Into the thick of it

"You marry him because I said so," Carlisle Russo snapped at his daughter as they sat in the backseat of the limo on the way to the church. Breanne shifted in her seat, wishing there weren't 20 yards of tulle and satin and silk draped around her whole person. She glared down at those miles of fabric that hugged her figure, annoyed about the whole ordeal. "You couldn't have arranged a meeting prior to the wedding day?" She couldn't take the irritation and snark out of her voice even if she tried. There was no love in her heart for the man that made her roll out of bed at 8 am to the sunny smile of make-up and hairdressers that she had no idea where coming. His hand connected with her cheek, the sound echoing in the back of the slow moving car. "Just shut your damn mouth! Your only job is to be an asset to me, and that's what you are doing today! Allowing me to use my asset as I see fit." Silent seconds ticked by, the tension in the air nearly crackling. Carlisle lurched forward, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the mini-fridge. He didn't bother with a glass, just took a slug straight from the finely cut glass bottle. Bre mentally cataloged the cost. It was at least $50 a slug and he was going to leave the bill for her "new husband". Then, the jerk started mumbling about her while she sat right there. "-stupid brat! No idea how good you have it!" Bre sank back into her seat, hoping that the lacy and silk would do her the honor of swallowing her up. Her face throbbed in time with her heartbeat, and she was willing to bet it would be insanely hot if she were dumb enough to put her hand on her cheek. Except, she wouldn't touch it because Carlisle would hit her again. It wasn't the first time her father had hit her, but it would hopefully be the very last. And, if she was lucky, but she didn't count on it, she might get a husband that never hit her again! The driver pulled in a t the back of the church so that they could get out without Bre being seen. The ivory silk, satin, and tulle creation that had been created for her in Paris was a well-kept secret from everyone. Her father had told that when he proudly presented it to her. Just like what he did with the engagement. Carlisle was a master at keeping secrets. Sliding out of the limo she ignored her father's extended hand and gathered up the volume of the skirts in her hands. Her face still hurt, and her father's eyes were still murderous, so there would be no 'stepping out of line' before she muttered the phrase "I do." She followed Bruce, Carlisle's second in command, back to one of the sequestered, quiet rooms in the back of the church. No one in her wedding party spoke, but she could hear the groom, or the groomsmen, partying it up in the room next to hers. At least someone was happy she had been forced into the farce of a marriage. Carlisle turned to face her before he slammed the door shut and locked her in. "The ceremony will begin at two pm, without question. Make sure you are waiting, ready, and have made peace with this future, because you never had a say in this to begin with," he snarled at her before slamming and locking the portal. Bre drew in a deep shuttering breath, trying to keep from falling apart. The day that was supposed to be the happiest, and the beginning of her freedom was quickly becoming the thing nightmares were made of. She threw a glance at the clock on the wall, next to the painting of Jesus praying. One thirty-three, twenty-seven minutes left to figure out how to wrestle control of her life back in order to avoid the future that Carlisle had picked out for her, to benefit himself. Huffing, she sat in one of the armchairs, uncaring if the stupid dress or veil wrinkled. If he had of asked her she would have told him she hated frills and fuss anyway! It was one fifty-three when she heard the first scream. Then came the first gunshot. Bre didn't even bother looking. Carlisle had made a mess and people were going to die. She ripped the veil out of her hair and tossed her shoes off to the side. If she was a betting person, she was willing to bet that she was about to have to run for her very life. Carlisle was a "Family Man". Or that was what he had always told her when she would ask what he did for work, at least, until she started catching on. She wasn't naive or as dumb as he wanted her to be. He was involved in the Mafia and while she didn't know or care, what capacity he was involved in, she had become an asset to him, rather than a daughter. Gunfire meant that the Family wasn't happy, and since it was her wedding, she was at the center of it. She had to move fast! For two precious seconds she tried to rip off the train of her gown, but of course luck wouldn't allow it! Frustrated, but determined her wedding date wouldn't be her death date, Bre threw open the window. It was luckily a ground floor room, facing the back of the church, only a few feet up off of the ground. She threw her leg over the sill, just as the damn door flew open. Bullets flew all around her, echoing throughout the church. The thugs that rushed her hadn't exactly been prepared for her to jump out the window, so they drew their guns slower than normal. Hitting the ground seven feet below her, Bre rolled to her feet and caught up the stupid wedding gown. Then, she started running through the city, because her existence depended on it.