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“I’m failing to see where any of that concerns me.”
“He’s using you as a ladder to reach that seat in The Commission. Some of us are just power-driven like that. And Mr. Battaglia is an ambitious man, that’s what he cherishes.” I was starting to see what he meant. What Gio referred to as something he cherished was a position, not me. He needed me safe and unscathed to get it. “Now, why he chose you,” he continued, “I guess we’ll understand further down the line. It’s still an honor, though. An honor some other mafia princesses would die for.”
“Like something to slap on my mafioso wife resumé? How ever will I be able to thank him?”
Gio laughed at my sarcasm, straightened his jacket and then his tie before assessing the Battaglia men who started to cover every entrance of the dining hall. “You're a Battaglia now, but that doesn’t have to be forever. Whatever power you hold to be the chosen one can be the exact same thing that sets you free. I’m here to help, if you need me.”
Well that’s something I didn’t see coming.
With a curt nod, he turned around and left.
Something about what Gio said unsettled me. Whether it was the unsolicited advice or the creepy closeness, I wasn’t sure.
But one thing was as clear as water – I was nothing but a prop for Matt, and what bothered me the most was that I had almost fallen for his fake kindness. It was all deception. Sand thrown into my eyes to blur my vision of reality. It was all too convenient that he’d so kindly take his brother’s place in this agreement, and after their interaction earlier, I’d almost fallen for it. That is not the mafiosi way.
I was too quick to let those gray eyes and dashing smile blind me to who Matteo Battaglia really was – a criminal who wore deception like a second skin.
I hadn’t pictured Matt’s reasons to be strategic. Not after our encounter at his father’s party and most certainly not after he proposed. It felt more passional than political. More intimate. More something I secretly wanted it to be than what it really was.
I looked around the massive dining hall, trying to see the forest beyond the trees, trying to understand what it was that I brought to the table that could give Matteo Battaglia the upper hand.
Getting that seat in The Commission was never a secret, so what else could there be?
The party had died down, and after a few more minutes, there was no one left in the grand space but me and the Battaglia men standing next to every exit like toy soldiers.
My brothers had arranged to get my mother safely onto my uncle’s jet before the situation escalated any further. It was clear that Matt was suspicious of us, and even if we didn’t have anything to do with the drive-by, danger was still lurking behind the corner.
I sat next to the massive, uncut wedding cake, taking in the placid and unfazed faces of each Battaglia soldier, trying to commit them to memory. I wasn’t sure if they were here to ensure the commotion stayed outside or to make sure that I was kept inside, like a good little wifey.
I ran my finger deep through the frosting, taking a chunk off the cake before sucking it off.
“The cake is served,” I said to myself, something inside me dying a little as I replayed today in my mind before washing those thoughts down with two full glasses of champagne. I had let hope soften reality, but it was nothing but wishful thinking.
This nightmare was just getting started, but I was ready to wrap up the day and throw it as far to the back of my mind as possible. Yet what was coming next had my insides twisting in scorn and some other thing I wouldn’t dare to admit.
Anticipation.
That feeling had no place here. I had to remind myself of the lengths Matteo Battaglia had gone to see this marriage through. The disrespect. The dismissal. The real man under the pile of muscles and charm that spoke to the part of me that had already pictured the damn honeymoon in ten different scenarios in the last ten minutes alone. I needed to bury it.
Apparently my soon-to-be prison cell, or as others would call it, house, wasn’t ready from the wave of renovations my sweet husband had submitted it to.
So the hotel it was.
It took a couple of hours before the security entourage let up and I sauntered to the reception hot on their heels. My dress dragged behind me, feeling as heavy as the weight of my new reality.
I was married. Married to a man I despised and craved at the same time. The duel was tiring, especially because it was far from my normal state. Matt did that to me.
My fingers tapped on the counter as I waited for the receptionist to give me my key card.
“Mrs. Battaglia, so sorry to keep you waiting. Apparently your husband already collected your keys. There’s this note he asked to give you.”
I took the envelope from his hand, trying my best not to be unpleasant, flashing him a smile I knew he saw was fake.
Ready for your wedding night, Honey?
Meet me at the bar.
Matt
