Bound to Him. Read online

  Bound to Him

  BELLE AURORA

  Contents

  1. Weddings and funerals

  2. A deep regret

  3. A bloody nightmare

  4. The importance of traditions

  5. A walking angel

  6. Vicious little mouse

  7. Walk of shame

  8. Dogs and other animals

  9. A cold-blooded killer

  10. Northport

  11. A gilded cage

  12. Observation

  13. We bleed together

  14. Everyone had something

  15. High end champagne

  16. Transgressions

  17. An entire bowl of bullshit

  18. Boundaries

  19. ‘Til death and beyond

  20. How do you do it?

  21. Only human

  22. The Disciples

  23. Done

  24. At peace

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Weddings and funerals

  Vittoria

  There were only two ways to get made men to stop fighting for a day.

  Invite them to a wedding, or force them to attend a funeral.

  “Five-minute warning,” came from the doorway. A middle-aged woman I didn’t know popped her head into the room, taking care to block me from view of any nosey passersby.

  My nod was subtle but my stomach clenched viciously in protest. The woman looked to me, then over to my sister, who sat draped haphazardly over a chair, scrolling away on her phone. I noticed a subtle look of disapproval sweep over her face as she took in Vincenza. The slight lowering of her brow told me she didn’t like the cool, casual manner in which my sister was taking this whole debacle.

  Sadly, she didn’t know the half of it.

  The woman offered me a thin smile that reeked of pity. Her sympathy was kind, but I didn’t have it in me to return that smile. Not today.

  The door closed quietly and the snick of the latch closing in place felt awfully final. I think it was then that I realized that this was actually happening. My eyes closed in silent prayer, hoping some higher being would hear me, beseeching a deity who mightn’t have existed to intervene.

  Please, God. Gods. Goddesses. Idols. Spirits. Anyone. Please.

  I exhaled long and slow as I stare into the floor length mirror, shaking my hands out as anxiety fingered my spine, settling like a noose around my neck, tightening deliberately until I struggled to breathe and fanned my face, believing I might pass out.

  I don’t want to do this.

  My numb feet led me to the window and when I peered down at the street, I blanched. Cars were double and triple parked. The church he’d chosen wasn’t very big and I wondered where everyone would fit.

  It seemed this tragedy – this catastrophe – would have a live audience.

  Oh, God. I can’t do this.

  My tongue swelled as I put a flat hand to the area under my breasts and choked out, “Enza, I don’t think I can do this.”

  Vincenza, without a care for my disposition, still scrolling on her phone, scoffed, “Of course, you can.”

  “No,” I started quietly, shaking my head. “No.” As I began to hyperventilate, my protest became rattled. Louder. “No. No. No. I can’t.”

  Predicting a panic attack wasn’t far off, Vincenza finally put down her phone and rose up out of her seat. I was pacing when she took hold of my trembling shoulders, held me still, peered into my eyes and said, “We talked about this.”

  I know we did, but that was yesterday, and that was just talk. Today was a whole different story.

  Today made it real.

  Her firm, detached demeanor spoke volumes. She had no intention of freeing me from this burden.

  A mixture of emotions flooded me all at once. Resentment. Dread. Anger. But mostly, fear.

  At twenty-one, I was far too old to begin crying because I wasn’t getting my way, but here we were. My lips quivered and I blinked back tears as I begged her, “I don’t want to do this, Enza. Please don’t make me do this.”

  “Aw, Vicky, don’t cry,” she cooed, pulling me into her warm embrace. She held me close, cupping the back of my head gently and my arms gripped at her back, my fingers tightening in the material of her suit jacket. I sniffled into her shoulder, breathing in the sweet scent of her dark, golden-brown hair. She gave me a minute of reprieve before she pulled back, looked me dead in the eye and said, “I know you don’t want to do this. I don’t want this for you either.” She regarded me carefully as she lifted a hand to brush away my tears and then, her pretty sable eyes turned frosty enough to give me chills. “But sacrifices need to be made.”

  Easy to say when you weren’t the sacrifice.

  My mouth opened but before I even got the chance to protest, a solid knock on the door sounded. Both my sister and I turned as it opened, and when he walked into the room, he glanced over what Vincenza was wearing and his lip curled in disgust.

  “Really, Enza? A suit? A black suit?” our uncle, Como Vero, drawled, utterly unimpressed with her antics. “What the hell is the matter with you? It’s your sister’s wedding.”

  Vincenza shrugged carelessly. “Precisely why I chose an outfit fit for mourning.”

  His face twisted and he looked uncomfortable as he jerked his head, stretching his neck out from side-to-side. He tugged at his tie, straightening it while he uttered, “There’s a lot riding on today. Please, for the love of God, do not fuck this up for your sister.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, zio,” she muttered in return.

  “We’re going to talk about this later. Don’t think-” Obviously he’d seen me, but I don’t think it hit him until a second pass over me, and when he stilled and took me in, he smiled but there was a hint of sadness to it. “Oh, sweetheart. You look beautiful.” Zio Como turned to Vincenza and said, “Doesn’t she look beautiful?”

  “That she does,” she replied, strolling over to the bar, lifting a glass of bourbon to her lips, sipping on it.

  Como’s smile deepened on me. “All eyes are gonna be on you, honey. I mean, come on. How could they look away?” I know he was trying to make me feel like any other bride on her wedding day, but we all knew this wasn’t like any other wedding.

  My sister shot me a sly smile. “That’s the plan.” When she finished with a conspirital wink, my stomach turned in a way that made me think I was going to lose my lunch.

  My heart rate spiked. I didn’t want to do this.

  Then, he said the words I’d been dreading to hear. “It’s time.”

  Time was of the essence and we all just stood there, looking to one another, until my sister moved to retrieve the stunning bouquet sitting on the bar. She brought it over and, for the first time since my freedom was bargained away, she looked at me with something loosely resembling regret.

  Older than me by seven years, she had always been my protector.

  Always, until today.

  There was no protecting me from what was out there.

  “Look,” she started. “You’re going to get overwhelmed up there. So, what I want you to do is,” she placed the bouquet into my lax grip, curling my fingers around it and said, “Think about papa.” Vincenza’s hands curled around my own and then, we were holding the flowers together as one. “I know this is hard. I just want to tell you that I am so proud of you and I love you very much.”

  To the untrained ear, it was just one sibling being affectionate with the other. But I heard it for what it really was. A goodbye.

  No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t think of a single way out of this situation. There was nowhere I could flee to that would keep me safe. They had the ability and resources to turn every stone on every corner of the planet until I was found. Escape was futile.

  So, this was it.

  My throat got tight. I tried to but couldn’t speak, so instead, I simply nodded.

  With my sister by my side, we walked the long hall to the entrance of the church. The organ began to play soft church music and I watched as the cousins I asked to be bridesmaids made the long walk to the front of the church with my sister, who acted as my maid of honor, trailed closely behind. Once they stood opposite the three handsome men on the groom’s side, the organ stopped playing, the church turned silent and it was my turn.

  Zio Como took great care in placing my veil over my face then he tucked my small hand into the crook of his elbow and patted it tenderly as we took our places front and center.

  My heart stuttered when I spotted my husband-to-be waiting for me with his back turned.

  The first notes of Pachelbel’s Canon in D began to play and in uniform, pews creaked and material swished as the entire church turned to set their eyes on me. When my uncle began to move, I followed with my heart in my throat. I clutched at his arm tightly enough to injure. The closer we got to the altar, the stronger my urge to run was.

  I shouldn’t have been looking, but the man set to marry me was tall. His frame was built, his hips were lean and the suit he wore was tailored to fit him well. His dark hair matched my own and when he finally turned to face me, I almost gasped out loud.

  Having never seen the man until right this moment, my stomach fluttered and my heart danced off-kilter as I took him in from the privacy of my veil.

  He was older than I assumed he would be and he looked about as exasperated as I was, but still, he stood dutifully, civilly, waiting for his bride. Waiting for me. His heavy brow lowered a touch when I advanced. His full lips pursed, only slightly. His strong
jaw flexed and it was only because of how close I was that I saw his shoulders droop with the heavy sigh he released.

  I stopped farther away than I should have. It took my uncles gentle coaxing to bring me forward. My husband-to-be took a single step towards me and I leant away from him.

  It was funny because the expression on his face never changed, but I could tell. He was smiling at me.

  Something happened to me then. A warmth I’d never felt before bloomed in my middle. My mouth dried. Without exaggeration, I could safely say here was the most handsome man I had ever laid eyes on. And my stomach dipped.

  No.

  It was wrong. This all felt wrong.

  This isn’t how it was meant to be.

  My uncle took my clenched fist and made to hand me over to my new master. The stranger watched me carefully. I stared in fright. And the second my cold knuckles brushed his warm hand, I jolted as if I’d been shocked and pulled away, clasping my bouquet between both hands in a death grip.

  “Vittoria,” Zio Como reprimanded. “You must take Ettore’s hand.”

  “I’m sor-” But the beginnings of my apology were cut off when Ettore spoke and his voice was deep and rich like warm melted dark chocolate.

  “It’s fine.”

  The priest looked at me with an air of dissatisfaction but at Ettore’s nod of consent, the ceremony began. The priest preached about trust and loyalty, and I withered on the inside.

  You’re going to hell, Vicky.

  The ceremony went on at a snail’s pace and I prepared for what was coming. Then, the part I’d been dreading finally came. The priest nodded to my sister and she stepped forward, gently taking the ends of my veil and lifting it up and over my head. My face must have been paler than it felt because Vincenza whispered, “Breathe. Think about papa and just breathe.”

  I nodded and when I turned back to the man beside me, he snuffled out a soft laugh at my unwillingness to relinquish my bouquet.

  My body was on fire. My neck burned and the apples of my cheeks blazed as the priest began with, “Ettore Scala, do you take this woman, Vittoria Vero, to be your lawful wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do you part?”

  He didn’t even hesitate. “I do.”

  My brows narrowed at the man beside me as the priest asked the same of me. “Vittoria Vero, do you take this man, Ettore Scala, to be your lawful husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do you part?”

  Where he was without hesitation, my reluctance went unconcealed and I froze.

  After a long moment, the priest prompted, “Vittoria?” but I remained still and unmoving.

  “Now,” my sister hissed from behind me. “Do it now.”

  Muttering in the pews commenced and my husband-to-be frowned deeply at me while, in my head, I found clarity in my own whispered words. “For papa.”

  “Well?” The priest had long lost his patience. “Do you take this man to be your husband or not?”

  Time seemed to slow as I dropped my bouquet, holding onto what had been concealed inside. My heart ached as I lifted one shaking hand, pointed the gun at my intended and stated roughly, “I’d rather die.”

  I pulled the trigger, shooting Ettore Scala point blank. He barely moved as the bullet pierced his flesh. Blood seeped from between his fingers and it was only when he winced that I remembered I wasn’t done here.

  I glanced back at my sister and found her wild eyed and grinning victoriously at Ettore. Her gaze met mine and her smile faded. Vincenza gave me a sharp nod and I smiled sadly in return.

  Until we meet again, sister.

  I spun frontward, towards the wedding’s attendees, and lifted the gun, turning it on myself.

  The shot rang out and everything went black.

  Chapter 2

  A deep regret

  Vittoria

  A mere millisecond before I pulled the trigger a second time, I was shoved harshly, but the gun went off with the bullet travelling upwards through the roof instead of its intended target, my skull. My breath left me in a whoosh as I landed forcefully on the cold marble floor and my vision completely shorted out before stars danced in my eyes. Winded, I gasped as something large and heavy fell onto my body, pushing me down. And when I regained focus, I immediately wished I hadn’t because what I saw in front of me was the gloriously enraged face of Ettore Scala. He gripped my forearm, lifted it effortlessly, then slammed my hand against the ground, and I watched in terror as the gun skidded across the marble, stopping under a pew.

  My heart raced when I came to understand the reality of the situation.

  Ettore Scala was still alive. Regrettably, I was too.

  Plans foiled, I searched for my sister amongst the chaos but there were too many people skittering around for me to land eyes on her. My gaze swept the scene. Our bridal party was in disarray. My bridesmaids were huddled together, scared senseless, while one of the groomsmen held my Zio Como up by his shirt, yelling into his face so hard that spittle sprayed my terrified uncle. My stomach ached and my breathing slowed when I realized that the Scala family outnumbered my own by ten. But, amongst the clamor and noise, one sound was out of place.

  Crying.

  I followed the sound of whimpering sobs until I found its source. And my heart stopped dead.

  Two little boys and a young girl struggled violently against the family members that held them back, keeping them safe. From me. And the way they were looking at me…

  The acid in my stomach boiled and bubbled as guilt wracked me, hard. I thought I was going to be sick from it. Yes. There was blood on my hands, but I wasn’t a monster.

  My ears rang. What they were calling out faded in and out of my hearing. But in a moment of clarity, I saw the girl reach for us and cry out a petrified sounding, “Papa!”

  What?

  I blinked in confusion and continued to do so, even after Ettore Scala turned his head towards the children and calmly stated, “I’m fine.” Then he looked to the boys and repeated, “It’s alright, boys. Daddy’s okay.”

  What? Did they just… He wasn’t… No. They weren’t…

  It hit me with the force of a brick to the temple.

  Oh no.

  No.

  No, no, no. Shit.

  This was bad. Where was Vincenza?

  My body wriggled in an attempt to get away from this man, but his head snapped towards me, his grip tightened on my wrist and I flinched in pain, knowing he was fully justified in the level of force he was using.

  Cold fury darkened his gaze and now that I had a moment to think on it, I comprehended just how badly I fucked up.

  I know it wouldn’t mean a thing to him, but I had to say it. “I’m sorry,” I whispered with genuine fear in my eyes. My gaze swept over the children stopping at the oozing wound at his shoulder and I said the words again, desperate and quavering, “I’m sorry.”

  His brows knotted, his jaw ticked and when he stood, he took no care in hauling me up harshly, setting me down on wobbling legs. I peered downward to find the floor warping and twisting as I fought to stay conscious. My betrotheds blood decorated my pristine white dress and it was fitting. My purity was tainted and my dress now reflected that.

  Ettore turned towards the chaotic congregation and lifted his hand, demanding silence. It took a moment but the entire hall hushed instantly into an eerie quiet, save for the quiet whimpers of his children.

  They held my uncle still. I wanted to tell them to let him go, but I knew I was in no position to make demands. Not now. Zio Como’s gaze met my own and the look of betrayal he wore absolutely crushed me. I wanted to go to him. As I yanked my arm, Ettore held firm and when he spoke, I paused, unable to believe what I was hearing.