THE ITALIAN'S MISTAKEN REVENGE

Chapter 2: Welcome to the Inferno

Welcome to the Inferno

When Salvatore joins me at the reception, he maintains a stoic expression.

He nods in greeting to some guests and takes a glass before approaching me at the table we share, while his father stops on the stage and draws attention as he sees Salvatore stop by my side.

"Today is an important day for the Rossetti and Di Sante families. I can say that after years of enmity we have set our differences aside," he smiles enigmatically. "Mauricio and I today leave behind the quarrels that have enveloped our families for years."

«Yeah, right.»

I avoid grimacing and glance sideways at my father, who maintains a false expression of serenity.

"Today our children become one," he continues, "this afternoon I have gained a daughter. He raises his glass and gives me an almost sinister smile, "welcome to the family, Helena Di Sante."

I raise my glass along with Salvatore and the rest in a toast.

"I would like to invite the couple to have their first dance."

I know neither of us wants to do it, but everyone looks at us expectantly. The sarcastic smile on the face of Martina Di Sante, Salvatore's younger sister, annoys me; so I take the hand Salvatore offers me in silence and we move to the middle of the dance floor where the band starts playing a soft melody.

He remains silent, only breaking it to utter something unpleasant. So I enjoy the silence.

One of his hands rests firmly on my waist while mine rests on his shoulder. We look at each other eye to eye and for a second I think about what he was doing in that room and just want to take a step back.

*I must admit I'm curious. It could be useful to me.

"I suppose you know how to dance," he whispers in a low, cold voice, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"Do you think the Rossettis are a bunch of ignorant fools?"

"Almost," he replies before starting to move us across the floor with an elegance that surprises me. Although he is stiff and his face is unfriendly, I must admit he moves his feet to the rhythm of the music very well.

"I wasn't aware brothels offered dance lessons," I mock and he glares at me, "What? Don't tell me, I hurt your feelings."

He spins me quickly, causing me to stumble, but he doesn't let me fall. When I see him, he has an imperceptible smile on his lips before returning to the usual rhythm. Everyone around us is watching, and I can guess what they're thinking.

«We're quite the spectacle.»

When the band finishes, we do so in perfect sync, and applause is heard around us before the music changes, inviting everyone to the floor.

I start heading back to the table without thinking, and halfway there I stop when three figures stand in front of me.

"That was entertaining. I have to hand it to you, you're quite the actor."

Martina Di Sante stands in front of me wearing an elegant black dress, long, with a V-neckline. I know she's not happy about this, but she's not the only one. I look at Martina, who is flanked by two other women.

Martina's blue eyes, just like her father's, study me with disdain. She sips from her glass and makes a face.

"I think Salvatore didn't deserve to be subjected to this humiliation," says one of the women who has been silent, wearing an elegant red dress in a fifties style, long, her copper hair is held by a hairpin.

"That's exactly what I told Martina," adds the other woman. She's blonde, wearing a white one-shoulder dress, and her eyes look at me as if she wants to glare daggers at me. I raise an eyebrow and she clears her throat, "but I understand Salvatore's sense of honor."

"My friends, Paulette and Eva," she points respectively to each woman who just spoke, "both close friends."

«Of course.»

"Eva, right?" I speak to the woman and she nods, "you say Salvatore has a sense of honor?" I look at Martina with a smile before leaning in a bit, "the Di Sante don't know what honor is, if you'll excuse me."

I walk away and return to my seat. I look at the three women and realize that Martina's friends are just like her, annoying.

The rest of the party is almost torturous, I barely eat anything from the dinner and when it's time to cut the cake, I breathe a sigh of relief that no one has stopped pretending.

"Helena and I are leaving," he announces in a tone that leaves no room for refutation.

Without saying a word, he pulls me away without letting me say goodbye to anyone. My heels sink into the grass and when we reach the inside, I pull away abruptly.

"Hey! Do you want to yank my arm off?" He doesn't respond, instead, with a straight back, he turns halfway and looks at me.

"Aldo," he calls over his shoulder. A short and thin man appears running.

"Sir?"

"Is the car ready?," he asks without giving him a second glance.

"As you arranged," he replies in a servile tone.

"Go upstairs to change, we don't have time," he tells me, "they've reserved a suite at the hotel where we're supposed to spend the night."

"What?!"

"Aldo, take her to the room," he continues, "tomorrow the rest of your things will be here, or at least that's what your father said."

I want to argue with him, but I'm really tired and just want this day to end; so, somewhat dazed, I look at the man who maintains his attentive posture, take a deep breath, and follow the man.

I go up the stairs gathering my dress to avoid falling and we reach the upper floor, we walk down a long hallway, when he stops in front of one of the doors, opens it, and makes a small bow before stepping back.

I look at him curiously, but he seems unperturbed.

I enter and pause as the door closes behind me.

I let out a tired sigh and approach the canopy bed where a travel bag rests, where I packed a couple of changes of clothes and my personal belongings.

My mother had requested it this morning, and I packed in a hurry. I approach, seeing my phone on top, but I don't want to check the messages; so, I take off the dress and leave it on the carpet before picking up the American-style dress, in black, laid out to the side.

Keeping on the heeled sandals, I put on the dress and let my hair down, feeling more comfortable. I take the bag and head back downstairs where Salvatore waits in the lobby.

He watches me as I descend, but shows no expression. He moves towards the main door where the man named Aldo is standing.

I follow him, and outside a car is waiting; I'm not surprised to see the McLaren waiting. Salvatore gets into the car, and I sigh.

"Well, what a gentleman," I murmur, opening the car door and getting in, placing the bag on my lap.

He starts the engine, and when I close the door, he speeds away from the property.

"You know, I realize you detest me, and honestly, the feeling is mutual," I begin, "but it wouldn't hurt you to talk to me, converse, feel like I have a human being next to me and not a robot."

"Do you ever shut up?, "he asks with an irritated tone.

«So the Tin Man, who is now my husband, does feel something.»

"No, in fact, I love to talk, I hate silence." I look at him while he keeps his eyes on the road, "you never talk more than necessary, do you?"

He stays silent for a few seconds, and when I think he's not going to answer my question, he speaks, "Believe me, my silence is your good fortune," he replies in a tone devoid of emotion, and I frown.

He says nothing more, and we arrive at our destination in silence.

I'm not surprised when we arrive at one of the Di Sante hotels, called the Portrait Firenze. I've never been inside this hotel, but it has one of the best panoramic views of Florence and the Arno River.

As I get out, the valet parking opens the door for me while Salvatore gets out and tosses the keys to another valet. I move forward, but his strides are longer, and I grit my teeth as I watch him enter the elevator; I step inside and stop, not without giving him a murderous look.

I see how no one gets into the elevator when we do; in fact, a couple of men stop in front of it, preventing anyone from joining us. Without saying anything, Salvatore presses an upper floor followed by a code, and the doors close.

My hands stay clutched around the travel bag; it takes everything in me not to tell him what I think.

The doors open, and I step out, expecting to find several doors, but I'm surprised to see only two.

He must notice my curiosity because he stops next to me.

"These are my private suites for important clients."

«Why do I feel there's something more?»

He opens one of the doors and enters. I follow him and am impressed by how beautiful and harmonious the suite is, with dark tones, large windows; in the first room, there's a foyer, and at the back, with a view of the river, a dining room. To my right, there are double doors that lead to the bedroom.

I leave the bag on the sofa and walk forward, opening the double doors. Indeed, there is a large canopy bed with gray sheets and pillows, cushions of the same color.

"This is supposed to be our wedding night," he says from behind me.

I look at him and see him sipping a glass of amber whiskey.

My father's words echo in my mind, but I don't think I can do it, especially remembering that he was with another woman this afternoon.

"You're crazy if you think you're going to touch me."

He laughs.

It's an empty laugh.

"Do you think I want to touch a girl like you? Don't take me for a fool." He raises his glass, but it stops halfway before lowering it and looking at me with curiosity, "Are you, a virgin?"

"What did you ask?"

I see him place the glass next to a table and cross his arms, taking a step toward me. I look at him, raising my chin. Despite my five foot seven and heels, he still towers over me.

"I asked, are you a virgin?"

"No," I reply in a casual tone.

I refuse to tell him that I can count my s****l partners on one hand, and that none have been able to find the damn G-spot, it's like they're on a quest for Atlantis.

I clear my throat when I realize he's close.

"I don't know what you're trying to achieve with those words, but it's none of your business."

"It is if my wife has a long mileage."

"Screw you!"

His hand catches me off guard by grabbing my hair and tilting my head back.

"What are you doing?"

He leans in and inhales my scent, sending shivers through my body.

"Don't worry, as I already told you, I'm not interested in little girls like you," he whispers, "you can rest assured I won't touch you that way."

"You don't know how relieved I am," I retort with sarcasm, closing my eyes at the feel of his breath on my neck. I hesitate a bit, "though I have a curiosity, what will we tell everyone when they see there's no offspring?"

He clicks his tongue and releases me, making me lose my balance and fall seated on the bed.

His eyes turn cold and he makes a contemptuous face that leaves me breathless.

"I'll handle that later. For now, enjoy your peace, because it won't last."

I purse my lips and watch as he walks to the exit door, opens it, and pauses to give me a triumphant look.

"Welcome to hell, Helena."

With that, he leaves, slamming the door behind him.