Mafia's Mute Lover Is A Liar

Divorce

The priest spoke.

His back was to me. I could not read his lips. I had no idea what he was saying.

I stood there. My hands were shaking. My throat was burning.

The priest turned. He looked at me. His mouth moved.

I did not catch it. I was too nervous. Too scared. Too focused on not collapsing.

Then Alessio moved.

He reached inside his jacket. He pulled out a knife.

The blade caught the light. Silver. Sharp. Long.

I stepped back as he put it in my way in a swift motion.

Not one step. Three steps. My body moved before my brain could catch up. My back hit the wall. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my teeth.

I had no idea what was happening. The priest had said something. Alessio had responded. I had missed it all. Too many lips. Too much fear.

Alessio frowned. Confusion flickered across his face. He looked at the knife. Then at me. Then at the priest.

The priest spoke again. I caught it this time.

"The blood vow," the priest said. "The binding of hands. The mingling of blood. It is tradition."

Alessio looked at me. "It is part of the ceremony."

I shook my head. They looked around to see where my tablet was. I typed on it. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold it.

"Are you trying to stab me?"

He read the screen. His jaw tightened.

"It is tradition," he said again. "Every Romano wedding has a blood vow. It seals the marriage. It cannot be skipped."

I typed: I do not care about tradition.

"You should. It is the only thing holding this marriage together."

He stepped toward me.

I stepped back. There was nowhere to go. The wall was behind me.

He grabbed my arm.

His fingers wrapped around my wrist. Tight. Not enough to bruise. Enough to keep me from running.

He pulled me toward him.

My body collided with his. Chest to chest. Hip to hip. I felt the heat of him through the white dress. Felt the hard muscle beneath his suit. Felt his breath on my forehead.

I looked up.

His gray eyes were staring down at me. Close. Too close.

My heart stopped. Then started again. Faster this time.

He did not let go of my wrist.

"Stop running," he said. "You are making this harder than it needs to be."

You are holding a knife. I mouthed those words because I could not write with one hand. I tried to force the sounds out, but they didn't come.

"I am not going to kill you."

I swallowed. My throat burned.

He said it like it was nothing. Like he was ordering coffee. Not binding two people together for the rest of their lives.

I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. I wanted to wake up from this nightmare.

But this was not a nightmare.

This was my life now.

He pulled me closer. Our bodies pressed together. I could feel his heartbeat. Steady. Slow. Not like mine. Mine was racing.

He took my hand. The one he had already grabbed. He turned it over. Palm up.

The knife hovered above my skin.

"Do not move," he said.

I could not move. I was frozen. Trapped. His body was a cage around mine.

He cut.

The pain was sharp. Bright. Immediate. Blood welled up from the wound. Red against my pale skin.

My eyes watered. From the pain. From the terror. From the sight of my own blood dripping down my wrist.

He saw my face. Saw the fear in my eyes. Saw the tears threatening to fall.

He did not stop.

He took the handkerchief from his pocket. White. Clean. He pressed it into my palm. The fabric soaked up the blood.

"It is part of the ceremony," he said.

I swallowed. My throat burned. I nodded. What else could I do?

He handed me the knife.

"Now me."

I took the knife. My hand was shaking. I could barely hold it.

He held out his palm.

I looked at his hand. Large. Calloused. Scars on the knuckles. And one particular scar on his palm already placed naturally where I was to cut. My gaze narrowed. Why was there already a scar there? Had he gone through this before?

I looked at his face. His gray eyes were watching me. Waiting. But he noticed the look on my face. He gulped. Like he had been caught doing something wrong.

Then he grabbed the blade himself. He cut his own palm.

The blade bit into his skin. Blood welled up. Red against his tan skin.

He did not flinch.

He took my bloody hand in his bloody hand. Palm to palm. Blood mixing with blood. Slippery. Warm. Intimate in a way that made my stomach tighten.

The priest said something. I did not catch it.

Alessio looked at me.

"Until death," he said.

I read his lips.

I opened my mouth. "Until death."

My voice broke. I coughed. Blood sprayed onto the white cloth the priest had placed between us. My blood. From my throat.

He stared at the blood on the cloth. Then at the blood on my lips.

His Adam's apple moved.

Then his other hand reached behind my neck.

His fingers threaded into my hair. He pulled me toward him. Not rough. Not gentle. Something in between.

He pressed his lips onto mine.

They were warm. Firm. Demanding.

I froze. My breath caught in my chest. His mouth moved against mine, and I felt his tongue trace the edge of my lower lip where my blood was still wet.

I gasped.

He took the opportunity. His tongue slipped into my mouth.

I tasted myself on him. Copper and salt and something darker. Something that made my head spin.

I pulled away because I could not breathe. Because my heart was going to explode. Because I did not know what was happening.

But it took him a moment to let me go completely.

His fingers lingered in my hair. His lips hovered near mine. His breath was warm on my face.

I wiped my mouth with the sleeve of the white dress. Scowling. Shaking.

He did not look at me.

He simply moved his thumb across his own lips. Wiping my blood off his mouth. Slow. Deliberate.

My stomach flipped.

The priest pronounced us married.

Alessio released my hand. He took the handkerchief from my palm. He pressed it into his own bleeding hand.

"Bandage that," he said. "I do not want you bleeding on the negotiation table."

He walked out. He did not look back.

The witnesses filed out. Enzo paused at the door. He looked at me. His eyes were not cold like Alessio's. They were almost... sad.

"The bathroom is down the hall. There is a first aid kit under the sink."

Then he left.

I was alone.

I stood in the middle of the room. The white cloth was on the floor. Our blood was on it. Mixed. Red on white.

I touched my lips.

They were still warm.

I looked at my palm. The cut was deep. Blood dripped onto the floor.

I walked to the bathroom. I found the first aid kit. I bandaged my hand. My fingers were clumsy. The bandage was crooked. I did not care.

I looked in the mirror.

A stranger looked back.

She was pale. Too pale. Dark circles under her eyes. Blood on her lips. Blood on her dress. Blood on her hands.

She looked like a murder victim.

She looked like a bride.

She looked like both.

This is what marriage looks like, I thought.

This is what my life has become.

I walked to my room. I sat on the bed. I did not cry.

I opened my journal. I wrote:

Day 3. I am married to Don Alessio Romano.

He kissed me. He tasted my blood. He looked at me like he wanted to devour me.

He does not know I am not Lydia.

He does not know I am deaf.

He does not know anything.

And I do not know why my heart is still racing.

The door opened.

Alessio stood in the doorway.

I flinched. I slammed the diary shut and hid it behind my back. I stood up.

He had changed his suit. The same black. But cleaner. Sharper.

He looked at me. I had not bandaged my hand yet. There was blood on my dress. On my lips. On my neck where his fingers had been.

"I told you to wrap that up!"

He was angry. I could tell by the expression on his face.

He charged at me.

I almost stumbled back against the nightstand when he grabbed me by the waist.

I pushed him. My teeth gritted.

"Do you want it to get infected?" he said, pulling me closer.

I felt my heart beat wildly. His hand was on my hip. His fingers pressing into the fabric of the white dress. His body was so close. Too close. Not close enough.

"Why won't you speak!" he hissed.

I wanted to answer him. But my throat was tightening on itself. Painfully. Choking me.

I mouthed the words. "I can't. I have an infection."

It was a stupid excuse. I did not think it would work.

He looked at me. His gray eyes searched my face.

Then he pushed me down on the bed.

Not gently. Not roughly. Just... deliberately.

He sat beside me. Not nicely. Not close. But I could feel the heat of him through the mattress.

He pulled a box from the nightstand drawer.

"You are so frustrating," he hissed.

He grabbed my hand. Pulled it harshly toward him.

A sharp pain rushed up my body. A sound came out of my mouth. I did not know what kind of sound. A whimper. A gasp. Something broken.

My tears came out in that moment.

He turned to look at me. Confusion flickered across his face.

For a moment, his grip lightened around my hand.

"What are you made of? Glass or something?"

I bit my teeth. I took my hand out of his grasp. I picked up the box and walked to the other side of the room.

Last I saw him, he was saying something. I did not read his lips. I did not want to know.

I turned around so he was practically not talking when I did that.

Never in my life had I thought I would be glad I could not hear.

But I was so angry and in pain I did not care what he said. I was sure he would not kill me now that he needed me.

I sat on the couch. I put the box in front of me. I pulled out the bandage.

I tried to wrap my hand. But I had overestimated my skill. I could barely get the bandage around my palm. I could not stop the bleeding. He had made it worse by holding it the wrong way.

I was so focused on it that I did not notice him moving.

The next moment, I felt his hand on my wrist.

I looked up. He was by my side. He sat on the table in front of me.

Our knees touched.

I looked at him. I realized he had been saying something. I was not looking at his lips, so I had not realized it.

This time, he held my hand gently.

But it did not stop my heart from reacting violently. I wanted to pull away. But that would hurt me more. So I let him.

He started to wrap the bandage around my palm. His fingers were careful. Precise. Gentle in a way that did not match the monster I knew him to be.

I kept my eyes on his lips as they moved.

"I will be in this room for now," he said. "So it is clear to the others that they cannot mess with you. Bear with it for a few weeks. After that, you are free."

My breath caught.

"I will send the divorce papers to your room after the lawyer has them ready. I will sign them. You can do it whenever you want to."

A sudden rush of relief overwhelmed me.

So it was indeed for my own wellbeing.

He noticed my relief. His eyes met mine.

He caught me looking at his lips.

I turned my head away.

But I could still feel his gaze on me. Still feel his fingers on my wrist. Still feel the ghost of his mouth on mine.

And I hated how much I did not hate it.