Chapter Five

GABRIELLA

I shifted my body from the very cold, unforgiving floor, only then realizing that I had dozed off right after hours of lamenting and crying. My body felt heavy. As I dragged my body to a sitting position, a sharp sting shot through my lower back.

My bones ached. I could tell it was because I had chosen the floor instead of the comfortable bed right beside me.

“No. We are getting married tomorrow, so I won’t kill you.”

His voice echoed in my ears.

The sudden thoughts of us getting married rushed through my mind. It hit me like a dagger.

Married? To the man who killed my father? The same man who had ripped away the only person who ever showed me what love truly meant? It was impossible. It was cruel.

“What am I going to do?” I muttered under my breath.

I got up, and the sight of the chains around my wrists fueled my anger even more.

“The nerve of him,” I hissed.

It wasn’t enough that he dragged me into his home without my consent, locked me in this room, he had to chain me too, like I was some dog.

I looked around for anything that would make sense to me, that would give me an idea of what to do.

I looked around the room, nothing.

I hurried to the cupboard by the side and opened it; it was empty.

In a few hours, Marcello’s masked guards would come in to drag me to a wedding I never wanted.

I couldn’t let that happen.

I hurried to the window. It was locked.

“Come on!” I muttered in frustration.

I tried forcing it open, and when I successfully did, I looked outside. The distance between the floor and the window was far, too far. It wasn’t gonna work, except of course I wanted to die.

At this rate, dying might just be way better than allowing myself to stay tortured. Maybe death would be better than being a prisoner to the man I despised.

I peeped again; this time I was certain, jumping down the window just wouldn’t work. I looked around the room again, my eyes suddenly drawn to the bed. It had a very small piece of cloth; cotton material.

I couldn’t stop but entertain the idea that came into my mind.

What if I just killed myself?

Maybe that would hurt him. Maybe people would talk. Maybe the world would finally know that Marcello, the almighty Marcello, drove a woman to her death after murdering her father.

Yet again, there was a flash of Marcello’s face. He didn’t look like one who would feel guilty for a crime he committed.

But that didn’t matter to me; all I felt at the moment was frustration. I just wanted out.

So I dragged off the cloth that lay on the bed and threw it across the chandelier that hung in the middle of the room. It was a bit difficult because of the chains on my hands, but after many failed attempts, I finally was able to have the cloth circle around the chandelier. I grabbed the wooden chair and put it right under the chandelier. All I had to do was tie the cloth around my neck, step onto the chair, and then kick it away just like I saw in movies and that was it.

Did I want to die? Maybe not. But at that moment, it felt like the only thing I could control.

I grabbed the cloth, wrapped it around my neck, and tightened it. It wasn’t tight enough. I adjusted it, pulling harder. The chandelier swayed, trembling as if warning me to stop. Suddenly, fear rushed through me. My heart pounded.

Wasn’t I the one who wanted to die? Why did my body rebel against the thought? Apparently, it wasn’t that easy as the movies portrayed. Before I could think, I found myself tripping off the chair. My head hit the floor with a loud crack, and because the rope was already tied to my neck, it pulled down the chandelier. It crashed, scattering into a thousand shards around me.

I tried getting up with my hand, reaching for my head which had suffered a hit, but a glass pierced right into the sole of my foot. I let out a sharp cry.

Immediately, the door burst open, and an entourage of attendants walked in. One dragged a clothing rack filled with clothes, another dragged a makeup box, and the last person came in with hair accessories. Sandra, a middle-aged woman, led them in, only to stop short when she saw the shattered chandelier scattered across the floor.

“Oh ma’am, what happened here? Is that blood on your feet?” Sandra said.

She hurried to me, avoiding the shattered glass.

“On your wedding day, this is bad omen,” the hairstylist murmured.

“John, please go call the nurse. Hurry!” Sandra said.

I sat there, just recovering from the fall. Was this really happening? My eyes shifted towards the hairstylist, who began to assemble all the accessories on a foldable table. My eyes ran towards the dresses that were hanging on the clothing rack, all black dresses. The makeup artist was also setting her makeup tools. Everything felt mechanical, like a ritual I hadn’t agreed to be part of.

Does this mean I am really going to be a part of the Ricci family?

A few seconds later, a nurse had arrived and attended to my injury. I was then told to go take my bath; I had no choice but to obey.

As I stood in the bathroom, without even attempting to bathe, my eyes scanned the entire bathroom, thinking and searching for a way to escape from this nightmare.

“Is everything alright in there?” Sandra’s voice called.

I hadn’t even started bathing. I wasn’t ready. I knew that stalling in the bathroom wouldn’t save me forever, but it could buy me some time.

So I sat down on the toilet seat. One hour passed. I heard their murmurs, frustration, and whispers about my delay. Eventually, silence. Then, footsteps fading away.

“Took them long enough.”

I got up from the toilet seat, flushed it, and then slowly opened the toilet door. With the little space I had opened, I scanned the room. They had all left with their tools. The only thing that managed to remain was the cloth rack filled with those ugly-looking dresses.

All clear.

I completely stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door. I turned and there he was.

The monster.

His hair was well pressed to the corner, his dark shirt buttoned up except for one, just enough to reveal a glimpse of his chest. He held a black suit in his hands. His gaze was on me, like a predator checking out his prey.

“You don’t want to keep your groom waiting, do you?”

His voice filled the room, deep, and it caused me to shudder.

I tried hurrying back into the bathroom, but his voice stopped me.

“Don’t even think about it,” Marcello said.

I scoffed, like he read my mind. Still, I pulled the doorknob of the bathroom only to feel his hand twist into my hair, yanking me back. He turned me to face him.

“You’re pretty defiant, aren’t you?” He dropped his hands off my hair and cupped my face with one hand, his palm pressing hard against my delicate cheeks.

“I don’t like my guest to be kept waiting,” Marcello said.

He turned my face to the cloth rack, his eyebrows signaling me to pick one of the dresses.

“I am not getting married to you,” I shot at him. “Not in this world, not in another lifetime,” I concluded right after getting my face out of his hands.

A smirk curved his lips. He walked to the dresser, picked one of the dresses, and held it against my body.

I allowed the dress to fall.

“No way I’m wearing that.”

He said nothing, just reached into his pocket and brought out a mini key. He unlocked the chains around my wrists.

“Get dressed,” he said softly. “So I don’t have to be the one to do it for you.”

I doubted him. There was no way in this world that I would let him undress me and then have me wear his ugly dress. Almost daring him, I was willing to see the extent to which he would go just to have me put on the dress. So, I picked up the dress, then grabbed a pair of scissors and tore the fabric in half.

I could see his facial expression hardening, and I loved the sight of it, just for a second. He wasn’t the only one who had the right to control things.

But maybe if I had known what would come after, I would have just worn the dress.

He lunged towards me, grabbing the top of my dress and ripping it apart. I gasped, shock and anger flooding me as I stumbled backward. I felt violated.

“Stop!” I screamed.