The Belladonna's Bride

The first time I heard the name Marco Belladonna, it was in a police report. I was 19. Volunteering at St. Augustine. Filing papers no one would ever read. The headline said: `Dockworker missing. Belladonna's family questioned. No charges.` The officer said it like it meant nothing. Like "Belladonna" was just another last name. He looked down at his notes and added, "Stay away from the cousin. They call him 'The Killer for a reason. South Naples isn’t safe after dark, when The Butcher isn't there. The Butcher, I have only heard the name, but haven't heard anything about him. I wondered if he was like his cousin. The only thing I was fully aware of was that the Belladonna's are the most powerful Mafia territory in the whole of Italy. I certainly didn't know that five years later, Marco Belladonna would be the reason Adrian needed a wife. And Adrian the reason my dad might live. —---------- The text comes in at 2:18am while cleaning my dad's colostomy bag, when my phone vibrated against the metal table beside me. Unknown Number: Your father's debt is due Tuesday. I can clear it. Name the place. I stared at the message. My fingers went cold. My father's hospital bill was due Tuesday. But nobody outside the hospital knew exactly how desperate things had become. Then another message came. Unknown number: You have no choice but to accept. I almost dropped my phone in the biohazard bin. The smell of antiseptic and waste hit the back of my throat. I had to swallow twice before I could breathe right again. My stomach rolled and I tasted bile. My dad, Anthony Marino has been in St Augustine ICU for 94 days. The bill on the wall says $2,802,690.37. I know the number because i stare at it every night when the nurses change shifts. Memorized every digit. Saying it in my head when I can’t fall asleep at night. 2-8-0-2-6-9-0-3-7. My dad insurance is capped at $1M. They stopped covering the ventilator three weeks ago. The social worker said “We’ll discuss end of life care Tuesday at 9AM” like she was scheduling a haircut. Like my father was an appointment she could cancel. I should block the number. That’s what any person in their right senses would do. 2AM texts from strangers, that are how people get kidnapped in movies. That’s how true crime podcasts start. Instead of blocking the number, my thumb moves on its own. I type, Who is this? Three dots. Then: `Adrian Belladonna. We need to talk, Miss Marino.` Adrian Belladonna The name doesn’t mean anything at first. Just letters on a screen. Then my brain catches up and my stomach drops. My breath caught.. It’s like falling off a bed in your sleep. ADRIAN BELLADONNA. I called out his name like a question. I opened Google and typed his name with shaking fingers. The result came out faster than I could imagine. First result: Adrian Belladonna, 29 years old, heir to the Belladonna Holdings known as The Butcher. Net worth: undisclosed. Second result: Belladonna family linked to 2019 dockworker disappearance. No charges filed. Third result: Marco Belladonna's - “ The killer of South Naples.” Wanted for questioning. I stopped breathing for a moment. Fear gripped me. The Belladonna's. I said staring at the screen of my phone, then my eye landed on The Killer. Marco Belladonna, remembering five when the officer said, “ stay away from the cousin. I found myself scrolling up my phone until it landed on a photo. I stared at the photo, for quite a while, it wasn't Marco's, but Adrian Belladonna tagged The Butcher. His photo was worse than the headline. Black hair. Dark suit. Cold eyes. He looks like the kind of man who doesn’t blink when he lies. The kind who doesn’t need to raise his voice to make you scared. He looks like death in a tailored coat. He looks like a man who owns the room without trying. My phone vibrated again. St. Augustine Chapel. Thirty minutes. Come alone. I stared at the message. The word come alone kept ringing in my head. Why would a man like Adrian Belladonna want to help me? What did he want? And more importantly, how did he even know about me? I never expected people like him to know I exited, I look at my dad. The machines are breathing for him. In. Out. In. Out. The ventilator hiss sounds like a snake in the corner of the room. The doctor said Tuesday like it was just a date on a chart. But for me it’s a deadline. It’s an execution. It’s the day I lose him. Wondering what exactly i could do to raise the money, hot tears runs down my cheeks. 53 hours until they pull the plug. At exactly Sunday 2:20 AM 53 hours. That’s not enough time to figure out how to make $2.8 million appear. There was no way. I couldn't borrow it. I couldn't earn it. I couldn't sell enough things to come close. I stripped off my gloves. Finally decided to meet him. They made a wet sound in the bin. Even with my shaking hands, I grabbed my hoodie. It’s got ketchup on the sleeve from the cafeteria dinner I didn't eat. I was busy counting my father's IV bags instead of eating my meals. —----- The hospital at night is actually kind of quiet. Just the beep of monitors, the smell of bleach, and nurses who look like they haven’t slept in weeks. The hallway lights are too bright and too white. Everywhere looked like a morgue at this hour. My shoes squeak on the floor. The silence was louder than the noise. I told the nurse in charge I was going to get coffee. She didn’t ask questions. She was also tired. She just nodded. —------- The chapel smells like old flowers and antiseptic. The combination was awful. Flowers were supposed to mean hope, but in a hospital they just mean someone had died. I stopped at the entrance. Staring at the figure in front of me. He was already there. Adrian Belladonna sitting alone in the front pew. I finally stepped in after a while. He didn't stand when I entered. He just sat there like he owns the place. Maybe he does. Belladonna Holdings owns half of the hospital in the city. Their name is on the new wing. Their name is on everything. “You're Valeria,” he says without looking at me. His voice was low. Flat. No warmth. It was like reading from a file. Like he had already decided what I am. I gathered some courage and reply. “You're the guy texting me at 2AM about my dying father.” My throat dried at the spot. I shouldn't be scared, I told myself I’m too tired to be scared. Fear takes energy and I don’t have any left. I’m running on empty. “I'm the only one who can stop him from dying.” He said, looking up to me. I froze from his gaze. His eyes were colder than they had been in the photograph. My hands started shaking. I quickly shove them into my hoodie pocket so he wouldn't be able to see it, then gathered the mind to ask. “What do you want?” He didn't hesitate. “You.” A nervous laugh escaped me. It echoed through the empty chapel. Wondering what kind of a person he is “What could you possibly want from me?” “I don't have money.” “Do you think i want your money.” He stood. He was taller than I'd expected. The chapel seemed to make him larger somehow, like a shadow that had learned how to wear a suit. “I want a wife.” My laughter disappeared. I stared at him shocked. The words made no sense. Not at two-thirty two in the morning. Not in a hospital chapel. It doesn’t make sense in any time or place. And it's coming from a man like Adrian Belladonna. “I'm sorry. What? “Marry me.” My mouth went dry. “For two years,” he continued. “Your father's debt disappears tonight. His medical care will be covered for six months.” I stared at him. “You are insane.” “I'm efficient.” He took a step closer. His cologne reached me—sharp, expensive and cold. It didn't belong in a hospital. It belonged in a boardroom. “Tuesday. Nine a.m.” His eyes remained fixed on mine. “They turn your father's machine off.” My knees weakened. He continued calmly. “I'm the only person who can stop it.” “How do you know that?” “Because I paid for his last MRI.” My hand gripped the back of the pew. The wood dug into my palm. “Why?” Adrian studied me. He barely blinked. “You missed three tuition payments and still showed up for clinical.” My blood ran cold. “You cried here on March fourteenth at 2:04 a.m.,” he continued. “But you went back to work at six.” I couldn't speak. “You've been desperate for a long time, Valeria.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folder. “But you're not broken yet.” I stared at the folder. “You had me followed.” “I had you evaluated.” He placed the folder on the pew between us. “This is my offer.” I didn't touch it. “You have forty-eight hours.” “And if I say no?” Adrian's expression didn't change. “Then I'll walk out of here.” He paused. “And you'll tell your father goodbye on Tuesday.” My heart stopped. “Is that a threat?” He took several slow steps toward me. He stopped close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath. His voice dropped to a whisper. “No.” His eyes held mine. “It's a fact.” He stepped away. Then he placed the folder on the pew and walked out without looking back. The chapel doors closed behind him. The sound echoed through the empty room. It sounded final. I waited until his footsteps disappeared down the hallway. Then I reached for the folder. My fingers were cold. It wasn't a letter. It was a contract. My name was already typed at the top. VALERIA MARINO MARRIAGE CONTRACT BELLADONNA — MARINO I swallowed and continued reading. Term: Two years from the date of signing. No early termination. Compensation: full payment of ANTHONY MARINO'S medical debt, and ongoing care will be effective immediately upon signing. Six months ICU guaranteed. Residence: The wife will reside at the Belladonna Estate for the full duration of the agreement. No overnight absence without prior permission. Fidelity: Wife shall not engage in any romantic or s****l relationship outside the marriage. Violation = Forfeiture of clause 2. I read it once. Then twice. Then a third time. My hands trembled. This wasn't help. It was a cage disguised as a contract. I thought about running. I thought about throwing the papers into the nearest trash can. I thought about finding another way. But then I remembered my father's hand in mine. Cold. Still. I remembered the machines beside his bed. And I remembered Tuesday. Fifty-three hours. That was all I had. I folded the contract and slipped it into my pocket. My heart felt heavier than it had when I walked into the chapel. I didn't know what frightened me more. The possibility of marrying Adrian Belladonna... Or the possibility of saying no.