Marry Me

ARIELLE'S POV

Cold seeped into my bones, then the pain as I woke up slowly. My head throbbing like someone had hit me with a hammer while I slept. My mouth felt dry, I could still persive the hoozing smell of blood on my dress. 

I tried move my arms and whimpered softly as I felt rope dig into my skin. I realized that my wrist were now bound to the chair. My hankles tied so hard I could barely even wiggle my toes. 

I felt thirsty and hungry. The room felt darker than before, I noticed that the single bulb in the room had been switched off my Mr Morretti’s men. 

I tried to move but the more I did, the more pain travelled through my delicate skin. The door opened softly and Matteo Morretti stepped in, looking fresh in new clothes. Black shirt with sleeves rolled up, showing his strong arms. 

He switched on the light and I winced as it blinded my eyes which was already getting used to the darkness. I hated that he saw me broken and Vulnerable. 

Matteo pulled a chair and sat across me, knees almost brushing mine. I could smell his cologne , expensive cedar and smoke. I hated it already. 

“Good morning, Giselle. Slept well?” He asked and I scoffed. Was he being sarcastic right now? How could I have slept well when he breezed into my wedding, killed my father and took everything from me. What was supposed to be the happiest day of my life turned into a nightmare. 

I didn't answer his stupid question, my throat felt raw, from crying, screaming, I was already tired of everything. 

His eyes studied me for a second then he leaned back on his chair. “Are you ready to tell me where the documents are?” 

“I told you already…” my voice cracking with each word. “I don't know about any gold or documents, I'm Arielle and not Giselle, please.”

“Just let me go, I won't run to the police, I won't tell anyone. I just want my life back. I swear on my …” 

He lifted one hand, a small elegant gesture that made the words die in my throat. 

“I don't want your oaths, Giselle.” he said calmly. “I want what is mine, Twenty bars of gold bullion stamped with my family crests. A ledger containing names, routes and account numbers. Names that would put half of the cities politicians in prison if it's exposed. Those files disappeared the night my warehouse in the port burned, you were seen at the scene, leaving the building ten minutes before it burned down.” 

“I've never been to any warehouse,” I said as my voice broke. “I don't even know where the port warehouse is. I'm a graphic designer, and I work from home. Yesterday morning I was at the scene of my wedding.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his handsome face looked nothing like his cruel actions towards me. “You're such a good actress. Very skilled at playing innocent, the tears, the trembling like a scared little virgin.” 

His words felt insulting, it hit me unexpectedly. “But I've watched the footage, A woman in hoodie, the same height, the same body, the same fucking face. She knew where to enter, the camera's to avoid, that's not a random coincidence. That's training.”

“I'm begging you,” I whispered. Fresh tears spilled from my face, hot against my cold skin. I have a life, an apartment, a fiance, he's probably hurt or dead because of you. Please let me go.”

His eyes flashed with irritation. “Home?” he repeated, the word soft almost mocking. “You think there's a home to return to Giselle?”

“My name is Arielle.” I snapped back. 

He ignored my words and continued. “Your father also owes us a debt that is as old as you are.  He paid it in blood yesterday, That leaves you.” he paused, the weight of his words getting into me.

“I'm a practical man, dead woman do not have mouth to tell the stories of how they died.” he said and watched me curiously. 

“Marry me and you'll live. You'd have a roof over your head, protection. You'll smile in public and keep your mouth shut in private. Refuse and I'd put a bullet in your head tonight. I'd throw your body in a pit.” He spat while I froze.

The tension in the room was nothing like I had ever experienced. “You can't force someone to marry you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

 “I can do whatever I want,” he answered. “The priest who was supposed to join you to that bastard, yesterday. He works for me now. The licence can be arranged by the morning. One word from me and it happens, change your mind and…”  he reached into his pocket and brought out a sharp knife. 

I flinched hard, expecting pain, but only leaned forward and sliced the ropes around my ankles. He moved behind me and cut the ones in my wrist free. Blood rushed rushed back into my hands. 

He returned to his chair, calm as ever. “You have from now until midnight to decide whether you would marry me or corpse. There is no third choice.”

I rubbed my wrist and stared at the floor. The dress felt even heavier. 

“Why marriage? Why don't you just kill me. Just do it Matteo.” I cried out. 

He stood up and watched me calmly.  “Because a wife can't testify against her husband,” he said. “The woman who stole from me has fire, I want to know if Arielle Vasquez has any of that.” 

He walked to the door and opened it. “I'd send someone with food and water, and a mirror if you need to see what's left of you, before you make a decision.” 

The door closed and made a clicked sound. 

I remained on the chair long after his footsteps faded. 

If I had to choose between death and his ring, I'd choose his ring not because I was afraid, but because I wanted to live long enough to make him pay for every single thing he has done to me.