MAFIA’S WRONG BRIDE

Chapter3 the meeting

CHAPTER 3: The Meeting

Annie’s Place was the kind of café I’d walk past and never thought about entering. Exposed brick walls. Those fancy light bulbs that hang from the ceiling on wires. A chalkboard menu with prices that made my stomach hurt. Twelve dollars for avocado toast. Fourteen for a salad.

I got there at 1:55 wearing the only professional-looking thing I owned—a black dress from Target that I’d bought three years ago for job interviews. I’d ironed it this morning in the bathroom at the hospital. Put on makeup for the first time in weeks, though I’d mostly forgotten how and probably looked insane.

I felt like a kid playing dress-up in her mom’s clothes.

Mariana was already there. Corner table by the window. I spotted her before I even walked in and my stomach dropped.

She looked exactly like me.

And nothing like me.

Same face, same dark brown hair, same eyes. But her hair was shiny and professionally styled, not thrown up in a messy bun because I’d been too tired to shower. She wore this cream-colored dress that probably cost more than my monthly rent. Real jewelry—not the fake silver stuff from Claire’s. Makeup that looked like it was done by someone who actually knew what they were doing.

We were identical twins.

But looking at her was like looking at some alternate universe version of myself. The version where Dad had chosen me instead.

I pushed open the door. A little bell chimed. Mariana looked up and her whole face did this complicated thing. Relief and guilt and something else I couldn’t read.

“You came.” She started to stand. For half a second I thought she might try to hug me.

She didn’t.

We just sat down across from each other. Two strangers with the same face.

“You look good,” she said.

“You look expensive.”

It came out meaner than I meant, but whatever. She flinched anyway.

“I probably deserved that.”

“You deserve a lot more than that.” I kept my voice low. The people at the next table looked like they’d love to eavesdrop. “Seven years, Mariana. Not a single phone call. Not a text. Not even a birthday card from the fancy stationery store I’m sure you shop at.”

“I know.”

“Mom used to ask about you all the time. First year, maybe two years after we left. ‘Have you heard from your sister? Do you think she’s doing okay? Should I call her?’ And I had to keep saying I didn’t know. That you’d moved on with Dad and that was that.”

“I didn’t move on—”

“Didn’t you though?” I leaned forward. “You got the penthouse in Manhattan. The trust fund. Private school. College paid for. Everything. While Mom and I lived in a shitty apartment four hours away with heat that barely worked and a bathroom that flooded every time it rained hard.”

“That wasn’t my fault—”

“But you didn’t exactly fight it, did you? Didn’t exactly call and check in. Didn’t exactly give a shit.”

She looked down at her hands. Perfect manicure. Of course.

“No,” she said quietly. “I didn’t. You’re right. I should’ve called. Should’ve been there. I’m really sorry.”

The apology just sat there between us on the table. I wanted to pick it up and throw it back at her. Tell her it was ten years too late. Get up and walk out and never look back.

But I thought about Mom. About the surgery. About two hundred thousand dollars.

I stayed.

“What do you want from me?” I asked.

She took a breath. Glanced around like she was checking for spies or something. Then leaned in close, voice dropping to barely a whisper.

“I need you to take my place at a wedding.”

I blinked. “What?”

“My wedding. I need you to… to marry someone. Instead of me.”

For a second I thought I’d heard wrong. Then I thought it was a joke. Some weird test or prank. Then I looked at her face and realized she was completely, one hundred percent serious.

“Are you out of your f*****g mind?”

“Please, just hear me out—”

“No.” I started to stand up. “I don’t know what kind of messed up game this is, but I’m not—”

“It’s not a game!” Her hand shot across the table, grabbing my wrist. Hard. Almost desperate. “Please. Just give me five minutes. Five minutes to explain, and then if you want to leave, you can leave. I’ll never contact you again. I swear.”

I should’ve walked out right then. Should’ve gone back to the hospital and pretended this conversation never happened. Blocked her number. Moved on with my life.

But there was something in her eyes I hadn’t seen in ten years.

Real fear.

Not the “I failed a test” kind or the “Dad’s mad at me” kind. The real kind. The kind from when we were kids and she got separated from Mom at the grocery store and thought she’d never see her again.

Fuck.

I sat back down.

“Five minutes,” I said. “That’s it.”

She nodded fast, letting go of my wrist. Her hands were shaking.

“Dad set up an arranged marriage for me,” she said, words coming out quick and low. “With this family he does business with. The Morettis.”

The name didn’t mean anything to me.

“They’re not regular people.” She glanced around again. “They’re involved in… things. Illegal things. Organized crime. The son I’m supposed to marry—Adrian—everyone says he’s killed people. Multiple people. He’s being trained to take over the whole operation when his father retires.”

Ice water in my veins.

“And Dad wants you to marry him.”

“Everything’s already arranged. Contract signed. Wedding planned. Three weeks from now.” She was talking faster now, like if she didn’t get it all out she’d lose her nerve. “I can’t do it, Elena. I can’t marry someone like that. I can’t live in that world. I’ll die. I know I will.”

I stared at her. At this person who shared my DNA but lived in a completely different universe. A universe where fathers still arranged marriages like it was the 1800s. Where people married criminals for business deals.

“Then run,” I said. “Leave. Get on a plane. Change your name. Disappear.”

“I can’t. The contract—if I break it, there are consequences. For Dad’s business. For people who work for him. People could get hurt. Badly.”

“So let them. Not your problem.”

“But it is. And you—” She looked at me, really looked at me. “We’re identical. Adrian’s only met me a handful of times. Awkward dinners Dad set up. He barely even looked at me, just sat there on his phone half the time. He won’t know the difference. Nobody will.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Could not process it.

“You want me to marry a mobster,” I said slowly. “A literal murderer,A mafia’s heir. Because you’re too scared to do it yourself.”

“Yes.” No hesitation. Just pure desperation. “I know it’s insane. I know I have no right to ask this after everything, after all these years of nothing. But I’m asking anyway. I’m begging.”

“What about my life?” My voice shook. “What about what I want? My future? Did that even cross your mind for half a second?”

“I’ll pay you.” She said it fast. “Not just Mom’s surgery. Way more. Five million dollars.”

The number hit me like a truck.

“What?”

“Five million. One million transferred immediately. The rest after a year, or whenever you can get out safely. Divorce him. Annulment. Whatever you need to do.” She pulled out her phone with shaking hands, swiping through photos. “This is him.”

The guy on the screen was… beautiful, honestly. Dark hair, strong features, eyes that looked like they could see through walls. Through people.

And cold. So incredibly cold.

“He looks dangerous,” I whispered.

“Because he is dangerous.” She zoomed in on another photo. Him in a suit at some fancy event. “But the marriage is just political. Business. You stay out of his way, show up at family events, play the good wife. Eventually he’ll probably forget you even exist. These arranged marriages—they’re not about love. They’re about power and alliances.”

I stared at the photos. At this complete stranger my sister wanted me to marry. This man who’d apparently killed people.

“I can’t,” I said. “I can’t do this.”

“Elena, please—”

“I can’t.” I stood up, chair scraping loud against the floor. “This is completely insane. You’re asking me to destroy my entire life because you’re too selfish to deal with the consequences of yours.”

“You’re absolutely right.” Her voice stopped me. “I am selfish. I’ve been selfish our whole lives. I got everything and you got nothing, and I never once said thank you. Never called to see how you were doing. Never asked about Mom. I just took everything Dad gave me and pretended you didn’t exist because it was easier.”

She looked up at me, and she was crying. Actually crying, tears running down her face and ruining that perfect makeup.

“But I’m begging you right now. Not as your sister. Not as family. As someone who’s absolutely terrified and has nowhere else to turn. Please. Save me.”

I stood there frozen.

And I thought about Mom. About the surgery she needed. The treatment that could give her more time. About dropping out of college because we couldn’t afford both tuition and rent. About every job application that came back with “we regret to inform you.” About the life I’d been barely scraping together from nothing.

About how Mariana got everything handed to her.

And I got this: an impossible choice in a café I couldn’t even afford.

“I need time,” I heard myself say. “To think about it.”

“The wedding is in three weeks—”

“I said I need time.”

I walked out into the afternoon sun. Into the normal sounds of traffic and people living their regular lives. Lives that didn’t involve marrying criminals.

And I already knew what I was going to say.

Because that’s what people like me do. We sacrifice everything. We save everyone else.

Even when it kills us.

I called her at midnight. After sitting with Mom for hours. After watching her sleep and thinking about three to six months.

“I’ll do it,” I said when she picked up.

Dead silence.

Then: “Oh my God. Elena, thank you so much, I can’t even—”

“Don’t.” My voice was flat. Empty. “Don’t thank me. Just wire the money for Mom’s surgery like you promised. And tell me where to meet you.”

She gave me an address in New York. Tomorrow morning. Early.

To start learning how to stop being Elena Castellano.

And become Mariana instead.