THE WEDDING NIGHT
3602 Words
MARIA
I wake up in Brian Valente’s bed.
My husband’s bed.
Holy s**t. I’m married.
Sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows. The sheets are Egyptian cotton, probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Brian’s side of the bed is empty but still warm. I can hear the shower running.
I sit up. Everything hurts. My throat from Vincent’s hands. My body from Brian’s. My head from the absolute insanity of the last twenty-four hours.
I’m married to a mobster. Moved into his penthouse. Had s*x with him three times last night.
And I’m still wearing his t-shirt.
The shower turns off. A minute later, Brian emerges. Towel around his waist. Water dripping down his chest. He sees me awake and smiles.
“Morning, Mrs. Valente.”
That name. It sounds wrong. Like wearing someone else’s skin.
“Don’t call me that,” I say.
“It’s your name now.”
“Only legally.”
He crosses to the bed. Sits on the edge. “How do you feel?”
“Like I made a huge mistake.”
“Ouch.”
“I’m serious, Brian. What the f**k did we do?”
“We got married. We had s*x. We’re starting a life together.” He brushes hair from my face. “Pretty standard sequence of events.”
“None of this is standard.”
“True.” He leans down. Kisses me. Soft. “But it’s done. No going back now.”
“We could get it annulled.”
“Could.” He stands. Drops the towel. I look away. He laughs. “Little late for modesty, don’t you think? I was inside you three hours ago.”
My face burns. “That’s different.”
“How?”
“It just is.”
He gets dressed. Slacks. Button-down. No tie. Casual but expensive. Every movement confident. Like he owns the world.
Maybe he does.
“We have to be at the family dinner by six,” he says. “That gives us eight hours to prepare.”
“Prepare how?”
“Story straight. Background. How we met. When we decided to get married. Why we didn’t tell anyone.” He’s at his closet now, pulling out a garment bag. “I had this delivered this morning. For you.”
I take the bag. Open it. Inside is a dress. Black. Designer. Probably costs more than a semester’s tuition.
“I can’t wear this.”
“You have to. Vincent will be looking for any sign of weakness. Any proof you don’t belong. This dress—” He touches the fabric. “This says you’re a Valente now. You’re untouchable.”
“I don’t want to be a Valente.”
“Too late.” He kisses my forehead. “Get dressed. I’ll make breakfast.”
He leaves me standing there. Holding a dress that costs more than I make in a year. Looking around a bedroom that’s bigger than my entire apartment.
This is my life now.
I shower. The water pressure is incredible. Multiple jets. Heated floors. I could stay here all day.
But I can’t hide forever.
I get dressed. The dress fits perfectly. He must have guessed my size. It’s elegant. Sophisticated. Makes me look older. Dangerous.
Makes me look like I belong in his world.
I hate it.
And I love it.
In the kitchen, Brian’s making eggs. French toast. Coffee. Acting domestic. It’s surreal.
“You cook?” I ask.
“Don’t sound so surprised. I lived alone for three years before you. Had to learn or starve.”
I sit at the counter. Watch him work. He’s good at this. Efficient. Confident.
He’s good at everything. That’s the problem.
“So,” I say. “The story. How’d we meet?”
“Truth’s easier than lies. We met at my club. You were with friends. I asked you out. We dated for three months.”
“And the marriage?”
“Impulse. Vegas wedding. We were drunk and stupid and in love.” He plates the food. Sets it in front of me. “Romantic.”
“Believable?”
“Barely. But Vincent will buy it because he wants to. Wants to believe I’m distracted. Weak. That you’re just some girl.”
“I am just some girl.”
“No.” He sits across from me. “You’re my wife. That makes you untouchable. No one will hurt you without going through me first.”
“Even Vincent?”
“Especially Vincent.”
We eat in silence. The food’s good. I’m starving. Haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.
“What about after dinner?” I ask. “What’s the plan?”
“We smile. We play the happy newlyweds. We let Vincent think he’s won.” Brian leans forward. “And then, when he’s comfortable, when he stops watching—that’s when we strike.”
“How?”
“Evidence. Paper trails. Witnesses. I’ve been building a case for months. Sarah’s murder. The federal witness. Everything. I just need proof that connects it directly to Vincent.”
“And you think you’ll find it?”
“I know I will.” His eyes are dark. Determined. “Because Vincent’s arrogant. He doesn’t think anyone can touch him. And arrogant men make mistakes.”
“And when we have proof?”
“We give it to the FBI. Let them handle the prosecution. Vincent goes to prison. Life sentence, if we’re lucky.”
“What about your father? The rest of the family?”
“They’ll survive. The business will continue. Just without Vincent.” He reaches across the table. Takes my hand. “This is the only way, Maria. I know it’s not what you wanted. You wanted him dead. So do I. But if we kill him, we go down too. This way, justice is served and we get to walk away.”
I think about Sarah. About how she died. About two years of grief and rage and planning.
“Okay,” I say. “We do it your way.”
“Thank you.”
“But if the FBI f***s this up, if Vincent walks—”
“He won’t. I promise.”
We finish breakfast. I help clean up. It’s almost normal. Almost like we’re a real couple.
The rest of the day blurs. Brian works in his study. I try to read for class but can’t focus. Keep thinking about tonight. About Vincent. About what happens if this all goes wrong.
At four, Brian emerges.
“Time to get ready.”
I change. He changes. We look like we stepped out of a magazine. Power couple. New York elite.
It’s all a lie.
In the car, Brian briefs me. “My father’s name is Antonio. He’s old-school. Doesn’t say much. Vincent runs most operations now.”
“Will he be angry? About the marriage?”
“Probably. But he’ll hide it. Family image is everything.”
“And your grandmother?”
Brian’s expression softens. “Nonna will love you. She’s been begging me to get married for years.”
“Even to someone like me?”
“Especially to someone like you. She hates the mob life. Always has. Wanted me to go legitimate.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I’m a Valente. This is what we do.” He takes my hand. “But maybe, after this is over, I can be something else. We can be something else.”
The mansion is massive. Long Island. Gated property. Armed guards. This is where Brian grew up. Where his mother was killed. Where Vincent learned to be a monster.
We pull up to the front. Marco’s waiting.
“Boss. Ma’am.” He opens my door. “Everyone’s inside. Your father’s asking questions.”
“Let him ask.” Brian helps me out of the car. “Ready?”
No. Not even close.
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s do this.”
We walk inside. The house is exactly what I expected. Expensive. Cold. Beautiful and soulless.
Voices from the dining room. We head that way.
The family’s gathered. Antonio at the head of the table. Vincent beside him. Several other men I don’t recognize. And at the far end, an elderly woman in a wheelchair.
Nonna.
Everyone stops talking when we enter.
“Brian.” Antonio’s voice is deep. Accented. “You’re late.”
“We’re right on time, actually.” Brian’s hand is on my lower back. Possessive. “I’d like to introduce my wife. Maria Valente.”
Silence.
Vincent’s smiling. That dead-eyed smile that makes my skin crawl.
“Wife?” Antonio stands. “You married without permission?”
“I married the woman I love. I don’t need permission for that.”
“You need permission for everything. You are a Valente. We decide together.”
“Well, it’s done. Maria, this is my father, Antonio.” He gestures to the old woman. “And my grandmother, Lucia.”
Nonna’s studying me. Sharp eyes. Taking in everything.
“Come here, child,” she says.
I walk over. Kneel beside her wheelchair. She takes my face in both hands.
“You’re beautiful,” she says. “Too beautiful for my grandson. What are you doing with him?”
I laugh. Can’t help it. “I ask myself that every day.”
“Smart girl.” She releases me. Looks at Brian. “You married her yesterday. City hall. No family. Why?”
“Because we wanted to. Because we love each other. Because—”
“Because you needed to access the trust fund.” She’s not asking. She’s stating fact. “You think I’m stupid, Brian? You think I don’t know my own terms? Married by twenty-six or you get nothing.”
Brian’s jaw tightens. “Nonna—”
“Don’t lie to me. Not today.” She wheels closer to him. “But I don’t care. The terms are met. You’re married. You’ll have the money by Monday.” She looks at me. “But you, girl. You’re marrying into this family. Into this life. Are you prepared for that?”
“Yes,” I say. Because what else can I say?
“Good. Then welcome. You’re family now.” She raises her wine glass. “To Brian and Maria. May they find happiness in this den of vipers.”
Everyone drinks. Except Vincent. He’s watching me. Calculating. Planning.
Brian pulls out my chair. I sit. He sits beside me. Dinner is served.
The meal is tense. Conversation flows around me. Business talk. Territory disputes. Things I shouldn’t hear.
But I listen. Memorize names. Connections. Everything.
Halfway through, Vincent leans across the table.
“So, Maria,” he says. “Brian tells me you’re pre-med. NYU. That’s impressive.”
“Thank you.”
“What made you choose medicine?”
Careful. Careful.
“My sister. She was a nurse. I wanted to follow in her footsteps.”
“Was?”
My throat tightens. “She died. Two years ago.”
“I’m so sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry. “How did she die?”
Brian’s hand finds mine under the table. Squeezes. Warning.
“Car accident,” I say. “Drunk driver.”
“Terrible.” Vincent sips his wine. “The roads are so dangerous these days. You never know what might happen.”
The threat is clear. Brian’s grip on my hand is painful now.
“Yes,” I manage. “Very dangerous.”
The rest of dinner is torture. Every minute feels like hours. Every glance from Vincent makes my skin crawl.
Finally, it ends. We say our goodbyes. Promise to visit again soon.
In the car, I start shaking.
“You did great,” Brian says.
“He knows. Vincent knows who I am.”
“Maybe. Probably. But he can’t do anything about it. Not now. You’re protected.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.” He pulls me close. “I swear to you, Maria. Nothing will happen to you. I’ll die before I let him hurt you.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“It’s the truth.”
We drive home in silence. In the elevator, I collapse against the wall.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper. “I can’t go back there. Can’t smile and pretend—”
“You won’t have to. Not for a while. We’ll avoid family events. Make excuses.”
“And when we can’t avoid them?”
“Then we’ll go together. Always together. I won’t leave your side.”
Inside his—our—apartment, I head straight for the bedroom. Need to get out of this dress. Need to breathe.
Brian follows. Starts to say something. Stops.
“What?” I ask.
“You were incredible tonight. Strong. Brave. Everything I knew you’d be.”
“I was terrified.”
“I know. But you didn’t show it. That takes courage.”
I unzip the dress. Let it fall. Stand there in my underwear. Exposed. Vulnerable.
“I need you,” I say. “Right now. I need to feel something other than fear.”
He crosses to me. Kisses me. Slow at first. Then harder. Desperate.
We don’t make it to the bed. Floor. Wall. Doesn’t matter. Just need him. Need this. Need to forget.
He enters me rough. Claiming. This is what we do. How we communicate. Through touch. Through violence. Through s*x that borders on pain.
I come hard. Screaming. Breaking. He follows. Collapses on top of me. Breathing heavy.
“We’re going to be okay,” he says into my neck.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
But I don’t believe him.
Because Vincent’s out there. Planning. Watching. Waiting.
And when he makes his move, one of us is going to die.
I just pray it’s not Brian.
- Writer
