Chapter 4 - Chapter 3

MAGDALENA

Vedrai, vedrai by Gaia ♪

I was wearing a mermaid-styled wedding gown. It's the very same one Damien picked out for me. It was a custom-made gown by Sienna's Wedding Gowns. The fabric was delicate tulle, with a nude colour around my neckline, while the rest of the dress was pure white, decorated with lace appliques and beaded with thousands of pearls and diamonds.

The look was a nude illusion with a tattooed network of flowers on my shoulders and around my neck.

Nonna had pinned my dark hair away from my neck and only a few small curls had managed to slip past my cheeks as we pulled the veil over my face.

"La mia Bellissima figlia!" Nonna cried and clapped her palms together as I turned to see my father standing in the doorway and a half sob caught in my throat as I moved over to where he was standing and buried myself in my his arms.

"Papà," I whispered, a stray tear slipped out from the corner of my left eye.

"Tesoro." He stuck his finger under my chin and lifted my head so that my eyes could meet his. "I'm proud of you."

"Grazie, Papà."

I smoothed his hair back and smiled as I noticed the few silver strands in his dark hair. The look in his brown eyes was full of pride.

"Andare!" Nonna said, pushing us out of the doorway. "You don't want to be late for your wedding."

I laughed again as I took my father's hand and we headed out of my room. Nonna had most of my important belongings like my clothes and makeup packed away, but the rest of my room was still the same.

"As it always will be, Tesoro," Nonna assured me, before kissing me on the forehead.

All my boxes were now in Damien's home. A sinking feeling entered my heart as I glanced one last time at my bed before my father wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

We left through the foyer, but before we left, I stared at my mother's portrait one last time as I had for these past few years, and the sinking feeling grew inside.

My father released me to my brother, Erik. We rode in silence in his Alfa Romeo to the Basilica di San Salvatore. It's where my mother and father married thirty years ago.

My throat tightened with tears. As I saw the grand church building come into view. It was a perfect summer day. There was no reason for me to cry. This was everything I wanted in life eventually. When Erik parked the car on the side of a building opposite the building, I got out, my heart pounding in my ears as I watched people enter through the wide wooden archway of the church.

Erik came around and took my hand in his. "Are you okay?" His dark blue eyes studied mine as we walked across the narrow cobbled street.

A few ladies that stood with the local crowd screamed with delight and offered sweet words about my dress and I smiled at them, thanking them.

"I'm good," I whispered to Erik.

It was a lie. I was far from good, but there was no turning back now. I was going to be a married woman today.

Erik squeezed my hand lightly as we stepped into the church as if to reassure me and I found myself squeezing back.

We walked in together, moving in sync as everyone stared at us, most of them were my family. Damien had no family, except for Rob who was his underboss. Even the men you worked with were considered family in a Mafia Famiglia.

I smiled and let out a nervous laugh and before I knew it I was standing two steps away from my future husband.

Erik let go and my heart sank again.

And then Damien reached out. I glanced at his hand, before hesitantly taking it as he helped me up beside him. The Priest welcomed us and I turned to face him. Damien Cartia. If ever there was anyone so hauntingly beautiful, it was him. He stood so tall, that my head barely reached his chin. His hair was coal black with some length to it, but it wasn't too long. He had a clean-shaven angular jaw with mountainous cheekbones and dark slate grey eyes. There was no emotion on his face, so I couldn't tell if he was happy or nervous.

He just stood there, releasing my hand as quickly as he took it, before smoothing down the front of his black suit jacket.

He didn't wear the tuxedo I had sent him. Irritation gripped my heart as I glared up at him and he fixed his gaze on mine, before allowing his eyes to roam over my short frame and then back up. A small, satisfied smirk pulled at the corner of his perfect, shapely mouth. But that smirk was all I got before he returned to his emotionless face.

We'd barely spoken the few times we had met before. It wasn't proper in our culture, especially since we were still doing things the old way.

We gave our declaration of consent first when the Priest asked us both three questions which were something along the lines of:

1. Have we come here to enter marriage without coercion, freely and

wholeheartedly?

2. Are we prepared as we follow the path of marriage, to love and honour each other for as long as we both shall live?

3. Are we prepared to accept children lovingly from God and bring them up according to the law of Christ and his Church.

To which we said yes to all three questions, while the Priest had us join hands in front of him.

Damien kept his eyes on me the entire time as we exchanged our vows for everyone to hear.

"Lo, Magdalena Aurora Trovato, prendo te, Damien Cartia, come mio sposo e prometto di esserti fedele sempre, nella gioia e nel dolore, nella salute, e nella malattia, e di amarti e onorarti tutti i giorni della mia vita," I said.

Damien kept his voice low as he recited his vows. "Lo, Damien Cartia, prendo te, Magdalena Aurora Trovato, come mia sposa e prometto di esserti fedele sempre, nella gioia e nel dolore, nella salute e nella malattia, e di amarti e onorarti tutti giorni della mia vita."

My throat pulsed as the Priest blessed the rings, before giving them to us.

I took his hand in mine. My fingers were small compared to his long calloused ones, marred with scars and fading purple bruises. I swallowed hard, trying to imagine how on earth he had gotten those. But it wasn't that hard to imagine. Damien was a made man. There was no questioning what he did and didn't do for a living. It was more a question of who was on the receiving end of those bruised knuckles.

The thought sent a shiver of fear down my spine. How did my mother feel about marrying a made man, a Don, someone that people feared? Was she afraid like I was at that very moment?

Damien cleared his throat and I glanced down at the ring. I had only slid it on halfway, so I slid it along the rest of his finger before he took my hand and placed the ring on my finger. There were no pauses or doubting. It was done. We were married.

"Ti pronuncio marito e moglie," the Priest said with a wide smile. "You may kiss the bride."

I lifted my head, my heart hammering as Damien pressed his palm lightly against my cheek. My skin quivered from his touch.

I closed my eyes as he came forward, his warm, ocean scent filling my senses as he kissed the corner of my mouth. I parted my lips for him, but nothing else happened. That was it. He pulled away again and I opened my eyes, frowning in confusion. Damien watched me, his dark brows furrowed. That's it? That was barely a kiss.

We turned back to the altar and got on our knees together while the priest blessed our marriage and then it was all over.

Damien and I walked side by side, our hands barely touching as we stepped out of the church. People from the crowd screamed, "Auguri!" to both of us. But instead of being happy and accepting the wishes, I found myself worrying I'd done something wrong. He was upset. Even if he was, he never spoke a word to me as we both got into his silver Ferrari Roma and sped off towards our wedding reception.