Pranked on Halloween, Missing by the Wedding

Ryn finally caught her breath and pulled out her phone.

Click.

The flash blinded me.

I was still reeling from the cold shock of the red industrial paint when Ryn, phone in hand, hit "send" with a smirk.

Two seconds later, my phone started vibrating like crazy in my pocket.

It was the Rossi family's inner circle group chat.

My hands were stiff as I pulled it out. On the screen was a picture of me, dripping in garish red paint, my couture wedding dress destroyed.

Underneath the photo, Ryn had typed: "Our very own Halloween clown. Surprise, everyone!"

The chat blew up.

The capo who runs our Brooklyn turf sent a row of laughing emojis.

My uncle sent a voice note next, his tone thick with sarcasm. "With a look like that, Briony won't even need a piece to collect protection money. She'll just scare 'em to death."

My cousin even started a poll: "Is this the Family's new punishment? A: Yes. B: Too light."

A new message popped up. It was from my own mother, Elena.

"Oh dear, Ryn is just being mischievous. She accidentally spilled some dye. Happy Halloween, everyone!"

My heart turned to ice. That was my handmade Italian couture gown, for my wedding in four days!

"Delete it," I said, looking up and staring daggers at Ryn.

"No," Ryn said, putting her phone away and giving me a defiant look. "It's fun. What's wrong with giving everyone a good laugh?"

"I said, delete it!" My voice was louder now, and trembling.

BANG!

My father, Riccardo, slammed his wine glass on the table.

"What's all this racket!" he snapped, his glare cutting into me. "It's a holiday. The men in this family live on a knife's edge every day. What's wrong with letting loose a little? And you, as the older sister, are going to ruin a little Halloween fun over this?"

I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood. My throat felt like it was full of broken glass.

Ruin the fun? So my dignity was just "fun" to them.

Dinner began.

I didn't change. The industrial paint had dried, sticking to my skin and the dress like a bloody scab. Every movement was agony.

I just sat there at the long table.

No one thought anything of it. The maids didn't even dare hand me a towel.

Elena elegantly cut her steak, warning me without even looking up. "We're meeting with the godfathers of a few allied families tomorrow. Briony, you'd better wipe that miserable look off your face and not embarrass the Rossi family."

"Mom's right," Ryn said, chewing on her fork with a sickeningly innocent smile. "Sis, you should probably wear a mask tomorrow. Wouldn't want your face to give those old-timers a heart attack. Their tickers aren't what they used to be."

A wave of laughter went around the table.

I instinctively looked at Gideon, sitting next to me.

My fiancé.

He was leaning back in his chair, swirling a glass of red wine.

Sensing my gaze, he suddenly reached out and pulled me into his arms.

The chemical smell of the paint hit him, but he didn't even flinch.

"What's with the attitude?" Gideon chuckled, his long fingers tapping on my paint-caked shoulder. "I think it's great. You look like an interesting piece of modern art. Way more interesting than that dead-inside look you usually have."

Art?

My stomach turned. I shoved his hand away, hard, recoiling from his touch.

Gideon's hand froze in mid-air.

His face went cold.

"I'm not the one complaining about you being a mess. What's your problem?"

I said nothing.

Gideon let out a cold snort, his patience gone.

He turned his back on me, picked up the champagne, and walked over to Ryn.

"To Ryn," he said with a smile, filling her glass. "To your masterpiece today."

"To the masterpiece! Thanks, brother-in-law!" Ryn cheered, clinking her glass against his.

The sharp sound of crystal echoed in the lavish dining room.

My father was laughing. My mother was laughing. My sister was laughing. And my fiancé was laughing.

I sat alone on the edge of their party, a forgotten outsider.

Just then, the screen of my phone, lying on the table, lit up.

It was an encrypted message.

The sender was a top executive at a Wall Street investment bank, and my former university mentor.

"Briony, about that transfer to the Zurich office I mentioned last month—the board approved it. If you say the word, the Chief Trader position is yours. A huge commission, and a three-year contract with total confidentiality."

"If you change your mind, reply by midnight tonight."

I stared at the words on the screen.

In the background, I could hear Gideon and Ryn's unrestrained laughter.

All the years of hurt, of swallowing my pride, of hoping for something better—washed away in an instant by a bucket of red paint.

No one cared about me.

If that was the case, it was time I stopped caring about them.

I took a deep breath, picked up my phone, and unlocked the screen.

Across the room, Ryn was still loudly mocking how pathetic I looked. Gideon was stroking her hair indulgently.

I didn't give them another glance.

I looked down and typed back two words: "I'm in."