Chapter Four

Camilla

Thursday, September 4, 2025. I was going to be a bride who had just given 22 hours and 44 minutes to prepare for her wedding and who knew the groom 22 hours 36 minutes to the wedding through the internet. Not to mention he was twice my age.

My mother stormed into my room around 5 am to get me ready. Apparently the groom wanted the marriage to be in the morning because he had some work to do. It was weird but nobody could question Don Salvatore. I looked at the clock as the maids dragged my corset blouse until I was sure that I had broken some ribs. 7: 10 am. I had just 50 more minutes.

I came down the stairs and Vanessa gave me a look over. " At least you don't look like a whore this time.”

I closed my eyes. I pictured myself bolting through the garden, barefoot, with my makeup, screaming for someone, anyone, to help me. I pictured the guards tackling me, my father’s disappointed sigh and Leo’s hand on my shoulder like a chain.

I pictured dying on that altar. I could just grab the knife and a quick deep slice across my own wrist would be enough. At least then it would be over on my terms.

But I was too much of a coward for that.

I turned away from the window of the car driving me to the chapel. I wasn't even feeling anything anymore.

Because the truth, the ugly, final truth, was this:

I was going to walk down that aisle this morning.

I was going to let them cut my palm and press my bleeding hand to Salvatore’s and feel the life drain out of whatever was left of Camilla Rossi.

And I was going to smile while I did it.

Because running was a fantasy, and fantasies die.

I walked down the aisle with my father who I never really considered my father even though we had been close when I was a kid.

I was dressed in a floor-length gown of ivory silk that clung like a second skin and it neckline plunging low enough to make look like the thing they were selling me as. I had no idea why I was wearing white though, I was no longer a virgin. Surely my dear husband knows that.

The side doors had men dressed in black posted there with their hands resting on holstered guns. The balcony doors was locked, I’d checked earlier when they let me “freshen up.” The service corridor behind the bar was blocked by a wall of shoulders of men in dark suits. Every exit was a man..

Escape wasn’t even possible.

Don Salvatore waited at the end of the aisle.

He was old but looks surprisingly handsome. There were strands of silver hair by the corners of his dark hair which swept back to reveal sharp cheekbones. It was the eyes that unnerved me. They looked achingly familiar.

When I reached him, he took my hand without ceremony, turned it palm-up, and cut it with a slash. I hissed in pain. He cut his own palm and clasped my hands together,m. The sting made my eyes water.

“Blood to blood,” the officiant intoned. “Life to life. Until death do you part.”

The room answered with a low chorus of “Salute.”

There was no kissing. So he didn't choke on peanut butter and die. I belonged to him now with no way out. Don Salvatore released my hand and looked at me in an assessing way.

“Take her home,” he orders one of his men. “I have business to do.”

The man nodded once and he didn’t even glance back as he turned to the men who’d already begun crowding around him with their cigars lit and their low laughte.

It was clear that I had been dismissed.

The drive back to the estate was silent and I pressed my forehead to the cool glass and let myself feel it for one stupid, glorious second:

I was alone. He wasn't going to be around to consummate the marriage.

When we pulled up to the very beautiful estate,my new prison, apparently, the driver opened my door without a word. A maid was waiting on the marble steps and she led me through the corridor.

My room was at the end of the east wing. It was massive and was devoid of warmth. There was a four-poster bed dressed in black silk and a walk-in closet the size of my old apartment. It also had floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the rest of the estate which I must say was huge and pretty.

The maid curtsied. “If you need anything, signora, ring the bell.”

With that, she left.

I stood there for while, still in the wedding gown. Then I reached behind me, found the zipper, and peeled the dress off and went to the bathroom to take a shower.

I found out that closet was already stocked. Someone, probably Salvatore, had known exactly what size I wore. There were silk slips, cashmere sweaters, tailored trousers. Everything looked expensive and we're in either black or deep crimson. I pulled on the most comfortable clothes I could find, a oversized top and panties which I brought from my house.

I crawled under the covers and slept like the dead.

When I woke, the room was dark. My stomach began to growl and I went downstairs barefooted to find something to eat. I thought I was the only one at home apart from the guards.

So when I stepped into the kitchen and saw a half dressed blonde man with his back turned to me facing the kitchen island, I screamed.

He turned to look at me and I realized why the Don's eyes looked so familiar because they were the exact same color of the ones that the man that fucked me thoroughly last night had.

I took a step back and tripped on my feet and just like yesterday he caught me before I could reach the ground.

He didn't look surprise to see me he only gave me a grin.

“Nice to meet you again, Camilla,” he said, “Or should I say… stepmother?”