Verona

Present Day

I sit quietly in the corner of my father’s office. My hands are clenched in my lap as I listen to what he’s saying to the other man in the room. Blood is pulsing in my ears so loudly that I can barely make out their words.

Papa is planning out my life at this very moment, my entire future depends on his every word, and I don’t

even have a say in what happens.

When Salvatore Vitale made an unexpected visit to the house this morning, I should have known my father was up to something. I’ve only been back home for a few weeks and my father hasn’t said more than several cursory words to me the entire time. Maybe he knew this was coming. Or maybe it’s because of something

else.

When I was nine years old, my

mother overdosed on sleeping meds and drowned in the swimming pool. I didn’t know what suicide meant at the time, but I still find it hard to believe that my mother would have done it on purpose. She loved me. And I loved her. She wouldn’t have just left me. To this day, I still believe it was an accident.

After her death, things changed in my house. Papa barely spoke to me. Maybe he simply didn’t know how to handle me and my emotions. All I know is that eventually, he deemed it not safe for me to be living at home anymore, and he sent me away to an all-girls boarding school in another state. After I graduated, he didn’t ask

me to return home. No, he sent me away again to live with a great-aunt. And let me tell you, there was nothing great about her.

When my grandfather passed away a few weeks ago, Papa finally asked me to return home, although it doesn’t really feel like home anymore. So much has changed, and yet my father’s attitude towards me remains the same. I feel like a burden to him. Alone and unwanted, just like when I was a little girl.

After all the years of being away from my father, I can’t believe he’s trying to send me away yet again. It’s as if he can’t stand the sight of me. Maybe it’s because I remind him of Mama. Everyone always says how much I look like her…

My father abruptly stands up from his desk in the large room and shakes Vitale’s hand. They agreed on something, and I wasn’t even paying attention. I was lost in my own thoughts as my future was decided for me right before my eyes. “So, we agree that Verona and Luca will be married one week from now?” my father announces.

My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I do my best to keep from screaming out in protest. He can’t just barter me like cattle…can he?

Mr. Vitale nods and firmly shakes my father’s hand before letting go. And then he turns, meeting my gaze

with piercing gray eyes that match those of his son. I open my mouth to speak, but Mr. Vitale walks out of the room before I can say a word, leaving me alone with my father. My bottom lip trembles as I dare to speak up to my father. He was never a gentle man, even when I was a little girl.

“Papa,” I start as I rise from my seat and take a step towards him. He suddenly raises his hand, stopping me dead in my tracks. “I don’t want to hear your complaints, Verona,” he says, boredom dripping out of his voice like he didn’t just decide my entire future without giving me a say in it just now.

“I don’t want to marry Luca

Vitale,” I protest with as much vehemence as I can. “I-I don’t even know him!” The truth is, I used to know

Luca Vitale. But that was many years ago when we were children. He was lovely back then, a good friend, probably my first love even though I was so young and naïve. But then one day, when Luca found out who I truly was, he hurt me, physically and emotionally, and never looked back. I never saw him again after that day in the playground.

Our families have been at war for as long as I can remember. I don’t know much about Luca Vitale other than

the fact that his mother died a couple of years after my own mother passed away. I’ve heard stories about him, though. I’ve heard about the cruel and heartless man he became. And I want no part of him or his mafia lifestyle. I don’t want to find out how ruthless he can be.

“I didn’t know your mother

before I married her,” my father offers.

I knew about my parents’ arranged marriage. My mother told me about it not too long before she died. I

know she loved my father, but I’m sure that took time. And I know she would want me to marry for love, not for convenience or because of someone demanding it. “Please, Papa, don’t make me do this!” I plead.

“What you want is of no consequence to me, Verona. The wills of the patriarchs of the two families

forged this union before they passed away, and there’s no backing out of it now.”

My forehead wrinkles in confusion as I move closer to his desk and see the papers sitting in front of

my father. My eyes scan the top few pages, reading as much as I can before my father snatches them away and walks over to a large safe in the corner of the room. After inputting a code that even I’m not privy to, he tucks the papers safely inside before closing it and locking everything away from me. “The patriarchs of the family decreed this union in their wills.”

Valerius Vitale and Marcello Moretti both died within a couple of weeks of each other. Rivals from when they

were children, they never stopped fighting until their dying breath. And now I’m supposed to believe that they wanted Luca and I to marry? That just doesn’t make sense.

Grandfather would never agree to this,” I say, confused.

“He did. They did. And unless this wedding happens, neither of the families will get any of the inheritance.”

So it all comes down to what always mattered the most to my father — money. If I don’t marry Luca Vitale,

then my father gets nothing. He will probably lose everything he owns, because my grandfather was a very powerful man with lots of assets.

“But the Morettis have always hated the Vitales and vice versa,” I tell my father. “Why would they do this?”

I ask, my voice just above a whisper.

My father frowns. “I guess their last wish was to have reconciliation once and for all. And with the two of you

married, there will be peace between the two families.” He doesn’t seem too pleased about the peace, though.

I open my mouth to plead again with my father, but he silences me with a glare. “Start preparing, Verona. You

have a wedding to get ready for.” And with that, he leaves the room.

His departing words are the final nail in my coffin. There will be a wedding. I will marry Luca Vitale whether I want to or not. All of my life I’ve been told what to do. I’ve never had a say in what I want to do, and I hate the fact that I can’t even choose whom I want to marry. I can only hope that Luca is not as cruel as the rumors make him out to be. If I have to marry him, I will try to make it work.

But one question still remains — will our union be consummated in love or violence?

Luca Vitale

I WOKE UP early that Tuesday morning, starving. Mama told me my body is going through some kind of growth spurt, and it was like I can’t get enough to eat. She always makes me a big breakfast before I go to school so that I can make it until lunchtime without my stomach eating itself. With my guts grumbling, I go

downstairs to the kitchen. The house is quiet, but I know Mama will be awake. She’s always the first one up.

When I walk into the kitchen, I slip on something wet and almost fall. Gripping the counter to steady myself, I

look down at the tiled floor and see something dark and shiny. My first thought maybe it was dirty water or some kind of cleaning product, but it smells like pennies, not bleach. My feet are covered in the liquid, and I flip a switch nearby to see what the heck I stepped in. It takes a few seconds for my brain to process what exactly I’m looking at.

Blood.

There’s blood everywhere. Why is there so much blood? And then I hear it. Something scratching against the tile floor. I walk around the center island and see my mother, crawling towards me. Her throat has been slashed, but she’s still alive as blood pours out of the wounds in her neck.

“Mama!” I yell, panicking. I rush to her side, falling to the floor beside her. She collapses into my arms, gazing up at me with fear in her eyes. Three deep slashes are on her neck, and I can’t stop staring at them. She’s trying to talk, but no words come out. Quickly, I cover the wounds on her neck with my hand the best I can, but I can feel the blood pushing out between my fingers. “No, no, no!” I cry. “Someone help us!” I yell. I don’t know if anyone will hear me, but I can’t leave her like this.

Mama’s eyes drift closed, and I scream for her to wake up. “Please, Mama! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!”

Her body goes limp in my arms, and I sit there, stunned. I hold her tightly to me, rocking her like she used

to rock me to sleep when I was a baby. If only I had been a few minutes earlier, I could have saved her. I could have seen who did this. I could have killed them instead. I rock her gently, and I cry. My mother’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead.

“Luca!” my father’s voice roars as he barges into my bedroom, effectively waking me out of the nightmare I was having. I sit up straight in bed. I’m covered in sweat from head to toe, and it takes me a few seconds to realize where the **** I am. I don’t have the nightmare about my mother’s death often; but when I do, I always wake up confused and terrified.

My father walks over to the nearby window and rips open the drapes. I squint my eyes against the glaring light and slowly sit up to look at him through narrowed eyes and a growing headache thanks to the rude awakening and my hangover. “Good morning, Father,” I tell him sarcastically. “This couldn’t wait until noon?”

“It is noon,” he hisses.

“Shit!” I grab my watch on the nightstand and realize he’s not lying. I slept half the day away thanks to all that booze last night and the great sex that followed soon after with a girl whose name I can’t even recall. I don’t normally indulge in that much alcohol, but I was feeling particularly sad and depressed last night. Today marks the anniversary of my mother’s death, and I just wanted to feel numb last night, knowing that today would be so hard to get through. But now that I’m awake, I realize I went about it all wrong. I’m not numb at all. I feel ******* horrible. And having such a rude awakening by my father is not helping matters.

“You weren’t answering your phone, so I had to stop by here in person.”

Grumbling, I rub my eyes with the heels of my palms. “What did I do this time?” I ask, assuming that’s why he’s here — to gripe about something I did or didn’t do.

“We need to discuss your grandfather’s will.”

I swipe my hand down my face and grumble. My grandfather passed away last week. His funeral was the other day, and it was the second saddest day of my life, after my mother’s funeral.

“Get cleaned up,” my father instructs. “I’ll be downstairs waiting for you.” And with that, he leaves me alone in my room. I flop back on my bed and stare up at the ceiling as I wonder aloud, “What does my grandfather’s will have to do with me?”

*

After I’m showered and dressed in my usual attire – a tailored and expensive black suit with a black button-up shirt underneath, I meet my father downstairs in the lobby of my condo building. The car ride to his mansion is quiet and filled with tension. I try to pry into his reasoning for bringing me back home to discuss my grandfather’s will, but my father refuses to budge. And by the time we reach my childhood home, I know something isn’t right.

We walk into the house and go straight to my father’s study on the first floor. He motions for me to take a seat as he goes to stand over papers spread out over his large, mahogany desk. “What the hell is that?” I ask him, curiosity getting the better of me. “A new contract?”

“Something like that,” he mutters in annoyance. My father never had any patience when it came to anyone or anything, especially me. “I need you to read over this and sign it right away.”

I notice the bold heading on the first page, Last Will and Testament, and cock a brow. “This is my grandfather’s will?”

He

nods once.

Intrigued, I sit down in a chair and begin to read the paperwork. At first, it’s all the usual legalese. But then the terms and conditions start coming to light, and my fingers tighten around the papers, clenching them tightly as I read what can only be described as archaic bullshit.

“He can’t do this!” I exclaim, rising out of my seat.

My father shrugs nonchalantly. “But he did.”

“I am not going to marry a Moretti!” I spit out, cursing the name on my tongue.

“Both of the grandfathers agreed to this bullshit clause in their wills.”

Valerius Vitale and Marcello Moretti died within a few weeks of each other. And this is what they agreed to? “This can’t hold up in court. This is ridiculous!” I yell, my voice rising to dangerous levels. “We need to honor their wishes,” my father simply says. Banging my fist on my desk, rattling everything on top of it, I tell him, “No. No, I will not agree to this. I haven’t even seen Verona Moretti in years.” Slamming the papers down on the desk, I say, “There’s no way she will agree to this.”

“She’s already signed the necessary paperwork. Her father faxed me the copy this morning,” he tells me, causing my world to come to a complete stop.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I walk away from my desk and pace the room. “There has to be another way.” “None of us get the money, the estates, the properties, the mansions, the cars, anything unless this comes to fruition.”

“Why would they decide this? This is some kind of sick joke!” Valerius Vitale and Marcello Moretti were adversaries, some say from birth. Our families feuded over land, territory, everything for years. And then, when my mother was murdered, everything came to a head. Rivals soon turned into sworn enemies willing to go to war with each other. And now my grandfather is requesting that I marry one of them? “I suppose the old men reached a point of peace and agreement in their final days. I just wish my father would have told me about his plans, because I most certainly would have talked him out of it,” my father explains.

“This is about peace? There will be no peace if I’m intertwined with the Morettis!” My father considers this for a moment, but then says, “Maybe this will be the end of the war. We can’t continue to go to war if we’re family. And I think that’s what your grandfather was trying to resolve before he died. He didn’t want us fighting anymore or tearing each other down at every turn.”

A dark chuckle releases from my mouth. “If I have to marry her so that we don’t lose everything we worked so hard for, then so be it. But I won’t be faithful. I won’t ever love her.” “No one said anything about love, my dear boy. We are talking about marriage after all.”

I scoff at his words. He can say what he wants, but I know he loved my mother. And the day she was murdered, I saw my father cry for the first and only time in that kitchen while he held her lifeless body in his arms. Sure, their marriage had its ups and downs, like all marriages tend to do, but he loved my mother. And he also had the privilege of knowing his bride before their wedding day. They met in high school, dated, got to know each other, had a chance to fall in love.

Me, on the other hand, I have to marry a girl I haven’t seen since I was a kid. There will be no courtship, no easing into this. “How long do I have?” I ask my father.

“One week.”

Of course I would be delivered this horrible news on the anniversary of my mother’s death. It seems fitting almost. Tragedy upon tragedy. That’s what my entire life has been composed of.

“Will you sign the papers?” he asks impatiently.

“Do I have a choice?”

He doesn’t even hesitate when he tells me, “No.”

“Then I’ll sign.”

I’ll marry Verona Moretti. I’ll follow the terms of the will so that my family isn’t destitute and out on the streets with nothing. But there’s nothing saying I can’t take my anger and frustration out on my new bride to be, that I won’t treat her like my own little plaything. She will be my wife in name only. And I’m going to make her regret signing the contract. I’m going to make her life a living hell.

Verona

I stand in front of the mirror inside the dress shop and stare at my reflection. I don’t even recognize myself in the wedding dress. I look so…different. So grown up.

“Oh

my god, you look gorgeous!” the shop owner exclaims with animated hands. She’s a small, older lady with frizzy blonde hair and huge glasses that make her blue eyes look enormous behind the thick lenses. “I knew this one would look great on you,” she gushes.

Tears fill my eyes when I glance around the empty room. God, I wish my mother could be here with me. After she passed away, an empty void filled me, hollowing me out from the inside, and I wonder if I’ll ever feel unconditional love like that again.

My father was always a stickler for rules and obedience, but my mother… was more lenient and understanding. She made me smile, made me laugh. She was like a real-life angel on this earth disguised as a human. And I miss her terribly, especially today.

“Oh,

sweetie, don’t cry,” the woman says, handing me a wad of tissues out of a nearby box. “Weddings are happy occasions!”

I almost roll my eyes. She’s so oblivious to my situation that she couldn’t even begin to comprehend what I’m going through. This wedding is going to be anything but happy. I’m about to marry a total stranger. Sure, I knew Luca back when we were kids, but we were just that — children. Many years have passed since we’ve spoken or even seen each other. I have no idea what happened to him after puberty. For all I know, he could look like a potbelly pig. And smell like one too.

Cringing, I tell the woman, “Okay, I’ll take this one.” There’s no sense in trying any other dresses on. None of them will ever feel perfect to me since I’m being forced to walk down the aisle instead of doing it of my own free will. “Are you sure? It’s the first one you tried on. I’m not saying you don’t look stunning, but I have many more styles for you to choose from,” she says while pushing her big glasses up the bridge of her tiny nose.

“I’m sure,” I tell her with a firm nod. It was the first dress that caught my eye, and honestly, I don’t even want to try any others on. It’s not like I’ve been waiting for this day. No, this was sprung on me just a few days ago through a contract that I had to sign. And it felt like signing my life away. If Papa wouldn’t kill me, I’d buy a black wedding dress to suit my mood and feelings towards this arrangement. But I don’t need him any more distant and angrier with me than he already is. He’s the only family I have left. Love him or leave him. And I guess I’m choosing to love him.

“I don’t think I’ll need to make any alterations,” the woman says as she walks around, feeling the fabric and looking for gaps or flaws. “It’s perfect, really. It fits you like a glove.”

“Lucky me,” I mutter sarcastically.

“Now, it’s been in storage for a few months. I’ll have it steamed and pressed for you. It will be ready in two days. Is that all right?”

“That’s fine,” I answer.

“I’ll be right back with some veil options, and then we can look at shoes,” she tells me before disappearing into the backroom.

I stand there, admiring the dress in the mirror. It’s a mermaid style dress full of intricate lace detail with a V neck and low V in the back and a short train. It really is beautiful. I just wish I wasn’t wearing it to a wedding that I want no part of.

“Wow, look at you,” a voice says behind me.

My eyes meet Dante’s in the mirror, and I can’t help but smile. Dante is the one who drove me here. He’s been my best friend since I was eight years old. When I was sent away to boarding school, he stayed behind to work for my father. We stayed connected through letters, and we spoke on the phone almost every night when I was allowed to make calls. And when I went to live with my great aunt and was back in the same state as him at least, Dante came to visit me every weekend. He never missed a single one.

Dante has been my rock through all of this. Ever since I lost my mother, he has always been the shoulder I’ve cried on. I don’t know what I would do without him. And I hope I never have to find out.

“What do you think?” I ask, turning to face him.

“Bellissima,” he says with a thumbs up and a wink.

Beautiful. Of course Dante would say that. He always knew how to make me feel better about myself.

“Thank you,” I tell him as I turn back to face the mirror. I can’t help but let my gaze linger on Dante a little longer than I should as he walks around the store, his handsome face now serious as he looks for any threats to me. A blush creeps up my neck to my cheeks as I check out my best friend secretly in the mirror.

Dante has definitely grown up over the years. Gone is the scrawny kid I remember so well. In his place is a tall, handsome man with dark hair, dark eyes and a kind smile. He filled out well, and working out has definitely paid off. His muscles that I sometimes spy when he wears t-shirts are huge.

When I was a teenager, I used to swear up and down that I would marry him someday. But that was just a fickle dream because, in reality, my father would never allow that. Dante will never be equal or good enough in his eyes, and that hurts. My father has no idea how wonderful Dante truly is. Dante would take care of me. I know he would. Our feelings have never crossed the friendship line into romantic, but I always wondered what would happen.

But now look where I am. Any dreams I had of marrying someone I could actually fall for went right out the window. The woman comes back, holding several veils in her hands. “Okay, let’s see what you like best out of these,” she says.

She places the first one on my head, and it completes the look. Now I really do look like a bride. And I can’t help the frown that instantly appears on my face.

“Smile, dear,” she says with an exaggerated grin. “Just think about how happy you’ll be on your wedding day.”

The frown deepens, and I wonder if I’ll ever have anything to smile about ever again. In a few days, I’ll be Mrs. Vitale. And that scares the hell out of me.