Convenient Mafia Wife: Prequel (Syndicate Rules Book 1)

Convenient Mafia Wife: Chapter 21



CATALINA

The morning of my sister’s wedding, we are taken early to the church so we can get ready there. Carlotta expects it to take hours. I prepare myself for the tedium of having my hair and makeup done.

When we arrive in the room set aside for us, Carlotta seems agitated. We are both planning on keeping our casual clothes on until just before the ceremony so we do not crease our gowns.

I notice Carlotta’s dress is not hanging up with mine. ‘Where is your dress?’

I know it was in the SUV, our extra bodyguards rode in. I put it there myself.

‘I had it put in the other room.’

‘What? Why?’ I ask.

She gives me a sad smile. ‘I want to get ready alone, soru. I need to get used to not having you to rely on as my security blanket.’

‘But—’

‘You know that saying. Start as you mean to go on. This is the first day of this chapter of my life.’

‘I was looking forward to this morning.’ It will be my last time alone with her. The rest of the day, we will be surrounded by others and tomorrow, I will leave New York.

‘You are such a good sister.’ Carlotta smiles at me. ‘But I need this time. Please will you give it to me?’

‘Of course.’ No matter how hard it is to give up these final hours with her, I cannot refuse my sister if this is what she needs to ready herself for a marriage we both know she doesn’t want.

If I could think of a way to protect her from it, I would. But there is no changing our father’s mind once it is made up.

‘I don’t want to be pestered by anyone. Will you make sure that Aria and Zia Lora do not interrupt my time alone? It’s going to be enough just having the makeup artist and hair stylist in there with me.’

‘If that is what you want, I’ll make sure it happens.’

Carlotta smiles. ‘I knew you would. Thank you, Catalina, you are the best.’noveldrama

I don’t remember the last time she called me Catalina instead of soru. It feels momentous, like our relationship is changing. And it is. My sister is going to be a don’s wife.

And I am going to be gone.

Two hours later, when Aria arrives already wearing a gorgeous light green designer gown that brings out the color of her eyes and her makeup done flawlessly, I explain that Carlotta does not want to be disturbed before my father’s arrival at the church.

Severu’s mother frowns, like this worries her, but says, ‘I will see to the guests then. You look absolutely stunning. I would have liked to have seen you wearing the wedding dress.’

She leaves before I can reply to her astonishing comment.

She must have said a wedding dress, not the wedding dress and I simply misheard her. Yes, that must be it. I’m still reeling from Aria’s words when Zia Lora arrives.

She is not happy when I tell her about Carlotta’s request to be left alone. ‘But I have not given her the talk yet,’ my aunt says a little hysterically.

I stare at her and then cannot help the laugh that bubbles up out of my throat. ‘Do not worry. Girls talk. Even in proper boarding schools like the one Carlotta and I attended.’

‘You are sure? I would not have her ignorant of what to expect on her wedding night.’

I’m fairly certain Carlotta knows exactly what to expect and that is half the reason she’s so nervous about getting married. I finally convince Zia Lora to join the wedding guests.

And then I am alone for the first time that morning. The makeup artist and stylist are both gone. Papà will be here any minute, but for this moment in time, I am utterly alone and I am grateful.

Because in less than thirty minutes I have to watch my sister walk down the aisle toward the man I crave.

~ ~ ~

Papà arrives a few minutes late, but that is to be expected. I’m sure he got sidetracked talking to people he deems important.

People that are not me. I do not think he would even deign to speak to me, except that Carlotta is not here in the room where he expects her to be.

‘Where is your sister?’

‘She wanted to get ready alone. She is in the room through that door.’ I point to the door that connects to another room.

Without replying, Papà crosses to the door and opens it without knocking. I hear him call for my sister. She should be right there. Unless she had to use the restroom one last time before putting on her wedding dress.

My father curses and then goes silent. A minute later, he comes storming back.

His face purple with rage, he waves a piece of paper around. ‘Where is she? What have you done with her?’ he whisper shouts the demand.

That in and of itself is concerning. When my father is angry, he does not whisper. He yells.

‘I haven’t done anything with her. Maybe she’s in the bathroom,’ I say.

Papà backhands me and I stagger backward, both from the blow and the shock of it.

‘This does not say she went to the bathroom.’ He shoves the paper toward me.

I look down, but it is hard to focus on the words. My eyes sting with tears of pain making the writing blurry. When I can finally read it, my heart climbs into my throat.

Dear Papà,

I am too young to get married. I do not ever want to marry a man so much older than me either. I want to go to culinary school. I want to have a life, not be an ornament on some man’s arm.

I know you love me, so you will understand.

I’ll call or write when I can.

Your Loving but Desperate Daughter,

Madonna Carlotta

What has she done? There is no coming back from this. Not with Papà and not with the don.

‘Get in there and put the damn dress on, Catalina.’

I stare at my father in confusion. Why does he want me to put my sister’s wedding dress on?

‘We need to find her.’ But even as I say the words, I realize what this morning’s solitude was really about.

If Carlotta left right after closing herself into the room, she had had more than two hours to disappear. In a city the size of New York, with both a train station and two airports accessible, she could be anywhere. Or on her way to anywhere.

I never saw her makeup artist or hair stylist arrive, but assumed she let them in through the door to the hall in the other room. Doom settles over me.

Carlotta ran and she’s not coming back. Not to marry the don.

Pain explodes in my cheek, and I go flying. This blow is much harder than the last one and I land on my butt, my head knocking painfully against the wall behind me. My father stands over me, his face contorted with fury, his eyes burning with rage. His fist is raised, but it’s not his fist I feel next. It’s a kick to my thigh.

‘Get up and get the dress on you useless piece of shit.’

The words aren’t anything new. I’ve heard them, and worse before. But I still don’t understand. Why would I put on my sister’s wedding gown?

‘We have to tell Aria what has happened.’ She will know what to do.

Only I’m afraid even Don De Luca’s mother will be stumped for how to salvage the mess my sister has wrought. She ran away. I almost laugh because I was so sure it was something she would never do despite planning to do it myself.

‘I will not be made a laughingstock among la famiglia.’ He kicks me again. This time catching my ribs.

I gasp in pain but I do not cower. I push myself up against the wall and meet my father’s enraged gaze, knowing I can’t stop whatever is coming next. When my father is in a rage, there is no reasoning with him. However, I do not have to give him the satisfaction of showing fear in the face of it.

I have felt pain before. Either I will survive it, or I won’t, but I will not cower.

No more blows come. ‘Get up. Get that dress on. It’s the only way out of this mess you’ve made. Even someone as stupid as you should understand that.’

I’m not stupid. If I were, I would not have lasted as long as I have in my father’s home. I know how to avoid him, how to protect myself. Usually. I realize now that he would punch or kick me again, but his plan is for me to walk down the aisle, pretending to be my sister.

I can’t do that if I cannot walk at all.

I climb gingerly to my feet, breathing shallowly, not sure if my ribs are just bruised. Or broken. Again.

‘We can postpone the wedding.’ Unfortunately, I’m confident that between my father and the don’s men, my sister will be found quickly.

‘The dumb bitch ran away,’ my father growls. ‘There is no postponing. You will wear her dress. You will walk down the aisle. You will marry the don. Once he’s spoken his vows, he cannot back out. He won’t be happy though.’

‘Think about this,’ I urge my father. ‘The Don will be furious. He will punish you.’

‘The only one who is going to be punished is your sister and you for helping her.’ The malevolence in his eyes is terrifying.

‘I didn’t help Carlotta run away,’ I say, but I know it’s no use.

My father glowers at me. ‘Of course, you did. She would never have thought of this on her own. Did you do it to get back at me?’ He takes my arms in a bruising grip and shakes me. ‘Did you?’

I don’t reply. He has already made up his mind to believe I’m the mastermind behind Carlotta’s disappearance. Never mind the fact that I didn’t run with her.

‘I thought she was my daughter, but just like you, she belongs to your pathetic mother.’ He says that like it’s the worst insult imaginable, but I know it’s not.

I’d much rather be my mother’s daughter than my father’s.

‘What are you going to do to Carlotta?’ I ask, fear for my sister making my skin clammy with sweat.

‘You have to ask me that?’ my father sneers. ‘I’ll deal with her like the traitorous bitch she is.’

Cold chills run down my spine. I know what papà means when he says deal with. Carlotta ran away. That’s considered a betrayal of him, her promise to the don and the Cosa Nostra. Our father won’t just beat my sister. He’ll kill her. And no one will stop him.

I cannot believe she’s done something so reckless.

Yes, I was planning to run away, but I have a plan. I have money. She has none of that. And I know my father would be just as happy to see me gone.

Carlotta is engaged to the don though. She is Papà’s stellina. He will never forgive her for this. And he will never stop looking for her so he can punish her for the blow she’s dealt his pride.

Carlotta thinks she can do anything because Papà has always indulged her. Her note to our father proves that. She thinks he’ll understand. Why?

I know Papà doesn’t hit her like he does me, but even if she doesn’t want to, she knows. She’s seen me when I couldn’t get out of bed to come down to dinner after one of his rages.

My thoughts are racing. I have to save my sister, but I don’t know how.

Only one man can save Carlotta now. Her fiancé, Don De Luca. I have to talk to him before my father gets a chance to poison his mind against Carlotta.

I’m not just worried about what Papà will do to her either. Anything could happen to Carlotta right now. She’s too trusting. Too vulnerable. She needs to be found and found quickly.

Facts click, click, click in my brain and I see my one chance. The only way to talk to Don De Luca before my father can is to walk down the aisle of the church.

‘Sì, Papà, sì. I will put on the dress,’ I say, trying to make my voice soothing and to hide my terror driven determination.

He steps back and I go into the room that I thought my sister was in all morning long. Her wedding dress still hangs in its garment bag.

Papà has followed me into the room. ‘Get it on.’

I just stare at him. He finally realizes that I’m not going to change with him standing there.

‘I’m not leaving you alone for a fucking minute. Get that dress on now, or I’ll dress you myself.’ He turns around but remains between me and both doors out of he room.

I limp as quickly as I can across the room to the wedding dress, while keeping a wary eye on my father. I should have gone up the aisle already in preparation for my sister’s entrance.

Reaching around to unzip the dress I am wearing, I feel a piercing pain, but I do not pause. If I’m going to save Carlotta’s life, I need to get that dress on. Now.

I let the blue chiffon slip to the floor, making no effort to pick it up as I step away from the pile of fabric.

I pull Carlotta’s dress out of the garment bag and wonder how I am supposed to make this work. Where my sister is tall and slim, I am short and rounded. The gown was altered to her exact measurements. It does not matter, I’m going to have to make it work.

I step into the dress, the white silk cool against my skin. I’m so grateful the zipper is on the side. I do not want to ask my father for help. I have to expel all the air from my lungs and suck my stomach in to get the zipper closed.

When it’s done, my breasts are encased tightly in the sweetheart bodice, creating more cleavage than I’ve ever shown in my life. I can barely breathe. The pain in my ribs is a steadily throbbing ache, but it’s not stabbing. So probably not broken.

My mother’s wedding tiara, something my sister insisted on me wearing, nestles perfectly in the updo Carlotta instructed the hair stylist to create with my long mousy brown hair. For a moment, I look in the mirror and see someone else staring back at me. An elegant woman with sensual curves.

Then I meet my own eyes in that same mirror and see the barely banked terror.

I know the don won’t hurt my sister physically himself and I’m hoping he will protect her from my father, but there is no guarantee he will. She betrayed him too by running. And even if I can convince him to show Carlotta mercy, no one is going to be there to help me when I return to our family home with my father after this fiasco of a wedding gets cancelled.


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