CHAPTER THREE

Lyla (Wedding Day)

The corset tighter around my waist, cutting off my airflow. Mama whispered to the stylist is it was fine and she let it go, knotting it twice at the waist.

“You look beautiful,моя прекрасная дочь” my Mama whispered as she stroked my hair away from my face. My hair had been curled tightly, to give me ringlets and made it wavier than usual.

“I'm scared Mama,” I said, genuinely allowing myself to bask in these emotions.

“A man can be easily controlled, my dear. All you have to do is pretend.” was her soft reply.

I wasn't scared for myself. I was scared for my Mama. What if my father got angry one day? Silvia was too little to stop their fights and the guards? They just looked away.

I didn't bother correcting her, just nodded. Hopefully my new husband will be a wuss that gives me his credit card to shop with. That reminded me.

“Mama, here,” I picked up a little purse at the side of the desk and brought out my black Amex card my papa had given to me on my fifteenth birthday. “Give it to Papa for me.”

“Your papa will take it from you himself.” She looked down at my gown and disgust crawled up her face. “I don't know why you picked this gown.”

My wedding dress was a beautiful flowing number, made of intricate fine silk and lace. It was big, what I had always imagined I would wear when I got married.

It however has a very high slit that shows the head of my dragon tattoo at my thighs. My Mama screamed when She came in and set sight on it for the first time, something about wanting to give my father a heart attack?

“I love it. I want to be me,” I took a final look at my face in the mirror, hating how pale my lips looked. I grabbed a dark red lipstick, running it over my pout while Mama gave me the breakdown of the people who were at church already.

The Mafia, as insane as they were, did not slack when it comes to church activities. As I child, I took regular mass, a lot of confessions and lots more. Made men came to church every Sunday with their wives, flaunting their fake love for Gucci and their horrible choking smell of black opium. Silvia says they are speaking attention, to make their husband’s side pieces jealous.

It seemed like a chore.

“Esmeralda, Leticia and the twins even came. Something about wanting to see the spinster get married. Of course I corrected her stance—”

I smacked my lips twice, making sure my teeth were not stained. Perfect. Now I felt like me.

Today was meant to be a big day for the family. They would gather, sit, drink and pretend like they enjoyed each other's company. Even though my uncle Michalis wanted to bang my mother and kill my father, my brothers might probably try to kill him if he makes any lewd comments though.

On a good note, I would be seeing my three brothers again—they has been gone for so long now, on any assignment papa gave them.

I adjusted the veil on my hair and covered my face. It was time to be wed.

The walk into the church was eerily quiet. An orchestra played the wedding march—against my wishes. I heard a flurry of gasps and whispers as I walked slowly, my slit going higher with each step and exposing the tattoo on my thighs.

It was a dangerous game. I loved it.

My father, hair slicked back, a picture of poise sat down at the head of the church. I had refused his offer to walk me down the aisle, insisting we must not always be so traditional. He surprisingly agreed. He looked good, freckles of gray hair lined his beard, his lips set in a scowl. How eyes screamed murder when I looked into them.

I held his hand, lifting it up to my face for a kiss. “When was this?”he hissed low underneath his breath. I knew the question wasn't for me, it was for my Mama who sat next to him.

“She was angry, my lord.” was her tense reply. Mama might probably get beaten tonight, and as much as I detested her weakness, I didn't want her to be touched.

“You caused this papa. This was a rebellion.”

I had hidden my tattoo for so long, some days, I forgot I did it. He hissed and let go of my hand. Then I turned to face the priest, refusing to look into the eyes of my husband to be.

The priest said a few words, with everyone saying Amen after each pause. Then the times for the vows came and I turned to face the men my father was making me marry.

He looked like his brother. Same eye colour. Uglier though, he didn't inherit the dashing handsomeness they had. And he looked Nervous.

“Repeat after me,” the priest said.

“I, Christian Donovan, take Lyla Russo to be my wedded wife. In sickness, in health, in riches, in poor,till death do we part.”

Christian repeated his vows quietly, mumbling them beneath his breath. I wondered if he was forced to marry me too.

“It's your turn dear.”,said the priest.

I repeated the vows quickly.

“Christian, do you take Lyla to be your bride?”

“Yes, I do”, he said.

The priest turned to me.

“Lyly, do you take Christian to be your husband?”

I opened my mouth to speak.

“Yes, I —”

POP.