Mafia's Regret-Ruin His Wrong Bride

Chapter six

Having me dance with my father and being touched by him when the beatings he gave me are still fresh in my body is a step too far in Andrew's plan, in my opinion. He had the ability to stop this from happening.

The question "How?" keeps popping up in my head, but I choose to ignore it.

Even if Andrew does not intentionally cause me physical damage, he does not care about my suffering. To him, I am nothing more than a tool, a method to accomplish the goals he has set for himself. I am his wife not because he desires me as much as I desire him, but rather so that he may continue to feel proud of himself.

I was not the one he picked.

"Smile," the command comes from my father. "The guests are taking it all in."

I disregard his instruction and cast my look over his shoulder instead. I am not going to flinch, no matter how much pain it creates in my ribs, because he is tightening his hold on me. I choose not to look at him at all. I do not compel myself to grin.

My father asks me with a hissing voice, "Do you think Andrew will thank you for humiliating him like this?"

My sister, who is 20 years old, was pressured into becoming engaged to a man who is 36 years old only for the purpose of bolstering my father's standing. I choose to remain silent while maintaining my own narrative for the present day, which states that my father is a horrific individual. Despite the fact that I was twenty-four years old and well over the age at which mafia girls typically get married, my father never even entertained the possibility that I may become our Don's bride.

Not for the sake of Serena and most definitely not for my own sake either.

He utters the words in a whisper so that no one but me can hear him. He appears to be speaking to me in a fatherly manner. "Just like your own mother, you are a dumb lady for refusing to comply with directions. At the absolute least, you should make an effort to live up to the standards that have been established for you.

Something within of me is shattered by his words. In an effort to live up to the standards set by my father, my mother had completely transformed herself into a person who was unrecognisable by the time he took her life.

After taking a few steps back, I am finally able to meet his stare. I don't try to hide the hatred that's raging inside of me from him.

He keeps up his phoney smile, but the look in his eyes is nothing but malicious.

I affirm, "In many ways, I am just like my mother." "Much too wonderful for a reprehensible monster such as yourself."

When he tightens his hold on my hand, despite the fact that I know it will result in bruises, I no longer care. I won't allow him to see how much it hurts me.

You have resorted to bringing harm to women, even though you are aware that they are superior to you and have a higher intelligence level. We also have greater strength. You would not have been able to make it through the struggles that you caused your mother to go through. These words are making no sense to me, and I have no idea where they came from. In all of our previous interactions, I have never addressed my father in such a manner. Having said that, I am not yet done. You are the one who is lacking in strength, not me.

His hold on my hand becomes even firmer, which causes the bones in my hand to grate against one another. I do not react in any way. I don't let out any cries. I continue to keep my head held high and my stare set upon his while subtly challenging him with my eyes. I won't give in to pressure. The singing comes to an end at last.

As soon as everything is over, Tony will come to my rescue and save me from my father. It is now "my turn."

My father feels compelled to let me go, and he does so with a sarcastic little bow directed towards me. He does this the entire time without allowing his fake smile to ever leave his face.

My hand is starting to hurt, and the discomfort in my ribcage is growing more intense. The analgesics are no longer as effective as they were earlier. There is only the feeling of sickness remaining.

I do not wait for Tony to accept my hand; rather, I lay both of my hands on his chest, just like I did with Andrew. This action is quite similar to what I did with Andrew. It seems as though he is uncertain about where to place his own hands.

After a few seconds, he places them on my shoulders, and then he leads us in a slow dance to the rhythm of another well-known classic.

The music playlist of my sister. If only she were here to share in the celebration while also helping Papa and the rest of us, she would be perfect.

Even though I try not to cry, it is all I can do to hold back the tears that are welling up inside of me. My patience has been tested to its absolute breaking point.

Only a few hours ago, I thought there was a possibility that this marriage would work out. I was under the impression that it wouldn't be so terrible. In order to keep a relationship with my aunt and uncle and to protect my sister, I decided that it was more important to forego my plans to escape and instead focus on protecting my sister.

to be in the company of Andrew.

"Are you feeling okay?" Tony inquires in a tone that betrays his worry about the situation. "It seemed as though you were not having fun at the father-daughter dance you were attending."

"No, I didn't." My attention drifts to my hand, which is currently resting against my sister's husband's chest.

It has become red and has already begun to swell. It is unclear to me how I am supposed to keep it a secret for the remainder of the reception; nevertheless, I am aware that if I do not, I will be held responsible for it.

"After what he put you through this morning, I can only imagine how difficult it must have been to dance with him. You are a strong lady, Sabrina ; in fact, I had no idea that you were quite so strong until recently. His manner conveys a sense of admiration.

I could care less. Not something I would have chosen to do with my dad, yet here I am. The force that he refers to as coming from necessity was actually developed by him.

In order for me to have survived living under his roof for the past twenty-four years, I had to develop a strong will. I will not lie to anybody in the De Paul's family about the facts of my life, but I will not keep this information hidden from anyone else.

They have officially become a part of my family.

"Did it really turn out to be that terrible?" Tony has a question.

When his dark eyes meet mine, I can practically feel the wrath intensify and turn his eyes into pools of inky blackness. There is a storm developing within his eyes as we make eye contact.

He inquires in a tone that betrays a mix of compassion and rage, saying, "He did that to you while you danced?"

As I nod my head, the reality of the situation presses heavily on my shoulders, causing my heart to race. "Yes," I reaffirm, my voice exhibiting a trace of shaking. I want to find consolation and comfort in his presence, so I rest my palm gently against his chest and slowly pull it back. My remarks continued with a sense of urgency as I said, "I'll need to ice it," before the swelling became too evident to hide.