The Don and His Russian Bride

Chapter 2

My head was tilted directly towards the stream of water. Warm droplets pelted my face before cascading down the rest of my body. If I closed my eyes long enough, I could envision that I was in a different time and place. The sound of rushing water hitting the shower tiles drowned out my thoughts and fears about my wedding that would be taking place soon.

My hopes for time to stand still forever were crushed once the water turned off. When I stepped out of the shower, it was like I was returning to earth from mars and I wasn’t used to the gravity anymore. My dread for the wedding was so heavy that the weight of it could’ve pinned me down to the bathroom floor.

I wiped the condensation off of the mirror to see a person that I couldn’t even recognize. The girl in the reflection had dark rings under her eyes and sickly pale skin. Her eyes weren’t full of life like mine and she was missing my stern expression that didn’t back down from a challenge. Yet this girl was me. She looked exactly as I felt– like she could throw up or pass out at any moment.

A plush white towel was wrapped snug around me. Would someone have a wedding dress prepared for me? If they did, would it even fit? The dress should have been the least of my worries, but it seemed like the biggest one that I could handle for the time being. My wedding dress could look like anything. I had no say in whether I wanted a sweetheart neckline or a drop waist. Every inch of the dress could be covered by rhinestones or the skirt could be large enough to fit a dozen people under it. I abhorred the idea of looking like a glorified cupcake. I would rather wear the towel down the aisle.

When I changed into a sweater and simple black leggings, my father knocked on the bathroom door. “You should be leaving for the church in a few minutes. There is a driver ready for you downstairs.”

I opened the door to come face to face with him. My arms were crossed and I leaned against the doorframe as I worked to keep my tears at bay. “Was there really no other way?”

My mind raced as I stared into his dark, unflinching eyes. How could he give me away so easily? I needed answers from him. He cared about me, but was it so little that he could devalue me to a bargaining chip without remorse?

“I’m afraid not.” His expression was as stone cold as ever. He continued on, “You are going to make a beautiful bride today.”

“Will you be there?”

“No. I can’t. Our alliance won’t be complete until after the wedding. It would be too dangerous for me to go there before we are on solid terms.”

Bile rose in my throat at the disheartening news. Even if I denied it, I had always wanted my father to walk me down the aisle like most other girls. I swallowed it down and continued to blink away the tears. Crying wouldn’t change my fate.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

That was the end of our last goodbye. There were no hugs, no I love you’s, and no signs that we would miss each other. My father hated sentiment. He barely looked at me as he walked me downstairs. Once I climbed into the backseat of the car, there was no looking back.

The drive to the Italian church passed by in a blur of trees and random buildings. I wanted to hit the driver in the back of the head and tell him to slow down. It wouldn’t have made me feel any better though. It wasn’t him who was making me mad. It was the people driving my life while they forced me to sit in the backseat and watch it move along faster than I could comprehend.

When we pulled into the parking lot of the church, it hit me that I had one last chance to reclaim my life. There wasn’t any place for me to run to, but that wouldn’t matter so long as I could be free. I unbuckled my seatbelt the instant our car rolled to a stop. As a man began helping me with the car door, I pushed it forward. The door slammed into his face and he stumbled back from the impact.

Not wasting a second, I bolted from the car. My heels thudded against the concrete as I ran. There were shouts behind me and the sounds of heavy breathing indicated that I was being chased. Escape seemed near as I closed the distance to the gate. I was a mere ten meters from it when a black Sedan pulled up in front of me. Men poured out of the vehicle and surrounded me.

"What the hell?"

"We were warned that you might try to run. We can’t let you leave the premises." It was difficult to tell the man who spoke apart from the rest. All of them wore light grey suits and had raven black hair with varying styles of facial hair. Many were also wearing sunglasses, making it more difficult to see the differences in their faces. The same speaker stepped forward. “Come with me. I will show you where you are going to prepare for the ceremony.”

“And if I don’t follow you?”

His right eye twitched beneath his sunglasses before he brought the side of his mouth up to form a smirk. “We have ways to make you come with us.”

I considered my options. Being knocked unconscious and dragged to the church wasn’t at the top of my list. “Lead the way.”

We walked towards the basilica, which was a grand two story structure. Greek style columns rose in front of the white stone building. At the very top, there was a balcony on the roof that held several statues of religious figures.

The inside of the church was as elegant and extravagant as it had been outside. The hallway walls were decorated with paintings and stained glass windows that depicted scenes or symbols found in the bible. Throughout the interior of the church, there were also flower vases at every interval so there would always be at least one in sight.

The room that the Italian man brought me to was much smaller and simpler than I expected. The door to the half bathroom that connected to the far end of the intimate room stood open. The main space was filled by an antique vanity and a long table that held several beauty supplies and accessories.

“I will be back when it is time for the ceremony.” The man left, closing the door behind him.

Three women awaited me in the center of the room. Each woman had carefully styled, dark hair and sympathetic expressions. The three all looked to be in their late thirties or early forties as well. They motioned for me to sit on the chair in front of the vanity. Once I took my seat, they wasted no time and began working on my hair, nails, and makeup.

“How old are you?” The lady curling my hair asked.

“22.”

“Povero cara. You are so young. Do you have any clue what you are getting yourself into?”

My immediate response should’ve been that I didn’t have a choice. Except if they didn’t already know about the deal, they likely weren’t supposed to. Instead, I tried to prod them for information. “I have an idea. How well do you know the groom?”

“All I know is he’s fine as hell.” The one with my nails said.

I thought the third woman would hit her with the makeup brush. “Would you stop it with that? One glance at him and you’ve turned into a schoolgirl with a crush on the bad boy. We don’t know him well, cara. We were only hired for the day.”

“They want us to think that this is a regular wedding, but it’s clearly involved with shady business since they won’t share any of their identities with us,” my hair lady chipped in.

I neither confirmed nor denied their suspicions. Since it could be dangerous for the women if they gained too much personal information, we didn’t delve into further conversation. They chatted in Italian whilst I let them give me a makeover that any other bride would dream of.

"It's time for the dress." My eyes opened at the sound of the singsong voice.

Together, the ladies unbagged a floor length wedding gown and helped me step into it. While the dress had looked beautiful on the hanger, it was even more stunning on my body. They must’ve found out my measurements somehow because the dress fit me perfectly in every way. It shocked me how much I fell in love with the dress once I had it on. The lace that covered every inch from the sleeves down to the long, elegant train had me enchanted. Furthermore, I couldn’t look away from the way the sweetheart neckline accentuated my breasts or how the skirt flowed so gracefully from my hips. If I was getting married of my own accord, this dress could’ve been the one I had chosen for myself.

Until I tried on the dress, I hadn’t looked much at the ladies’ work on my makeover. They had done a phenomenal job. Curled, brown strands of hair framed my face while the rest of my hair was pulled back into a sophisticated, yet glamorous updo. My makeup was done to look natural, but it still enhanced my best features by highlighting my cheekbones and making my lips much darker and full. Looking down at my nails, I smiled. They were painted a deep burgundy and topped with small gems.

The finishing touch that topped off my bridal look was the most ostentatious veil I had ever seen. The length of it was obscene. It spanned at least a dozen feet behind me. At the very bottom, there were also intricate lace designs to match my dress. I took a deep breath as the women pulled the front piece of the veil over my face. No longer able to see my face in the mirror, I could almost pretend that this bride was someone else. Anyone but me.

My heart raced as one of the ladies handed me a bouquet with an arrangement of white, pink, and burgundy roses. I imagined that my dress would look like them if I tried to escape again and the men killed me. An image came to mind where patches of blood were blooming upon my white gown. Facing the man at the door, I shivered. It was time.

My feet carried me across the hallways as I followed him. We stopped at the doors that opened to the nave of the church. “Whenever you’re ready, Signorina Ivanov.”

“It’s not as if it matters that I’m ready,” I snapped back. My fingers held the bouquet in a white knuckled grip to keep my hands from trembling. Nothing could make me ready to walk down an aisle to marry Don Luciano Martelli. I had not even an inkling of what awaited me at the altar.

“It doesn’t. If you aren’t ready, fake it. I don’t think I need to explain to you that there will be consequences if you should cause a scene at your own wedding.” Though it was a serious threat, it was more like he was trying to warn me.

“No. You don’t.”

I soon followed his advice by feigning as much confidence as I could. I gave a brief nod to the two burly Italian men standing in front of the grand wooden archway doors. They pulled the doors open, exposing me to the heart of the cathedral. The musicians began playing a soft, classical composition. In response, hundreds of people stood and turned to look at me.

With a deep breath, I took my first step down the aisle. My immediate response to all the attention was to pick out the faces within the church. There were more women and children than I had expected to see. Were they all as unaware as the ladies in my dressing room about Don Martelli’s identity?Among the families, the men who were long standing members for the Sicilian mafia were easy to pinpoint because of their proud and intimidating stances. They wore expensive tailored suits and sat with designer clothed wives.

Several people caught my eye by accident within my first few steps. It was then that I was reminded my veil was not a one-way mirror. I had little protection after my father gave me up, but my veil had quickly become a thin shield to keep out prying eyes. I had been mistaken though, for it was not impenetrable and could not stop others from seeking what was behind it.

My head turned towards the front and I kept my gaze fixated on the altar. Not once did I stray to look at the audience the rest of my way down the aisle. Up at the altar, there were four groomsmen in black tuxes and four bridesmaids wearing long burgundy dresses. It didn’t surprise me that I didn’t recognize any of them. I wouldn’t have known who to select as my bridesmaids even if I had been given the option to.

Within the last couple meters of my journey, my eyes locked with the groom. Everything else disappeared. My first thought was about how handsome he was. It was obvious that he was very fit by the way his black tux hugged his broad, muscular frame. His hair was dark, similar to the majority of men there and his stubble beard traced along a sharp jawline. Most compelling of all his features was his warm hazel eyes. They welcomed me by offering me comfort as much as promising me sin.

Luciano reached out his hand and led me to stand next to him. He gave me a kind smile, which I doubted was genuine. His act could fool the wedding attendees, but I wouldn’t fall for it. He was not my friend.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Katerina. I'm glad to see the dress fits," he whispered in the sexiest Italian accent I had ever heard. I held back an answer because I couldn't say the same. It was not a pleasure to meet him. I was not glad the dress fit: it was quickly becoming suffocating. Marrying him was the last thing I wanted to do.

Luciano accepted my silence as the priest proceeded with the ceremony. The priest’s voice droned on without me hearing a single word he said. My mind couldn’t stop thinking about my hands in Luciano’s. His thumb rubbed across the back of my left hand in an affectionate manner. If it weren’t for the people watching us, I would’ve pulled my hands away.

When it came time to recite the vows, I did everything that was expected of me. I repeated each word after the priest and placed the wedding band on Luciano’s finger, albeit with shaky hands. It was only when the priest asked me if I would take Luciano to be my wedded husband that I froze. He was the first person to ask me if I was willing to do this. I contemplated if I could really go through with this.

In a matter of seconds, I was reminded that I didn’t have much of a choice at all in the matter still. Luciano turned his gentle hold of my hands into a viselike grip. The message was clear. Say I do or there will be punishment.

I forced the next words out of my mouth, “I do.”

“I pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest declared. “You may now kiss the bride!”

With the thought of his mouth on mine, my mouth went dry. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. How many times have I kissed strangers in a bar? More than I cared to admit. I didn’t want to kiss him because I didn’t know when it would stop. If he could impose a marriage on me and coerce me into a kiss, what would keep him from forcing me to do more?

Luciano released my hands to lift the veil from my face. He bit his lip at seeing my face unobscured for the first time.

“This veil doesn’t do you justice. You’re so beautiful.” His sweet words meant nothing to me. They might as well have been full of poison. Regardless, I let him cup my chin and bring me in for the kiss.

His lips were soft as he pressed them against mine. Our kiss lasted for only a few seconds and I mentally scolded myself for wishing it had been longer. His lips shouldn’t have felt so right on mine.

Luciano grabbed my hand once again and led me back down the aisle. Reaching the outside of the church, the weight of the onlookers was lifted off my shoulders. Then it hit me. I didn’t need protection from the audience. They were my protection. Luciano had been kind to me in front of them. Now that we would be riding in the backseat of a limousine alone together, there was no telling what he would say or do to me.