The Mafia Boss's Bride

It's prayer day again. God must forgive my distraction, because last night my stepfather called me drunk again, but I didn't dare answer. He's like a sticky bug clinging to me.

I knelt in the church, my fingertips gripping my mother's rosary so hard it hurt, my lips moving mechanically, reciting prayers.

I was really distracted, probably affected by that unfamiliar figure in the front row.

Damn it, why was he so tall? I'd never seen someone like that in church before. Who was he? A young worshipper?

Or some guy my stepfather sent to steal my money?

He had broad shoulders, wearing a well-tailored dark suit, sitting there alone like a silent rock.

The light from the mass seemed to focus on him, making all the devoted believers around him fade into a blurry background.

I couldn't control my heart skipping a beat.

This wasn't a good sign. The Lord would surely punish me. I closed my eyes in fear.

But the man's silhouette was still in my mind. Damn it, how did he get in there?

When the last old woman made the sign of the cross and left shakily, and the church's heavy wooden door closed, only the two of us remained in the empty sanctuary.

Candlelight flickered on the altar, stretching his shadow long, all the way to my feet.

He stood up with the grace of a leopard, and when he turned, his deep eyes caught my gaze precisely.

Those eyes were like Tuscan midnight, now staring at me openly, with intense interest.

I couldn't dodge in time. I tried to stand up but found my legs weak.

Oh God, why were my legs weak? It must be because this man's presence was too powerful. He seemed different from other men.

"Buongiorno, signorina." (Good day, miss.)

The rich Italian accent echoed in the empty church. He walked closer step by step, his expensive leather shoes striking the stone floor like a countdown.

I froze in place, watching his tall figure completely envelop me, bringing a dangerous scent of cedar and tobacco.

"Sonya." He said my name precisely, his lips curving into an ambiguous smile. "Such a sweet name, like a cake waiting to be tasted."

He suddenly leaned in close, his high-bridged nose almost touching the side of my neck, taking a deep breath.

"The scent of a virgin..." His hot breath sprayed on my skin, making me tremble all over. "So pure it makes one want to dirty it."

I tried to step back, but my spine hit the cold wall. Nowhere to hide.

He suddenly pressed his hand against the wall beside my ear, trapping me in his shadow.

"From today on, remember who you belong to." His voice suddenly turned cold, each word like an ice pick. "Don't let any other man touch you, not even a finger."

Dark possessiveness churned in those deep eyes. I closed my eyes in fear, thinking that sacrilegious violation was about to happen in this sanctuary.

The expected assault didn't come. Instead, I heard a low chuckle by my ear.

His cold lips gently landed on my forehead, yet that kiss was hotter than flames.

At the same time, his hand suddenly gripped my neck, not too hard but full of threat, forcing me to lift my head and receive this branding kiss.

"I like your scent, Sonya." He whispered in my ear, like sweet words yet like a warning. "If I find out you've seen another man..."

The unfinished words were full of dangerous implications.

He released his hand. Before turning to leave, he glanced at me one last time, that look making my whole body go cold.

"Remember, Sonya, you can only have one man in this lifetime, and that's me."

"You'd better stay far away from other men, because I'm very petty. Yes, even God knows I'm the pettiest person."

"I mean, when I'm angry, I might strip you naked and take you right here."

It wasn't until his footsteps completely disappeared that I slid down the wall to sit on the ground, breathing heavily.

The touch of his fingers still lingered on my neck, that kiss on my forehead burning my soul.

I breathed a sigh of relief but was still on edge, because he couldn't be my stepfather's man, but might be someone more dangerous.

"Damn it... I forgot, I have to meet my stepfather tonight..."

Does my stepfather count as another man?

Last night, when I didn't want to answer his call, he called my roommate instead, that hoarse, disgusting voice.

"Meet at the usual place."

Not a discussion, but an order.

That voice was like a rusty key, violently opening the locked door deep in my memory.

Heavy breathing in the darkness, my mother's sobbing, the fear of my young self huddled in a corner...

When I was five, after my mother was beaten by my stepfather, she was exhausted.

On her deathbed, her bony hand gripped Father Fabrizio's robe tightly, entrusting little me to him.

Surprisingly, that alcoholic stepfather actually agreed, perhaps because of the priest's authority, or perhaps because he discovered a longer-term, more legitimate source of extortion.

From then on, all my meager salary as a nun was promptly handed over to him, as if it were an endless ransom I paid for that shameful past.

Thinking about meeting my stepfather tonight, double fear gripped me.

I suddenly got up and rushed to the restroom behind the altar, knocking on the door with trembling hands.

"Father..." My voice was broken.

Elderly Father Fabrizio was organizing the sacred vessels.

He had a kind face carved by years and devotion.

Father Fabrizio turned around, looking at me gently. "My child, you're troubled today."

"He... called again, wants to see me." I didn't want to say my stepfather's name, because he made my bones tremble.

The priest's brow immediately furrowed with concern; those blue-gray eyes that had seen too much of life's joys and sorrows sharpened. "Did he say why? What specifically does he want to do?"

I shook my head, my slender fingers gripping the hem of my black nun's habit tightly. "He didn't say, just ordered me to go, but I know it can't be anything good. May the Lord protect me."

I knelt with my hands clasped together. When I closed my eyes, the image of that man from earlier appeared in my mind.

The skin on my forehead was burning; it helped offset my stepfather's effect on me. I surprisingly didn't feel like throwing up anymore.

It must be the Lord hearing my prayers, making me feel much better.

"Listen, Sonya," the priest's hand pressed on my shoulder, transmitting weak but firm strength. "You know what he did to you and your mother, right? Anytime, if there's any trouble, call me immediately. Don't face him alone, understand?"

His gaze passed over my head, glancing in the direction where that strange man had left. "Did that man just now do anything to you?"

I opened my eyes, somewhat shocked. "Yes, yes, he said I was his woman, wouldn't let me see other men. Father, that's not right, is it?"

"My child," he patted my trembling back gently, "for such a thing to happen in the Lord's temple... this is very unusual."

A complex expression flashed in his blue-gray eyes that saw through worldly matters.

"Sonya, what do you... feel about that man?"

My cheeks suddenly burned. I quickly lowered my head, my fingers twisting the black fabric of my nun's habit.

That evening, I knelt before the confessional, the cold wooden board pressing against my knees, yet it couldn't compare to the chaos in my heart.

"Oh God, Lord, please forgive me..." I confessed, my voice tearful. "He was so fierce to me, I wanted to hate him... but I found the hatred I felt quickly disappeared."

The rosary pressed deep into my palm. I closed my eyes, tears finally sliding down.

"Because I have someone I hate more... Lord, I hope when my stepfather sees me tonight he won't curse my mother, won't take all my money..."

Candlelight flickered before the holy image, like my wavering faith.

"May the Lord protect me."