Chapter 5

Alessia

Today, I will be shipped away for marriage. 

A part of me feels relieved-I will finally be free from my vicious stepmother. But another part of me dreads it like a plague. 

The last two days have been an emotional rollercoaster. I searched everywhere for the stranger who haunts my thoughts, but it's as if the universe is against me. 

And every time I close my eyes, I see him fucking me hard in my dreams. The feelings are so intense, that I have stopped sleeping altogether. I can't handle the emotions they bring. 

"Did you find anything?" I ask the moment Livia enters the room. 

I wave off the ladies who just finished dressing and preparing me. They leave quietly. 

Livia lowers her gaze, saying nothing. But she doesn't need to. Her silence is enough. 

"Can you please forget about him?" she sighs. "What good will it do if you find him? You're getting married today. That should be your focus." 

A part of me knows she's right. But what she doesn't understand is that lying to my future husband about my virginity could mean my death. And yet, confessing the truth to my father would be even worse. 

"I wish I wasn't held back that night," Livia mutters, you could feel the regret in her voice. "I tried to follow you, but they stopped me because it was for VIPs. I'm so sorry, Alessia. I should have done something. Maybe then, all of this wouldn't be happening." 

She has been repeating the same thing since that night, and I'm starting to grow tired of hearing it. 

Livia suddenly lowers her voice. "Your father is here to walk you down the aisle." 

My stomach clenches painfully. I have been avoiding my father, but I can't anymore. 

I swallow hard and turn to the mirror. My reflection stares back at me. Blue eyes are dull with exhaustion, dark hair styled to perfection, and a long white wedding gown that symbolizes purity. 

I tear my gaze away from the mirror. Without another word, I walk out of my room.

I see my father, his face is emotionless, but I catch the flash of disappointment in his gaze.

It would almost be easier if he lashed out if he let his anger spill over instead of piercing me with that cold, silent judgment. 

"You're getting married today, yet you don't look excited," he finally speaks, breaking the deafening silence between us. 

I force a bitter smile. "What difference does it make? My fate is already sealed." 

His sharp eyes study me, searching for something. 

"You don't look like a bride ready for her big day. Tell me, do you want this or not?" 

I hold his gaze, for a fleeting seconds. I know he's testing me. 

"A mafia who refuses the Don's order faces exile," I say, lifting my chin in defiance. "And I won't let myself be humiliated here. I'd rather go where I'm being sent." 

He gives nothing away, "No one will humiliate you there." He says with a calm and controlled voice.

But I ask the one thing that has been gnawing at me. "Why did you agree to this marriage? Why ship me off to our rivals?" 

For a moment, he freezes. But then he looks me in the eye and says, "Peace. Don't you want it?" 

The word feels foreign to me. Peace. I have never known it, and I have never felt it. 

"You could have given someone else away for the sake of peace," I whisper, my hands clenching at my sides. "Why me? Your only child?" 

He didn't answer. 

I draw in a slow breath. "I will marry him, not for peace, but because I owe it to you." 

My father narrows his eyes at me, but before he can respond, I see my stepmother approaching. 

She's dressed perfectly for the wedding, her face is painted with a sweet, practiced smile. But I know the truth. She is vile. A woman who has spent years tormenting me, breaking me piece by piece. 

"Is Alessia causing you trouble again?" she asks in her honeyed voice. 

"No," my father says firmly, linking my hand in his as we begin walking down the hallway. 

My heart pounds violently in my chest. I am nervous. I have never met the man I am about to marry. 

My palms grow damp as we round the corner, approaching the staircase that leads to the church. 

Everything is decorated to perfection. Of course. It's Leonardo Rossini's only daughter's wedding. 

I glance around, I see the way other girls look at me with envy. They wish to be in my shoes. I'd switch places in a heartbeat if I could. 

Just before we reach the entrance of the church, my father suddenly stops. He leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. 

"If anyone tries to hurt you, call me. Don't ever think I abandoned you. I will come for you if you need me." 

His voice is softer than I've ever heard it. His usual cold, distant gaze is now different. For the first time in my life, my father doesn't look at me with indifference. 

I swallow hard before whispering back, "When I leave, I will never step foot here again." I try to keep a steady voice, but my heart is pounding. "I'd rather be humiliated in the enemy's camp than stay here because you didn't think twice before sending me away to the enemy's camp." 

His jaw tightens, but he says nothing. 

With that, I lift my chin, square my shoulders, and turn my face forward. I have been trained my whole life to carry myself with grace and to never show weakness. If I am to be sent away like a pawn, I will rather go with my dignity still intact. 

My father strides forward without another word, and I walk beside him as we enter the church. 

My stomach coils with dread. My hands grow clammy as my nerves begin to tighten. 

Everywhere I look, I see bright, smiling faces of guests staring at me in awe and admiration shining in their eyes. 

I force a smile and keep walking. 

Then, I feel a strange sensation. It's like a burning gaze slicing through my skin. A chill runs down my spine. 

I glance around quickly, with my instincts on high alert. But nothing seems out of place. The feeling stays, but I push it aside, as I keep up a smiling face. 

Finally, I look forward-to my husband-to-be. And that's when I see the scar. 

It catches my eye instantly. Something about it tugs at my memory, as I pull into a past I can't escape. 

I furrow my brows as I take a closer look. And then I see onyx eyes. 

My breath catches in my throat. My legs weaken beneath me. 

My lips parted in shock as I stared at the man standing at the altar. 

No, no, no. This has to be a mistake. A sick, twisted joke played by fate. 

It's the stranger from that night.