized that the Scala family outnumbered my own by ten. But, amongst the clamor and noise, one sound was out of place.
Crying.