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CHAPTER 3
JULIANA
I looked at the obscenely large ring.
The emerald-cut diamond was surrounded by smaller diamonds and set on a band of platinum. If I hadn’t been so overwhelmed, I might have been more impressed with it.
Danger rolled off the man standing in front of me, filling me with unease. I snatched my hand away. “If that’s all, I should get back to my family.”
The corner of his mouth rose in a smirk. “We should kiss to close the deal.”
I couldn’t stop a gasp from escaping. “You know that I can’t kiss anyone before my wedding. My father will slit your throat if you try otherwise.”
He chuckled, and I thought that was how the devil probably sounded. I looked carefully at the man I was supposed to marry. He was much taller than me, and underneath his suit I could tell that he was pure muscle. Even though he laughed, his symmetrical features remained hard and alert, and his good looks made him seem even more dangerous for some reason.
He had dark hair and gray eyes—stormy eyes which made me shudder with their cold, calculating gaze. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, but I doubted he even had a soul.
Without question, he was handsome—one of the most beautiful men I’d laid eyes on. A ripple rushed through me at the feel of his gaze on me. But whatever that ripple was, it was drowned out by the waves of menace that rolled off him into the thick air between us.
As my emotions ran riot, the only thing I was sure about was that this man frightened me.
He let me push past him so that I could leave the room. And I was thankful for that as my heart thudded much too fast. Instinct told me this man didn’t care about the rules of our world—that it wouldn’t take much before he just seized whatever he wanted.
We returned to the other guests, and then it was time to sign the contract. Marco and I went into the office together with my father and Emanuel.
I had never liked this room. I was only ever summoned into my father’s office when he had cause to reprimand me, usually for cursing or some other unladylike behavior. The dark wood-paneled walls had always seemed foreboding as if they held sinister secrets that were not allowed to be unleashed. Today this office felt like my prison cell: once I signed the engagement contract, promising my body and soul to Marco Marchiano, there would be no escape.
My future husband was dressed in a black Brioni suit with a black dress shirt and a black tie. Brioni and black: the typical Mafia uniform. No doubt he had also arrived in a black SUV. How fitting it was that he wore black, given that it may as well have been my funeral today.
“Juliana, come sit down,” my father said, his voice falsely cheerful. I wasn’t fooled by his tone. I could see the hardness in his eyes, and I knew that this was work for him. Everything my father had done in his life was for the sake of business: marry my mother, have children, kill enemies, barter away his daughter.
“So, everything is settled between you two now and you have the ring,” stated my father, smiling with pleasure. He expected full obedience from me and would accept nothing less.
Emanuel joined in with an icy smile. “That just leaves the matter of the contract.”
I turned my head and glanced toward the door. My mind told me to bolt from this room and run as far away as possible; however, terror kept me rooted to my seat.
Emanuel pushed the contract across to my prospective husband. “I trust you’ll find everything in order. Your lawyers communicated that you are satisfied with the contract we have drawn up, and we incorporated the amendments you requested. As agreed, the wedding will take place in two months’ time.”
Marco was standing beside me. I watched as he picked up the pen and signed the contract on the appropriate line. He then slid the contract across to me.
I slowly reached for the pen. My hand trembled, but I no longer had the strength to steady it and put on a brave façade. I swallowed the lump in my throat, determined not to cry. That would be the ultimate weakness.
I looked down at the contract, but it felt as though everything had stopped and I couldn’t think. At that moment I knew that my father was the only one that could help me. He might be a Made Man, but I was his daughter. He was the only one I could turn to now.
“Father…?” I didn’t even know what I was asking.
“Even your father can’t save you now,” Marco said with a twisted smile.
My father came and stood beside me and pointed to where I needed to sign. He rested his hand on my shoulder, gripping too tightly. “Juliana, you need to sign the contract.”
Everyone in the room was watching me, their eyes burning into me. This was just the first humiliation of many. In two months’ time there would be the wedding ceremony and reception. Then I would be expected to bleed on my wedding night and, even worse, produce the bedsheet for everyone to see the following morning.
I knew that in line with the Sicilian tradition ofcunzata del letto, the bed would be prepared with the ‘virgin sheet’. The virgin sheet could not be touched by married women; instead, just before the wedding, four unmarried girls would make up the bed with pure white, hand-embroidered sheets. They would also sprinkle rice between the sheets as good luck for the new bride’s fertility.
Tradition further dictated that on the morning after the wedding, the husband would hang the bloodied virgin sheet out on a balcony. This was insisted upon by the families to prove that the bride had been a virgin on her wedding night and that the marriage had been consummated.
If the marriage wasn’t consummated, then it could be annulled. And an annulment would be a disaster, given that the marriage was a strategic business arrangement between the two families.
