The Mafia's Stolen Bride

Chapter3

Lexi POV

Words can not even begin to describe what I felt as I stared at myself in the mirror after Harriet left, grinning like the Cheshire cat and oh so proud of her horrific handiwork.

I looked like a fuckking clown.

I had been shoved into the most hideous dress I had ever been unfortunate enough to lay my eyes upon - my wedding dress. A concoction made of cheap lace and polyester which she must have got on sale from a blind seamstress. I had then been forced to sit still as Harriet had slathered makeup on my face and assembled my hair into a mass of auburn curls on top of my head.

In fact, I felt as if I had become a play thing for a vindictive toddler. Thankfully, I was able to hide my disgust until she left the room.

“There’s no way I am leaving here like this,” I told myself, grabbing my makeup remover.

The makeup and hair was relatively easy to fix, but there was nothing I could do about the dress apart from burn it… and I was relishing the thought of the bonfire I would have later.

“Alexandra!”

My father’s voice echoed through the house and I flinched, my heart skipping a few beats before I managed to recover. He was waiting in the entrance hall wearing a brand new suit which probably cost ten times more than my entire ensemble, his greying hair combed to cover the bald spot. The pistol he always wore was absent, but that was the only part of him which seemed out of place.

“We’re late,” he snapped at me as I reached him.

No words of endearment. No last moment confessions of regret. No hint of fatherly emotions toward his only daughter.

Instead, he marched toward the front door, leaving me trailing behind him as he climbed into the back seat of his black BMW.

Trevor, the small asian man who had become my father’s driver in recent years, smiled at me as he opened the door on the opposite side of my father.

“You look very pretty, Miss Davidos,” he whispered to me.

I smiled back, thanking him as he shut the door with a slight bow.

The drive to the church was thankfully short. I wouldn’t have survived much longer with my father seeming to suck the air out of every confined space, his glares and cold silence the only exchange he bothered to share with me.

By the time Trevor opened the door and let me out, I was ready to pull a Runaway Bride, but my father gripped the back of my arm painfully and shoved me toward the front door as Trevor handed me the bouquet of flowers that had been left for me.

Peace lilies.

My bouquet was made of flowers traditionally used at funerals. How symbolic.

My father - the great Frank Davidos - stepped into the church, waving at someone who started to play the wedding march on an ancient and poorly tuned piano. I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry as my father covered my face with the veil and took my arm.

“So, this is what people on death row must feel like,” I whispered to myself, grateful that my father wouldn’t hear me as we walked down the aisle, passing the rows and rows of empty pews - a sad reminder that very few people were actually celebrating this marriage.

I certainly wasn’t.

Harriet’s eyes grew wide as I walked past her, her displeasure at how I had “ruined” her handiwork quite clear, but I didn’t give a damn. I avoided looking at Hector all together, knowing the sick smile that would be plastered on his smug looking face.

It was only when we reached the front of the aisle that my father’s grip on my arm lessened and he passed me to my fiance, Mr Jurnetzov… Ivan. I had to remember that his name was Ivan.

My groom smiled at me, his gold teeth glinting as the afternoon sunlight shone through the church’s stained glass windows. Ivan’s hands moved to the edge of my veil, lifting it as the scent of fish reached my nose and I stopped breathing through my nose in case I gagged.

Was this what my marriage to him would be like? A lifetime of mouth breathing just because I couldn’t stomach his scent?

No. It wouldn’t be a lifetime. I was going to escape - I had to.

I forced myself to smile as I turned to face the minister, the man’s face somewhat distorted - and I was pretty sure he was also struggling with my fiance’s pungent odour.

“Dearly beloved,” he wheezed as my father took a seat in the front row. “We are gathered here today to witness the joyous union of Ivan Albert Jurnetzov and Alexandra Emelia Davidos in holy matrimony.”

The minister went on and on about love - clearly having missed the whole backstory to our oh-so delightful marriage - and I had to force back more than one yawn, desperately trying to stay awake.

“If anyone here has reason as to why these two lovely people should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Bang!

The loud sound echoed through the church, and time seemed to slow down as Ivan shouted and fell against me, his hand clutching his stomach.

The minister’s face turned a deathly shade of white as he looked at Ivan and then at me, and I only realised why when I glanced down and saw my dress covered in splattered blood. Ivan’s hand groped at me, trying to steady himself as he smeared bloody handprints across the white dress before he collapsed onto the floor, moaning in agony.

“What the hell!” I heard Hector shout, and I watched as men poured into the church, holding guns and pointing them at my father and Hector.

One man leisurely walked down the aisle, his gun held casually by his side, and yet he looked more dangerous than all the other men put together.

“I guess I’m objecting,” he smirked as he reached the altar, nudging a moaning Ivan with the tip of his shiny black shoe.

I heard my father gasp and the stranger laughed, his grey eyes cold as he turned to face the old man.

“Ah, you finally recognise me,” he taunted, tapping his stubbled chin with the muzzle of his pistol.

“Valentos,” my father gritted out between clenched teeth, his hand reaching for his own gun and coming up empty handed. “You son of a b***h! What the f**k do you think you are doing?”

The gorgeous man smiled and took a step toward my father who shrunk backward like a scared mouse.

“I told you that I would take back what is mine someday,” he drawled. “And I guess that day is today.”

He turned to face me and there was something almost familiar about him when he took my hand in his. It was almost as if I had met him before.

And then, like a flash of lightning, realisation hit me.

The gorgeous man I had kissed in the club smirked and winked at me before he put his arm over my shoulder, pulling me to his side as he turned back to my father.

“Frank Davidos, I’m marrying your daughter.”