Chapter 2: Meeting with Him

Chapter Two: Meeting with Him

Valerie’s POV

“Vale, I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I can’t marry you. I love Cynthia. We decided to move on together. Don’t try to find us. You’ll move on, you always do. Oh…and don’t bother looking for the properties and your credit scores you trusted me with. They’re gone too. I’ll put them to better use.”

This wasn’t just abandonment, it was theft. It was betrayal wearing Michael’s handwriting, Michael’s careless grammar, Michael’s smug little arrogance tucked into the loops of every letter.

How did I not see this coming? What blinded me so much that I couldn’t see that Michael and Cynthia were having an affair and plotting to humiliate me?

The pounding of my pulse in my ears was loud enough to drown the hymn still playing faintly in the background. Who in God’s name is still playing a hymn like the wedding is still going on? Who? Why are they all trying to humiliate me?

The paper shook in my hands as I squeezed it tightly.

I was angry, raging, wishing I could see Michael now and tear him apart. Heaven knows that they will welcome me into the kingdom if I dare see Cynthia right now.

With all my anger and rage, I was also ashamed.

I couldn’t even dare stand up from the altar where I knelt.

How the hell am I supposed to face my friends again? Oh goodness! I should have trusted Anna’s instincts, it was always right.

 “Vale…”

John’s voice broke through, fragile, trembling. He stood just above me, his face pale, his hand hesitant, hovering like he wasn’t sure if touching me would make me shatter completely.

“Vale… let me… let me see it.”

My lips parted, but nothing came out, just silence, raw and jagged.

My hands were numb, fingers stiff and unfeeling, like they didn’t belong to me anymore. They barely resisted when John pried the paper from them.

He unfolded it slowly as though it were some sacred relic, when in truth it was the blade still lodged in my chest.

His eyes scanned each line, and I knew the blood drain from his face. His lips moved soundlessly, shaping the words I had just swallowed like poison.

For a moment, he just stared at me, with sadness in his eyes, he must have had no idea that his friend was up to no good. He stared back at the letter, and then he stood up, paced the altar a bit more and then he addressed the guests.

His voice cracked, raw and thin at first before he forced it louder, carrying over the murmurs that had already started rippling through the pews.

“...The wedding…” He swallowed hard, tried again, firmer. “The wedding is cancelled.”.

Gasps burst across the congregation. I turned to them, watching how they reacted to the news.  A woman near the back clutched her rosary and crossed herself. Somewhere, a child whimpered before being shushed. Another guest, bolder, raised a phone; the sharp click of a camera shutter sliced through the silence, obscene in its finality.

They started moving away gradually.

I could hear the uneasy shifting of silk dresses, the scrape of chair legs, the awkward coughs of people too polite to flee but too uncomfortable to linger and then the trickle turned to a tide.

They rose, slowly, guiltily, almost apologetically and began to file out. The sound of polished shoes against marble echoed in hollow rhythms, each step like a nail hammered into the coffin of this day.

I sat there, frozen, watching my own life unravel in designer heels and lace wedding dress as one by one, they abandoned me.

Anna and the girls came towards me,

“I’m sorry, Valerie” Anna said.

I could hear Gabriella sniffing as she couldn’t bare but to cry for me.

They were confused on how to console me, of course that have never experienced this, so they don’t have the experience on what to say. What could they say? They looked almost afraid, as though my pain might spread if they stood too close.

They looked at one another, some silent agreement passing between them, and I knew their decision before they moved.

They thought giving me space was the best thing, they thought I needed space to overcome whatever hurt I felt.

If only they knew what I needed right now was a hug. I miss my papa so much!

I wish he was here, I wish I hadn’t acted like the independent daughter of his who wanted to do her late mother’s wish alone by moving to Mexico.

In a few minutes, it was quiet, everyone had left the church and I was left alone, just me and God.

Why would God allow Michael and Cynthia humiliate me this way in church? Why?

I clutched at my gown as if I could keep myself from unraveling, nails catching on the delicate lace, threads snapping under my desperation. My veil fell forward, a blur of white across my face, shrouding me like some widow in reverse, mourning a marriage that had died before it ever lived.

I cried until my chest burned and my throat was stripped raw, until I was certain there was nothing left of me but salt water and shame.

Then I heard someone clear their throat, I looked up and I with my blurry vision, I saw two men and a lady, they were all on black from head to toe.

At first I wondered if they were the grim reaper and were here to take my life, did I scream too loud that I lost my own life?

One of them looked so sharp and… angry. His brow knitted as he glared at me, but I didn’t care, I bowed my head back to continue mourning my failed wedding.

Tony’s POV

It was getting irritating for me, sitting there, watching her cry at the altar. Her sobs echoed off, bouncing back as though the church itself wanted to make a spectacle of her misery. But to me? It was noise.

What was she crying about, really? The fact her so-called husband-to-be had stepped on my toe and I am here to kill him?

Or was she just that good of an actress, thinking I would buy into this circus of lace and tears and leave thinking that Michael stood her up?

My jaw tightened, molars grinding together as her veil shook with another convulsion of grief. How much longer was she planning to drag this charade out?

I drew a slow breath, let it anchor in my chest, counting it out as I forced the irritation down. I knew real grief. I’d seen it raw, unfiltered.

I had seen women collapse at the edge of open graves, clawing at coffins until their fingers split. I had heard real screams when people are in grief, when I torture people, when the family of the dead come knocking in my door asking for mercy not knowing I had already killed their traitorous relative.

This was clearly performance. Michael thinks he is smart, he thinks he can pull up this cheap stunt to make me go away?

“Why would they go this far,” I muttered, but my voice was sharp enough for the ears of the two who never left my side.

Vivian, my assistant, and Victor, my consigliere.

“Why go to this far, just to die in the end?”

I could feel their agreement in the silence, in the weight of their stares fixed on the Bride’s bowed head.

We were here for Michael, he has hurt me so badly, he deserves to die. I knew he would try to pull a stunt to avoid my coming, but I didn’t think he would go as far as abandoning his own wedding and his bride to cover up for him.

I leaned back slightly, but my eyes never left her. She shook like a woman shattered, but I’d learned long ago to look past the trembling. To see the intention beneath the display.

Enough!

My patience wasn’t a resource I handed out freely. My time even less so and right now, both were being wasted.

Michael had made a move that dragged my name into the dirt, and I couldn’t afford dirt on my name. Not in this business, not in this life.

My life was at stake, I can’t afford a vendetta in my Mafia Family.

I needed Michael alive to clear it, and then I would kill him.

I rose from the pew.

My polished shoes struck the aisle with deliberate weight, each click echoing like the toll of a bell.

At the altar, she remained curled in on herself, sobbing into her hands. Her white gown pooled around her like a shroud, her veil trembling with each broken breath. The picture of ruin was just too perfect, I almost believed.

My shadow swallowed her where she sat. Still, she did not look up.

I bent slightly, my voice cutting the air clean in two.

“Enough with your scheme.”

Her sobbing faltered, just for a breath, a fraction but she didn’t raise her head.

My eyes narrowed. I sharpened each word, let them land like blades.

“Where is Michael?”

She didn’t give me even the twitch of acknowledgment. She folded further into herself, as if she could disappear into the lace.

Patience snapped inside me, fast and final. I seized her shoulders, fingers biting through the delicate fabric, dragging her chin upward.

“Look at me,” I hissed.

In a split second, her hand cracked across my face.

Heat bloomed instantly across my cheek, a searing brand.

The gasp that followed wasn’t mine. Vivian’s voice fractured the silence, high and scandalized, like a woman witnessing sacrilege. I didn’t need to look at her to feel her outrage simmering.

Victor surged forward, his bulk a wall of barely checked violence. His fists curled, his growl rumbling. “Boss…”

“Stop.”

I lifted a hand. He froze mid-step.

I kept my gaze locked on her.

She had dared, she deliberately slapped me. Ha! I should have felt angry to desire her head instantly, but I was just intrigued by the audacity.

She doesn’t know who I am? Michael didn’t give her the update before involving her in his mess?

She had a raw, reckless, suicidal spirit. The kind that could get her killed, and yet… something in me recognized it and admired it, even.

Slowly, I released her. Watched as she collapsed back into herself, folding like paper, sobs ripping out of her again, louder now, shattering the still air of the church.

I straightened, adjusted the cuff of my suit with careful precision, and spoke without looking away from her.

“Let her continue pretending, she will soon blow her cover and when she is ready,…” My voice curled, low and sure, every syllable a promise. “…she’ll tell me where the fuck Michael is.”

I turned, footsteps echoing down the nave, each strike of leather against marble deliberate, unhurried.

I knew then: she wasn’t going to be as simple as I’d thought.