Mafia Boss Rebellious Bride

{ARIANA FERRARI}

The loud music blaring out of speakers hidden in the corners of the hall blended perfectly with the excited chatters and squeals of the excited girls adjusting their costumes and practicing last-minute dance steps .

I adjusted my dress, looking into the full-length mirror, glancing at myself for the last time. I saw the deep, long mark that trailed from my stomach and stopped right above my bellybutton, which was slightly visible under the sheer dress. I touched it gently with my fingers.

No matter how long and hard I tried to escape my past, it always chased me, and found a way to get to me and torment me like a nightmare.

And that's what my past was–a nightmare.

"I am envious of you, Ariana," Taylor, one of my co-dancers broke into my thoughts. I suppressed a gasp as I turned to face her. I had not heard her come in.

I forced a smile as I faced her, ignoring the uneasiness in my stomach. "Envious of what?"

"Are you kidding?" she asked, giving me an incredulous look. "You're performing at the centre stage! Everyone wants to perform in the centre!"

"You would have also gotten the chance to perform in the centre stage if you had worked harder," the choreographer chipped in.

Her sharp tone made Taylor turn to face her, pouting her lips dramatically.

The choreographer left the spot where he stood, leaning against the doorpost, and sauntered into the room. "True, Ariana's talent outshines that all of you. But, instead of getting jealous, why not just work harder and practice well?"

Taylor huffed and pouted dramatically again.

"Don't worry, Taylor," I said, my voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "I'll let you get the centre stage next time."

She rolled her eyes and gave me a playful slap on my neck. "Well, I'm happy for you," she said, holding my palms in hers and giving me a straight look. "Enjoy it while it lasts, Ariana. But watch your back; you won't see me coming."

I laughed and watched her vanish through the door, walking down the corridor.

"Be quick, Ariana," the choreographer urged. "It's almost performance o' clock."

"Sure, Mrs Jackson," I replied.

She gave me a wink, tapping my shoulder with motherly tenderness and walked out.

As she walked out, I returned to the mirror, and fell to gazing at the scar on my abdomen again.

Three years.

It's been three years since the incident, but it still felt like it happened heartbeats ago. Of course, I had recovered–or I'm lying to myself that I've recovered. But I still felt the uneasiness even though I was doing everything I loved and trying to live a normal life as my therapist had advised.

Suddenly, the dressing room erupted in gasps of surprise and amazement as another of the dancers rushed in, her eyes wide with excitement.

"He is here! He is here!" she squealed.

"Who?" Taylor asked curiously, standing on the tips of her toes, craning her neck to see who Alexa was all excited about.

A wide smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she announced.

"Marco Marchetti!"

My heart skipped two beats at the mere mention of his name, And the blood and colour drained from my face.

The gasps, excited squeals and murmurs of excitement and chatter about how strong and powerful this nightmare was became distant as I floated away from the world in a misty cloud. My hands grew cold, trembled, and my knees wobbled.

He is back!

"Ariana, are you okay?" Taylor asked, nudging me. She grabbed my hands just in time, before my knees buckled.

I blinked repeatedly, taking deep breaths to calm the panic clawing at my chest. How could I be okay when my nightmare, my incubus was here in flesh at the high school dance?

"I-I don't think...I can perform," I stuttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

The charter and excitement died down the same way it had started–suddenly. Then all two dozen bright eyes turned to me, adding to my anxiety.

"What?!" Mrs Jackson shocked voice echoed in the room. "You can't perform?" she echoed.

"I don't feel so well," I said as an half-truth, avoiding her glare, looking anywhere but straight at her. "I will step out of the performance."

Silence.

My words ushered in a thick silence and it became a companion with us in the room.

"But that will ruin the entire routine," Mrs Jackson's voice rang out, sticking a knife in the neck of the silence. "There's no way we can even replace you in five minutes!"

I looked in her eyes and swallowed, seeing the pure panic in them.

"Ariana, please," one of the dancers begged, clasping her hands tightly, her eyes shimmering with plea. "You know how much we practiced for tonight. If you leave now, it will affect all of us."

My gaze swept on the twelve dancers in the room donned in bright coloured cheerleading costumes, wearing mini skirts and holding glow sticks and I felt a sudden pang of guilt. We had all practiced very hard and I couldn't let my fear ruin everything.

Moreover, Marco was here already, he was back. Sooner or later, I would have to bump into him, so there was no point in hiding.

I drew a long breath. "Alright. I'll try."

The girls let out relieved sighs and tense breaths that they had held the whole time. Mrs Jackson clasped her hands together. "Thanks, Ferrari." Then she turned to face the girls, clapping. "Alright, ladies! Get ready! You're up next!" She peered into her wristwatch. "Two minutes."

I turned away, swallowing the bile in my throat. There was no need to fear him. I would be on stage and there was no way he would pull out a Glock or some other gun and plant a bullet in between my eyes.

That was my only consolation.

Drawing a deep breath, I fell in line with the other dancers. And as we stepped onto the stage, taking our places, the bright lights blazed over us. I tried to keep my gaze low, but the intense tingling sensation coursing through my body was nearly impossible to ignore.

The moment I lifted my head, my gaze floated into the audience and landed in two green pools as my eyes met with a pair of emerald green eyes.

My breath hitched.

I was instantly paralysed as I saw him sitting in his usual confident aura in the audience like he was one of them. He wasn't. He wasn't human. He was a monster. A slight smirk tugged at one corner of his lips and he kept his burning gaze on me, as if he was here for me. His special appearance had been all because of me.

I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks as he leaned forward, the expression in his face changing from amusement to predatory. It was as if he could see past my body and into my soul.

I straightened up as the music began, closing my eyes solemnly and drawing in deep breaths as I moved to the rhythm of the beats.

Music was in my veins and dance was in my soul.

So I moved in perfect harmony to the dance, ignoring the gaze of the audience.

But I couldn't ignore his.

His glare held me captive. His piercing gaze held my every movement, causing chills to run down my spine.

The heat from the stage lights was nothing compared to the heat emanating from his glare.

When the music slowed, I twirled to take the final move and when the music stopped, I was on the tip of my toes, my co-dancers on their positions behind me. We held our positions for a few seconds. My chest heaved as the audience got on their feet, clapping, howling and cooing.

But Marco Marchetti didn't move from his place. His eyes remained on me. I noticed the slight shift in his expression and a shiver ran down my body at the way his eyes darkened with desire.

Amidst the chaos, I could hear my rapidly beating heart thumping against the walls of my chest.

I bolted from the stage when his piercing gaze became unbearable. My breaths came out ragged, as if I had just run a marathon. I needed a few moments alone.

I could hear footsteps approaching me. I pulled the door closest to me and into the locker room. It was dark and silent. Just what I wanted.

I could still feel his lingering stare all over my body. I wanted so badly to take it off, so I pulled my clothes off, discarding them into the

Pressing my back against the cold steel of the locker, I worked on a lump in my throat, willing myself to steady my breathing. My eyes closed and my hand reached to my throbbing head, my fingers rubbing my temple.

The silence provided relief. But it was short-lived. The sound of footsteps broke the peace.

My senses became alert, my hairs standing on end, and every nerve ending in me tingling with anticipation.

It was him.

I could feel it.

A shiver formed and snaked its icy way down my spine and the rest of my body. My palms turned cold and clammy and my breath hitched in my throat. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead.

I lurched forward, my hands grabbing the door, slamming it shut. Then I pressed my tiny frame against the door. No! He can't come inside. He can't!

I pushed with strong tenacity and then stopped suddenly. My soul took leave of my body the moment I heard a soft click followed by a fleeting rattle of the door knob, and a soft creak.

I could have passed out when I heard the familiar voice–deep, dark, unmistakable and guttural.

"Princess, where are you?"