LORENZO

SANCIA

Present Day

I grunt as I try to breathe through this pure torture, letting out a string of expletives that instantly had three sets of eyes glaring at me through the mirror in chastisement—as my Zia Francesca tried to force my body into a wedding dress that I think is a size smaller.

But she insisted it would fit like a glove; it was, after all, the same dress we had gotten a week ago, and if it fit then, there was no way it wouldn’t fit now.

My body didn’t seem to agree, nor did I. I haven’t the heart nor the energy to explain to her that I’ve been stress-eating for the past couple of days. It’s no surprise that the stupid dress decides I’m too fat to fit in it.

But why should I say anything? Why should I even care? It’s not like my opinion matters here; I’m just a pawn in their plans, powerless in this famiglia.

I’m only the reluctant bride being forced into a wedding dress just so I can walk down the hall and marry the most frightening man in my world, a man I hate with every fiber of my being.

But while I feel suffocated and wretched, no one seems to notice my plight.

“There,” my aunt said, straightening, looking me over with a sense of accomplishment that she was right; the dress did fit, too perfectly.

The truth is, I don’t care either way. I don’t care if it fits or not, or if it is beautiful or as ugly as a burlap sack. All this did not matter to me as long as the groom remained the same.

“Sancia, I’ve never seen a bride as beautiful as you,” my aunt crooned, awed. Her eyes suddenly turned all teary, and she dabbed at them with her handkerchief.

Mama and Aunt Lorena nodded in agreement. Spinning me around to face her, my mother held my hands in hers.

“La mia bambina” (my little girl) she said, voice choked with emotion.

“I can’t believe you’re all grown up and getting married, the only thing missing is your smile,” she adds, touching my face and hair with tenderness, her beautiful green eyes like my sister’s, brimming with tears.

“How can I smile when I’m being forced into this marriage? Don’t you think you expect too much of me?” I said. I feel like she didn’t understand how unhappy I was with this.

Lorenzo was not my choice and will never be. But did that mean anything to anyone? No! I’m nothing but a sacrificial lamb to my famiglia.

“Now listen to me, Bambina; I know you think we don’t care about your feelings, but that is not true.” I went to say something, but her finger on my lips stopped me.

“I am going to tell you the same thing my mother told me. We did not choose this life. This life chooses us; you can be smart, and I know you are. Accept your fate and choose your battles wisely, or you can be stubborn and suffer the consequences. Regardless of what your choice is, know this…”

She grabbed my chin and stared into my angry, defiant eyes. “Your marriage with Lorenzo Marchetti will happen. Your father has said so, and his words are the laws here; you know that as well as I do.”

“The man is a cold-blooded killer, mama, a monster,” I rush to point out.

She let my chin go and walked behind me. Isabella hands her the veil for my wedding dress. She started pinning it in place in my braided hair. Her eyes caught mine in the mirror.

“The man is called Diavolo for a reason, bambina; of course, I know he’s a killer. But what man isn’t in our world?” her dark, shapely brows arched in question.

“Antonio. Mama, you know he’s a good man; he’s different from the others,” I said passionately. She scoffed.

“I know, I’ve watched him grow into a respectable gentleman. But Antonio does not deserve you,” she said; Zia Francesca said something that had Zia Lorena chuckling.

I could almost guess what they were saying about my Antonio. I don’t care what anyone says, I know him better than anyone.

“Take it from me, better you marry a strong man who is a monster but will protect you, than a stooge of a man. At least then you’ll be safe,” my mother adds.

My lips wobbled in the mirror, and anger flared. I yanked my head from her hand and stared into her eyes through the mirror. It was my turn to scoff.

“There’s no safety here, mama. Only death, blood, and loneliness, hiding beneath the veneer of wealth and feigning happiness. If you do not stop this farce of a wedding. You’ll be sentencing me to that kind of life, Mama.” My voice was pleading, hoping she would hear me for once and help me escape this entrapment.

“That’s not true, Sancia.” My mother said patiently, as though she was speaking to a five-year-old throwing a tantrum.

“I can see it in his eyes. Lorenzo Marchetti might not be a good man, but he will protect you with his life if need be. You have to believe that man was fated to be yours; only then will you find happiness with him.”

“You just don’t get it,” I spat. “I don’t love Lorenzo, and I never will because I love Antonio.” She looked at me like I didn’t know what I was saying.

“Oh, Sancia, when will you stop being so stubborn? I’m your madre, and I see what you don’t see.”

“You don’t see anything, Mama. You don’t see how much I hate this man. You don’t see how unhappy I am with this marriage; you see absolutely nothing. It’s at times like this that I wish I were born to a different family, a family where my voice is heard and my opinion matters.”

My words would have hurt another woman, but not my mother. The elegant and sophisticated wife of the Capo of the Vincenzo family wasn’t fazed in the least. She merely rolled her eyes upward and muttered “Jesu Cristo” under her breath.

God forbid the most demure and elegant in the famiglia loses her composure. That would be the day.

“At one point, we’ve all wished that. We eventually learn as we grow; this is our way of life. Right now, you might think we hate you, that no one is on your side, but one day, probably sooner than you think, you’ll see the wisdom in what I said, and you’ll understand we only want the best for you.”

I scoffed. “Since when did Lorenzo Marchetti become the best? Last I checked, he was our worst enemy, whose entire family we’ve wished dead for as long as I can remember. Until all of a sudden, Papa decided to ally with him, and suddenly, everyone thought he’d set up the moon or some shit.”

“Things have changed for the better. He’s no longer our enemy. Our families have been at war for hundreds of years; we’ve suffered so many losses; this alliance is long overdue. Your marriage to Lorenzo marks the beginning of a new era of peace and prosperity for all of us.”

“Why does this peace have to be at the expense of my life and happiness? Why me? Why not give him your precious Isabella?!” I screamed, beyond caring what they all thought of me.

It’s not like they didn’t know how I felt; I hadn’t made a secret of it. My mother stared at me, shocked and disappointed. I know it was a low blow to pull Isabella into this, but I was high on emotion.

Isabella looked like I had slapped her, but there was understanding and pity in her eyes, which I loathe. For a split second, I felt a twinge of guilt, but that feeling was fleeting, leaving behind anger and resentment.

She was supposed to be the one; she should have been the one wearing this suffocating, stupid wedding dress. She was older, more beautiful, graceful, and free; I was not. I was engaged to Antonio. At least I used to be.

“You know the answers to that, Sancia. Because it is you he wants. He didn’t want me,” Isabella replied softly.

“I was engaged to Antonio for three years; it should be him that I’m marrying, not this…this Lucifero.” My mother sighs.

“Sancia, I’m tired of arguing with you. I will go check if your father is ready; it’s almost time to head downstairs.” She patted my hands and freed hers from my hold, and without another word, she walked away.

Tears of frustration well up fast.

“Sancia, do not cry and ruin your makeup,” Zia Francesca warned, probably not wanting to see her efforts wasted in vain.

“I don’t care,” I yelled. “What would it take for you to listen to me? Do I have to lose my virginity for you and Papa to cancel this wedding?” I yelled angrily.

My sister and cousins gasped in horror.

“Sancia!” my mother, who was almost at the door, yelled, startling me. I swear my heart almost jumped out of my chest.

The minute I blurted those words, I regretted it. My zia Francesca and Lorena, my cousin Lucia, and Isabella were all staring at me like I’d said something blasphemous.

Only Christina wasn't surprised; only she knew what I had done. My mother’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, and her eyes ran over me as she walked closer.

“Oh, Sancia, please tell me you didn’t,” my mother said anxiously; the blatant fear in her eyes had my heart galloping.

My nerves skittered, and cold sweat slid down my spine. I kept my expression neutral.