The Italian's Mistaken Vengeance

Walking arm in arm with my father, Mauricio Rossetti, I could feel the eyes of everyone in the church on us.

This is not just a wedding, much less a union between two people in love—nothing could be further from the truth. What the inhabitants of Florence are witnessing today is the end of a hundred-year-old war between two families. With this ceremony, we seal the enmity between the Rossettis and the Di Santes.

Well, at least that’s what is expected.

I look straight ahead and see my future husband with his back to me, waiting for me to reach his side. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my mother dabbing the corner of her eye, and on the other side, Gianluca Di Sante, my future father-in-law, gives me a look of satisfaction as he watches me walk toward the altar.

When I finally reach the altar, I meet the intimidating gaze of Salvatore Di Sante. My future husband.

My father takes my hand and kisses it before placing it upon the hand of this man, a complete stranger to me.

The priest begins his usual service, and every word feels like I am sinking deeper. My head screams that this is a mistake, but my loyalty to my family outweighs everything else. We are Rossettis, and we never let the family down when they need us.

Today, it is my turn as the only daughter of the Rossetti patriarch, and I will carry it out with all the dignity I can muster, even if the man beside me is detestable.

“How so? Simple. He is a Di Sante.”

The priest calls our attention, and I realize I’ve been lost in my thoughts for most of the service.

I look at the man across from me as he takes a platinum band and says:

"I, Salvatore Di Sante, take you, Helena Rossetti, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

He slides the ring onto my finger and leans in so that only I can hear him.

"And I promise to make every day of your life miserable."

I hold my breath and take the ring as he steps back.

"I, Helena Rossetti, take you, Salvatore Di Sante, as my detestable husband,"—a murmur rises, and he looks at me with an arched eyebrow. The priest clears his throat, and I take a deep breath before continuing—"to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

"We'll see who buries who," he whispers when I slip the band onto his finger.

"Sleep with one eye open," I retort in a sing-song voice without losing my false smile.

"May the Lord confirm this consent which you have manifested before the Church and fulfill his blessing in you. What God has joined together, let no one separate. You may kiss the bride."

I hold my breath as he leans down and places a kiss on my cheek.

At least he didn't put his miserable lips on me.

"Good, wife," he whispers as we walk down the aisle, "welcome to your new life."

I nod to the guests who are taking photos and smiling at us. Outside, there are more people who couldn't attend the ceremony, and a car is already waiting to take us to the reception at the Di Sante villa.

While the classic car takes the long route to our destination—giving the guests a chance to arrive first—I can't help but feel the urge to run. When my father informed me that I had to return home because a task was waiting for me, I never thought it would be this: becoming a Di Sante wife. Both families have been enemies ever since our great-grandfathers decided it would be so. Years ago, the Di Santes and the Rossettis were partners in a chocolate factory that ended with the theft of a recipe.

My family says Di Sante robbed my father's grandfather; they say the Rossettis were swindlers. The dispute ended badly.

My great-grandfather ended up being murdered, and the Di Santes are blamed for never giving our family the recognition they deserved for the creation of Italy’s most exquisite chocolate factory. On top of that, each family owns a chain of hotels—naturally, they are direct competitors.

My father sent me to London when I turned fifteen, and I lived a life far from the conflict. I was never allowed to return, receiving news only from a distance about how the family was dying off. The last death, my father's younger brother, occurred many years ago and nearly destroyed his life.

However, after so many conflicts, it is time to sign the peace treaty. Now, they both have a common enemy. This is only an agreement to prevent either family from joining the Ferrettis, a family that wants control of Florence's financial center.

The car enters the villa and parks in front of the main door. The driver gets out, leaving us alone in the tense atmosphere.

"Smile. You look like you're going to a funeral, not your wedding celebration," Salvatore snaps beside me.

"Should I smile just because I married you? Tell me, what would be the benefit for me in being married to a piece of scum like you?"

Before I see it coming, he reaches out and wraps his hand around my neck, making me gasp.

"So the kitten has claws," he whispers, tightening his grip slightly.

I hit his hand, but he doesn't let go, and I look him in the eyes.

"Let me tell you something, little girl," he spits in a serious tone, "I don't have patience, and I am not one of your puppets. So I suggest you behave, or I won't be very friendly."

With that, he lets go of me, and I gasp for air.

"Vaffanculo!" I exclaim, looking at him with hatred.

"What a delicate flower," he scoffs in response before stepping out of the car.

I get out of the car and follow him inside the villa. The place is sublime; it screams luxury and comfort.

We walk through the place with him leading the way, and I ignore the staff who are rushing back and forth carrying trays of champagne. I look through the glass, and people are already waiting to celebrate with the new married couple.

The full circus.

I stop next to this man I barely know, and we wait in tense silence. This gives me a second to study the man's features: dark eyes and hair, a strong chin, and a slightly crooked nose that tells me he’s been in more than one fight. He is tall, with broad shoulders and narrow hips.

From what my father told me, Salvatore is forty years old—that’s a seventeen-year difference! I’ve never dated anyone with that much of an age gap. Well, get real, Helena, you are not dating; he is your husband, and not by choice.

Dad also told me that Salvatore is the head of the family now that his father has been crippled by arthritis.

His dark eyes bore into me when he realizes I’m studying him.

I don’t understand his attitude. I mean, yes, our families are doing this as an agreement, but can't we at least be civilized?

I smooth my hands over my princess-cut wedding dress with its illusion neckline and shake off the nerves.

Silently, Salvatore offers me his arm, and I know it's showtime. When I take it, he makes an imperceptible signal, and the double doors open.

I take a sip of my drink and look around, wanting to leave the place.

“I hope that now that you are Salvatore's wife, you know how to use that for the family.”

I blink at the words of my father, who stops next to me with my mother.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” I whisper. “I did what you asked of me; we have sealed the peace between both families.”

He grimaces.

“You need the jewel in the crown, my dear,” he snaps casually, while Gianluca and Evelina Di Sante, Salvatore's parents, are sitting in front of us. “The head of this family is now your husband,” my father continues in a low voice. “Make sure we have the next Rossetti generation, and that way we will dominate everything.”

My throat threatens to close up at his words.

“Dad, don’t ask me that.”

“Honey, he is your husband,” Mom seconds.

“Not by choice. We have nothing in common. My goal is to have a cordial marriage, not what you’re planning.”

“Look, Helena, your husband has two siblings. Renzo and Martina can give the first Di Sante grandchild, and our only opportunity will go to hell.”

“I thought this was the end of all conflict.”

“It is, you just need to have a child with Salvatore.”

I don't reply. Instead, I move away toward the inside of the villa in search of a bathroom where I can hide. I wander in search of a private place while the staff ignores my presence and continues with their duties.

I find myself in the middle of a long hallway with walls decorated with art; the place is almost terrifying with all those portraits. I am about to turn around and look for directions to a bathroom when I hear a hoarse groan.

I take a step back and collide with a hard body.

“He who seeks, finds, little sister-in-law,” the cold voice makes me turn around, and I find myself with Renzo Di Sante.

I swallow.

His dark eyes study me mockingly, looking down at me from his height.

“I was just looking for the restroom,” I whisper.

His almost sinister smile makes me fidget, and he nods before looking over my shoulder.

I follow his gaze to find Salvatore adjusting his pants. When he notices the two of us, he throws us a deadly look.

“I told you so,” Renzo says in a low voice before turning around and leaving me alone with my brand-new husband who, from what I see, can’t keep his pants up. Do I care? Not even close, but I am a proud woman, and I will not allow the Rossetti name to be dragged through the mud by this man.

The door he just came out of opens, but he slams it shut.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your mistress?” I click my tongue. “How inconsiderate.”

He grimaces and gives me a mocking smile.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to make a scene?”

“No, I’m a lady, you see; of course, I doubt you’ve ever seen one,” I continue, ignoring how my blood boils. “I thought that at least between the two of us there could be an intention to have a civilized marriage.”

“Since when are the Rossettis civilized,” he chuckles under his breath. “You will do what I say.”

“Seriously?”

“Believe me, making your life easy is not on my wish list,” he slowly approaches me.

Like a predator about to attack its prey.

“The only thing we have in common is that neither of us wants this marriage, but it is what it is… for now, so I hope you play your role as a Di Sante wife as you should, or you will see how bad it can be when you piss me off.”

I lift my chin and look at him with disdain.

“Am I supposed to take your threat seriously?”

He gives me an enigmatic smile.

“That depends on how smart you are, wife.”

“Salvatore, Helena.” His mother’s voice interrupts us. “Your father wants you with the guests.”

My gaze shifts from Salvatore to the door where the groans came from.

“Now,” the woman insists.

“Go ahead, I have to find something first,” his tone is harsh, leaving no room for contradiction. I turn around and leave the sinister hallway with Salvatore’s mother; however, I remember why I went inside.

“Can you show me to a restroom, please?”

She stops and looks at me with her upturned nose.

I think she is going to say something rude, but she doesn't. Instead, she points to an alternate hallway.

“At the end, and don't take too long.”

Not wanting to get into another argument about her command, I walk away, and when I enter the bathroom, I let out a sigh. I approach the sink, and my light eyes look back at me.

“Definitely not what I expected.”