Chapter Two
When they arrived back at the church, most of the guests had left, and only a few people sat waiting for them. The priest was also absent. Only the manservant was present. He was getting ready to leave the church as well.
"This can't be real," she repeated silently to herself.
"You officiate the wedding," the unknown man said to the manservant, who refuted at first until he brought out a gun from his pocket.
The vows were rushed, the rings were exchanged, and before long she was wife to the devil.
"At least tell me your name, sir," Charmaine said fearfully to the man who had just become her husband. The "Sir" she called him made him cackle.
"Aeshuma Aetheris." He said
"Aeshuma," Charmaine repeated silently to herself.
The name was familiar; she had seen it somewhere before. When she investigated Ammitel Aetheris, this name was associated with him, but she just couldn't recall who exactly he was to Ammitel.
"It's an unusual name, I know," he said, bringing her out of her thoughts.
"It's a demon's name from Zoroastrianism, meaning violence and wrath. Quite fitting for me, don't you think?"
"Mhm," she muttered.
"I hate you for what you did to my brother, and I'm here to punish you for it," he said suddenly, the previous lightness in his voice gone. That was it; that was who he was—Aeshuma Aetheris, younger brother to Ammitel Aetheris, the feared mafia boss in Italy. Wasn't he locked away, serving a 20-year imprisonment in an unknown government facility in Italy? What was he doing here in New York?
"What do you mean? What did I do to your brother?" she asked, recalling what he had just said.
"I'm sure you know that he is dead. He died yesterday at the hospital. As his fiancée, you were never there for him. Talk about being a bold gold digger," he sneered.
"What? I'm not aware that he's dead," she said, stunned.
Ammitel Aetheris was dead? Her father never mentioned that to her.
"Did you ever love him? Even a little?" he said, looking at her, his eyes filled with pain.
She couldn't understand what was going on. What love? She was forced to marry his brother. She was only doing it to save her stepmother. Why would she ever marry a sickly billionaire who was 26 years older than she was?
"What are you talking about, what love?" she said, confused.
"Fuck it, I don't care if you loved him or not. All I know is I'm your substitute husband, and I'm going to make you regret every day with me," he said, clenching his fist.
The veins on his neck and hands popped. He was infuriated. Charmaine couldn't understand all that was happening. Was he under the impression that she had been dating Ammitel? If that was his thought, then he was damn wrong. This marriage was a contract marriage. She was to live with Ammitel till he died to give him some sort of comfort. Maybe a child if that ever happened. There was never love in the picture. It was all business. What was he on about? She was torn between defending herself from his unjust accusations and staying quiet for the time being. She opted for the latter. From his crazy display at church, it was best if she waited it out until he was in a better mood before she spoke to him. Soon they arrived at a big blue mansion.
The color and design of the house were odd. Everything was homochromous. It looked like an exhibition more than a place to live in. Alighting from the car, he dragged her into the mansion to a dark room and locked her in it. She banged the door, screaming for him to open it, but he ignored her screams and walked to the sitting room. In the sitting room, he lit up a cigar and took a long drag. What was he doing? What did it matter to him if Ammitel had died; why was he here trying to seek revenge from a pale young woman? Was his anger directed at the wrong place?.
He and his brother really never saw eye to eye. It was a case of the criminal brother and the good cop. He was the stain on the family name, and his brother Ammitel was the redemption of it. It had been ten years since they last met. They had last met in Italy when he was dressed in an orange jail gown with his hands cuffed to his back. He was sentenced to twenty years in an unknown government prison. Ammitel had come to save him. He had exchanged his confinement with ammunition. He offered to give the Italian government two steel domes if they agreed to let him go, and they had agreed. He was set free and deported from Italy. He stayed in California since then, away from crime and other vices. He never said thank you to Ammitel, nor did he ever come to see him until now that he had killed himself over a frail young woman. When the autopsy came, it was discovered that he had died of poison, not tuberculosis as everyone had earlier suspected. He had thought it a murder case until he saw his brother's last text with a supposed love interest.
The woman, who happened to be Abel Sham's daughter, had broken his heart just two days before their wedding. Unwilling to face the shame, he had killed himself. Now that he thought of it, why then did she come to the wedding when she had previously canceled? The family was a real mess. When he had told Abel Sham he was getting married to his daughter in place of his sickly brother, he didn't care as long as the wedding was taking place. He had concluded there and then that they were in it for the money. And oh, how they would pay for being a family of gold diggers. His head ached as he thought. Softly, he ran his hands through his dark hair and took another drag. Slowly, he rested his head on the soft Italian settee and soon dozed off. Today was a hectic day for him.