Becoming Mrs. Isabella Romano

CHIARA

Four weeks later, I officially became Mrs. Isabella Romano, the Donna of the Romano family.

The wedding was not what I had expected. It took place in an old Catholic chapel on a Sunday morning in New York City. There was no one else there, just my husband, four guests, and a priest. It was also my first time meeting Don Salvatore Romano. Everything happened in a flash before my eyes, like a bad movie I fast-forwarded just to get to the ending. I struggled to accept the reality of marrying a man old enough to be my father, yet I maintained calm composure throughout the ceremony.

When it was time for us to kiss, I finally turned to face the man who was now my husband. For a man pushing towards his fifties, Don Salvatore Romano was incredibly fit and handsome in a suit. He had neatly combed black hair with a bit of grey at the side of his temples, which oddly complemented the trim beard that framed his chiseled jaw. His bleak, honey-brown eyes bore into me as he leaned in to kiss me.

Nausea rolled into my stomach in waves when I caught a whiff of his cologne as he wrapped an arm around my waist to pull me closer. I did not want to kiss him. In fact, I did not wish to be here at all. But instead of saying those things, I closed my eyes to hide the tears lurking within when his lips met mine.

It was a brief kiss, one so light that I barely registered when it happened. By the time I opened my eyes, my husband was no longer in front of me. Instead, he was talking to the priest in Italian, thanking him for his attendance as though he had just concluded a business meeting.

I turned away to glance around my surroundings, only to see my father and daughter sitting in the front row pew. Seeing them witness the most humiliating moment made my vision turn blurry, but I blinked back the tears before they could fall.

I couldn’t afford to offend Don Salvatore Romano on our first day of marriage by bawling my eyes out on what was supposed to be a happy occasion. So, I tried to look somewhere else to distract myself from my surging emotions, until my eyes landed on him.

Don Salvatore Romano’s nephew, Stefano.

He sat in the adjacent front pew, leaning with one arm resting lazily over the wooden frame while the other typed on his phone. For a brief moment, he paused as if sensing my eyes on him and raised his head to look at me.

That’s when I saw them.

Those beautiful blue eyes. It was the kind that reminded me of the ocean waves at a beach I once saw while visiting my aunt in Miami. He was insanely attractive, with his sleek black hair combed back to reveal his sharp jaw and aquiline nose. There was a long slash across his thick eyebrow, giving him a hard, sexy vibe that could bring any woman to her knees.

I couldn’t deny that he was handsome, but there was something about him that brought an instant frown to my face.

He was manspreading in a chapel.

Just when I was about to turn away, Don Salvatore’s voice echoed from behind me. “Isabella.”

I stiffened before turning around to face my husband. On the surface, I managed to summon a polite smile, but I was panicking from within. How long had he been standing there? Did he see me staring at his nephew?

Don Salvatore Romano’s expression remained unreadable when he said to me, “I have to go now. You and your little sister will go back to my mansion with Stefano. He will help you two get settled.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words quickly died in my throat when I met his eyes.

Don Salvatore waved his hand in the air. “You may speak.”

“M-May I know…when you will return?” I asked, gathering the courage to sneak a glance at him. When his expression didn’t change, I quickly followed up with an explanation. “It’s just that…I want to know if I should get ready for tonight-”

Don Salvatore cut me off smoothly. “There’s no need to worry about that, since you are not a virgin anyway.” He glanced at my body with quiet appreciation before continuing. “I will have you when I return. The time doesn’t matter.”

I ignored the chill that crept down my spine and nodded. As soon as he had acquired my obedience, he walked past me without another word and went to speak with his nephew. They conversed in low tones, speaking in Italian about some weapons trade going on tonight.

Meanwhile, my father approached me with my daughter, Giada, a soft smile plastered on his face. I stretched out my hand to take the child away, but his firm grip remained on her wrist as he leaned towards me.

“Remember what I said, Chiara,” he whispered.

My heart lurched in my chest after hearing his words. He finally released the child just as Stefano’s voice reached us.

“It’s time to go.”

Ten minutes later, my daughter and I were seated in the backseat of an armored black vehicle. In that silence, I retreated deep in my mind to process all the day’s events and my plans. Some part of me still felt this was a bad dream, but I knew now was not the time to cry over spilled milk.

I snapped out of my daze to catch Stefano’s eyes watching me through the rearview mirror. Panic stirred within me, but I quickly forced it down. This was the third time he had been watching me since we met, but I couldn’t summon the courage to ask him why.

At that moment, the car suddenly jerked to a stop. The rebound was so strong that my daughter nearly stumbled forward, despite her seatbelt. I barely managed to steady her before turning to Stefano, who was staring at a group of cars blocking our way.

His expression was grim.

“Isabella,” he called out to me, his voice eerily calm, “If I give you the signal to run, I want you and your sister to get out of this car and run as your lives depend on it.”

What the hell was he talking about? “Huh?”

He opened the storage compartment and pulled out a gun, checking the magazine before he spared a glance at the side view mirror. After confirming there was no one behind us, he finally unlocked the car door before firing the first shot.

“Run!”