Mafia's Regret-Ruin His Wrong Bride

Chapter eight

ANDREW

The assertion that my future wife has made, which is that her father is to blame for the death of her mother, is much more surprising than when she recounted Diego's abusive behaviour towards his wife and daughter.

It is beyond my comprehension how my dad could have missed seeing the sign.

Even though we did not see his daughters very often, Vivian Alex had joined her husband at the meals that we hosted in our home on multiple occasions. My parents and the Alexs went to many of the same parties and other social events together.

My parents would have undoubtedly become aware of the situation if Diego had been putting Vivian in danger.

The reason Sabrina makes this remark is because she harbours hatred towards her father for the way he treats her. In attempt to make sense of the situation and come to terms with her own guilt, she has manufactured a scapegoat in the guise of her father and placed the blame on him.

When my wife was ten years old, she was sprinting through the home when she ran into her mother and accidently tripped her mother on the stairs. Both of them took a tumble, which ultimately led to Vivian’s demise from a fractured neck. Sabrina ended up breaking her leg and spending several weeks in the hospital as a result of the accident.

Diego was utterly crushed by the loss, and despite his best efforts, he couldn't stop blaming the disaster on his daughter even though he knew she wasn't at fault.

Despite the fact that other families expressed interest, my father claimed that this was the reason he never pursued potential marriages for Sabrina. He believed that this was the reason. Due to the fact that she was the daughter of a consigliere, she had very promising possibilities.

I undo a few of the bobby pins that are holding Sabrina's caramel curls in place, which results in the curls falling out of their positions and giving her a little dishevelled look. Her lips have become puffy as a result of our kisses, and a visible blush can be seen radiating from the top of her curves all the way down to her neck.

She looks just the way I saw her in my head. akin to a bride who has just gotten married and has been passionately making out with her new husband.

I tell myself, "It's time to go," as I get to my feet and start walking towards the exit.

She makes a sound of disbelief as she speaks. "Aren't you going to ask me about it?" I ask her. "I am aware of what happened," I tell her. "Aren't you going to ask me about it?" I do not wish to engage in this conversation. I do not want to be the one who forces her to face the fact that she was partly responsible for the passing of her mother.

She had only just become a child. It appears to have been a mistake.

"Is that so? Because he told you? Why do you ask? Her tone of voice turns resentful as she brings up the subject of him.

What exactly does she want me to respond with? "I saw first hand how devastated your father was by Vivian 's passing," the witness said.

"When you say he appeared joyful while dancing with you tonight, do you mean something like that? We are both aware that the statement was untrue; otherwise, I wouldn't be in this position.

She shows off her hand, which despite the application of ice is still crimson and swollen.

The idea of having the doctor visit to our house is no longer appealing to me. Instead, I will be taking Sabrina to the exclusive hospital that we have. I want an X-ray taken of her hand as well as her ribs.

"At this time, we simply do not have the capacity for further discussion."

Because Sabrina does not respond, I am left feeling uneasy about the situation

The moment that we were finally able to enter the main ballroom, there was a discernible shift in her body language. It's impossible for me not to follow her look below, and when I do, I'm taken aback to discover that she's smiling. It's a smile that gives off a blend of excitement and bashfulness, as if she were a blushing bride who was being swept away on her wedding night by a doting spouse whom she loved with all of her heart.

In the midst of the noisy celebrations, my personal security team, who have been working hard to ensure both our safety and the protection of those around us during the course of the event, begins to disperse from their positions in the ballroom. Two of them take the initiative and lead us in the direction of the doors that will take us into the main part of the hotel.

We avoid the lifts and the main path by going around them in order to take a more covert path, as directed by the leaders of our respective teams. We leave through a side entrance, and as soon as we do, our eyes are drawn to something that catches our notice right away. Our arrival will be greeted by a queue of four high-end automobiles that are immaculately lined up and ready to carry us away.

The existence of these vehicles lends an aura of intrigue and excitement to our journey through the wilderness. It is almost as if we are going on a covert operation, and each automobile that we pass represents a new stage on the remarkable journey that we are about to go on. Our group's excitement levels continue to rise as we look forward with bated breath to seeing what lies beyond the impressive front of the hotel.

I move Sabrina carefully into the protection of the SUV, making sure to position her on the opposite side so that I can easily join her inside. I do this while maintaining a sense of awareness and caution. I am concerned for her safety, so I lean over her and grab for the seatbelt. I bring it closer to me and make sure it is properly fastened in place before returning to my position.

I was overcome with a sense of urgency, so I broke the stillness by giving the driver instructions to make a route adjustment. My house, which was the place I had initially planned on going to, now appears to be of little consequence in comparison to the urgent situation at hand. As the seriousness of the issue becomes more apparent, the text message I sent earlier giving my instructions seems like a faint memory at this point.

I make my request to the driver in a tone that is both commanding and empathetic, and I ask that we be sent to the hospital instead. My speech has taken on an urgent tone because of the profound concern I feel for her health. As the automobile makes a turn, the air between us becomes saturated with feelings that include both worry and optimism. While we both remain silently contemplative of the unknowable that lies ahead, the anticipation of what is waiting for us in the hospital hovers heavily in the air.

She doesn't respond to that, as if it has no bearing on the conversation at all. We have been travelling in quiet for around five minutes when she finally asks, "Do you have individuals searching for Serena?"

"I do."

I wonder, "Will they locate her before my father's associates?"

"Francesco was unable to give his soldiers the instruction to search because he was prevented from doing so. Since he entered the church, his mobile phone was taken away from him, and he has been subjected to round-the-clock monitoring.

"Oh. It is a terrible thing that his bodyguard was unable to stop him from hurting me.

My chest is becoming increasingly congested with an odd feeling. Are you to blame?

I don't have any feelings of guilt. There is no regret. Absolutely none. These are feelings that a don is not permitted to let himself experience under any circumstances.

Sabrina says, "I am concerned about her," expressing her feelings about her friend.

I can only feel glad that I did not wind up marrying a woman who obviously did not meet the requirements to be a don's wife. "While it is evident that she does not share the same level of concern for you,"Serena is not very good at taking the big picture into consideration."

I will not respond to your question.

"Have you ever pondered the reason behind my father's decision to not make use of the mafia hospital for either my mother or myself?" After another pause, Sabrina inquires about the situation.

"Vivian did not go to the hospital on that day."However, she visited there on multiple more occasions. Once, while suffering from a broken arm. When I was younger, I had a shattered cheekbone. Another time, she had a baby that was going to be born two years after my sister, but she ended up losing the pregnancy. It was a young male. My grandfather was responsible for the death of his own potential heir, which prevented my brother from ever being born.

I burst out in shock at her assertions, exclaiming that my mother would have informed my father if something like that had taken place.

Would he do that? You were not aware that my wrist suffered a spiral fracture two years ago, and that it was my father who took me to the hospital for treatment. He was unaware of the incident in which my father fractured several of my ribs when I was thirteen.

Her remarks expose a void that I have deep within myself. If what she says is accurate, Diego was a serial abuser, but neither my father nor I were aware of this fact during our time growing up.

She continues to avoid making eye contact as she asks, "You do not believe me?" It is simple to validate the information contained in the medical records.

It is true what she says. They would be easier to access at our private hospital that is approved by the mafia, but we can collect the essential information from other hospitals in Chicago as well.

"What on earth happened to your mother?" I am inquiring because I am no longer sure about the answer.