Chapter 2: The Bright Light

Alessandro’s pov:

Damn it. Bloody Santino Martino is interfering with the trade again. I turn around and shoot the dead man on the ground, for the twentieth time because he deserves it. He is a renowned member of their gang, and he had come here to finish me off, but things don't always work out the way you want them to. They are involved in human trafficking and other illegal practices. I have refrained our family from such involvement. 

I don’t know why I picked this woman up, but something in me asked me not to leave her there. I drop her in my convertible shotgun and tend to my wounds. It hurts, but I can tolerate it. One-third of my body is in bandages right now, and a few more, and I might as well audition for the role of a mummy. 

I buckle up my passenger, tightly and wrap her in a huge shirt to keep her warm. As I look at her, I sense familiarity. I think I’ve seen her before. 

Nevertheless, I hit the road and swerved my car recklessly. My mother always told me that anger was a human’s worst enemy. She’s right, but it is the only emotion that I can freely express right now, so that’s that. About three miles from home, I take a break. The star-filled night sky looks marvelous. 

I call my doctor to arrange a visit at home. After parking my car parallel to three other cars of mine, I carry the woman upstairs and leave her in the guestroom. The doctor checks on her and says, “Her vitals are fine right now, it was a panic attack, she just needs some rest.” I nod. He asks, “May I know what led to her losing consciousness?” I say, “Maybe the scene of the shooting that she encountered.” He nods his head, while lost in thought.

A few minutes of silence later, the doctor says, “You know, Alessandro, the panic was more than fear, like a terror.” I cock an eyebrow and say, “Well, it is not every day for common people to watch such scenes unfold right in front of their eyes.” He continues, “Her stringent body posture and the extreme sweat tell me that she has had a traumatic experience with guns or the like.” 

He exits after a few more minutes of testing and reporting. 

I seat myself down in my room, to relax for a while.

Harlow Bianchi, my elder brother, walks into the room, his hands in his pockets and a burning cigar in his mouth. He holds the cigar in his hand and says, “Alessandro, you are going on a date with Julia, tomorrow.” I let out a low chuckle. He goes on, “You are already twenty-eight, it is time that you get married. Mother would’ve loved that, you know.” I clench my fists and say, “Be honest, the only reason why you want me to marry Julia Pentanova is to gain more power and support.”

Harlow smirks and says, “Now, my baby brother, since you already know the purpose, why hesitate to go ahead with the marriage?” I need to get myself out of this. I cannot tolerate Julia for an hour, a lifetime would probably be the death of me. I say, “Look, Harlow, I am not ready for this marriage. It would be unfair.” He seems confused. I continue, “And you know that I don’t love Julia.” He says, “Love only comes into play when you spend time together. How can you say that you don’t love Julia by spending less than a week with her? Besides, what do you mean by it would be unfair?” 

I groan, “I love someone else.” 

That was the first mistake I made, but I didn’t have a choice.

Harlow appeared to be in shock, but he regained his composure effortlessly and enquired, “Who is it?” I said, “I will disclose the information when the time is right.” He sneered, “And when will the time be right?” I say, “Soon.” Harlow, expressing his annoyance, says, “Stop playing around Alessandro, have you married someone behind my back?” I say, "Maybe."

That was my second mistake.

His anger is visible in the tone of his voice, he says, “Very well, then, I need you to present this woman before me, the day I return.” I mock him, “That almost sounded like an order.” He sneered, again, “Capo, I am in no position to raise my voice at you or go against your will, so consider that to be a polite request.”

I nod, then he walks out of the room, his cigar back in his mouth. I’m glad that he has a mission tonight, that way he will steer clear of the guestroom for the next three days.

But what have I gotten myself into? Who do I present him with? Sheesh. Reckless actions lead to poor outcomes. 

Wait, the woman I rescued because I put her in trouble, today, I need to know more about her. 

I call my trusted man, Ken Rebel. “Hey, Ken, I need you to dig up some info about a girl, I will send you a picture of her face,” after quickly snapping a picture and sending it, I continue, “I think she’s related to the Williams.” He checks out the picture and lets me in on a few details.

Ken says, “Her name is Amber Williams, age twenty-three and she’s the daughter of renowned global business-man, Pietro Williams.” Wow, she will set the scene well for Harlow to accept her. 

He continues, “The most remarkable one is her passion for art and her dream of opening an art gallery. Looks like there’s a list of failed attempts.” I thank him and cut the call. 

My father was an admirer of art, but I’ve never understood what makes art, in my father’s words, priceless. Sure it’s hard to paint, but there’s nothing beyond the brushes and the canvas. 

Nevertheless, I need to convince her. Besides, I can use her passion to my advantage, it is a win-win. She’ll be able to fulfill her dreams and I will be able to avoid a real marriage.

These thoughts cloud my head as I try to fall asleep.

The next morning:

My eyes open at the crack of dawn. I enter the shower and cleanse myself, but I can’t wash my horrifying nightmares away. Ones where my parents are ripped out of my life.

I walk into the guestroom. The scene does not startle me. I see Amber holding my antique vase in her hands for defense, I take my time to study her face. She looks afraid. Her dark-brown eyes are beautiful and her plump lips tremble, “Who are you?” I say, “You don’t remember?” Still in defense mode, she shakes her head from side to side, her long, jet-black hair in sync with the motion. 

I say, “You lost consciousness, so I did what any decent human would do, I-” She cuts me off with, “You abducted me?” I express my disgust and then say, “No, I helped you.” She rolls her eyes and says, “Whatever. I’ve got to go.” She drops the vase; her hands and legs still shaking.

“Not even a thank you for me?” I mock her. The fire in her eyes evokes and she says, “I stopped being kind to everyone because not everyone is kind to me.” I say, “You can’t leave.” 

As she walks out of the door, I say, “I’ve got a deal for you, Amber.” She seems confused, but she stops. I continue, “You want to open an art gallery, right?” The confidence in her voice is clear as she says, “Right, I do.” I put forth my deal, “I will help you open the art gallery, the ownership will be yours, I will only invest, and in return, I need you to be my mine.”

With a mocking tone, she says, “I need you to be mine.” Then she says, firmly, “I am no one’s property.” I confuse her with, “I need you to role-play.” 

With an expression showing her disgust, she orders, “Call someone else to satisfy your dark desires!” I chuckle, then say, with a serious expression, “I need you to be my wife, marry me.”