Blood Wedding: A Mafia Romance

THALIA

The gun went off seven times.

I counted each shot. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Sharp cracks that sounded wrong, muffled by the silencer but still loud enough to make my ears ring. Or maybe that was just the screaming. My screaming, I think, though it didn't sound like my voice at all.

Rafael's body jerked with each impact. I felt it. Every single bullet that tore through him registered as a shudder against my chest, my stomach, my thighs. He'd thrown himself on top of me maybe two seconds earlier, his hand shoving my head down into the mattress hard enough that my teeth cut into my lip. I tasted copper. Blood. His blood was everywhere now, hot and wet, soaking through my wedding dress.

"Rafael. Rafael, please. Someone help!" My voice cracked. I tried to push him off, tried to see his face, but he was too heavy. Dead weight. The thought made me want to vomit.

The shooter was gone. I'd seen them for maybe half a second before Rafael moved. A shadow in the doorway, something metallic catching the light. That was it. That was all I got before my new husband decided I was worth dying for.

I managed to roll us both to the side. Rafael's eyes were open but not seeing anything. His mouth moved like he was trying to say something, but only blood came out. It ran down his chin, dripped onto the white sheets that were supposed to be romantic, supposed to mark the beginning of our life together.

"Stay with me. Please stay with me." I pressed my hands against his chest, trying to stop the bleeding, but there were too many holes. Blood welled up between my fingers, warm and thick. His dress shirt was ruined. My hands were ruined. Everything was ruined.

He stopped moving. Just stopped. His chest didn't rise again.

"No no no no no." I grabbed his face, patted his cheek, anything to get a response. Nothing. His skin was still warm but he was gone. I could feel it. That absence. One second ago there was a person here and now there wasn't.

I screamed again. Louder this time. Where the hell was security? This was the Torrisi compound. There were supposed to be guards everywhere. Rafael told me during our engagement that his family took security seriously, that I'd be safe here. Safe. The word felt like a joke now.

I kept screaming. Kept calling for help. My throat went raw.

Eventually I stopped and just held him. His head in my lap, my fingers in his hair, both of us covered in blood that was already starting to cool. The bedroom was quiet except for my ragged breathing. Outside the door, I could hear music still playing downstairs. The wedding reception was still going. People were dancing, drinking, celebrating peace between the families while Rafael bled out in the honeymoon suite.

I don't know how long I sat there. Long enough that my legs went numb. Long enough that the blood on my hands started to dry and crack. Long enough to memorize every detail of his face. The small scar above his left eyebrow. The way his hair fell across his forehead. The exact shade of his eyes, brown with flecks of gold that I'd only noticed earlier today when we said our vows.

The door finally burst open.

"Miss Corsini!" One of the guards, I didn't know his name. He took one look at the scene and went pale. "Holy Christ. Marco! Get Marco now!"

More men poured in. Someone tried to pull me away from Rafael but I wouldn't let go at first. Couldn't. If I let go then this was real, then this actually happened, then my wedding night ended with my husband dying in my arms.

"Thalia." A woman's voice. Soft but firm. "Thalia, you need to let him go."

I looked up. Rosa, Rafael's mother. She was still in her mother-of-the-groom dress, emerald green silk that matched her eyes. Those eyes were red now, streaming tears, but her face was eerily calm.

"He's dead," I said. My voice sounded flat. Disconnected. "Someone shot him. They shot him and I couldn't stop it."

"I know, cara. I know." She knelt beside me, her dress soaking up blood without her seeming to notice or care. "But you need to let the men take him now. Can you do that?"

I couldn't. But I did anyway. My hands loosened and someone lifted Rafael away from me. Rosa helped me stand. My legs barely worked. The wedding dress clung to me, heavy with blood, the lace bodice completely red now instead of ivory.

"Who did this?" Marco appeared in the doorway. He was Rafael's godfather, the underboss, second only to Salvatore in the family hierarchy. His face was hard, murderous. "Who the fuck did this?"

"I don't know." I looked at him. "I didn't see. Just a shadow. They had a gun with a silencer. Rafael saw them and he just... he moved so fast. He covered me."

Marco's jaw clenched. He looked at Rafael's body, now lying on the floor where two guards were checking for a pulse they wouldn't find. "The bride was the target."

"What?" Rosa's hand tightened on my arm.

"Look at the angles. Whoever fired was aiming for the bed, for her side of it. Rafael got in the way." Marco's voice was cold, clinical. Calculating. "This wasn't about killing the groom. This was about killing a fucking Corsini on Torrisi ground."

The room went silent. Everyone was staring at me now.

"But why?" Rosa asked. "She's basically the alliance. Killing her destroys everything we've been working toward."

"Exactly." Marco pulled out his phone. "Salvatore needs to know. And someone get Domenic Corsini on the line. His daughter just became a widow in our house."

My father. God. My father was going to lose his mind when he found out. The marriage was supposed to fix things, supposed to end fifty years of violence between our families. Instead the wedding night turned into a murder scene.

"I need to sit down." The room tilted. Rosa caught me before I hit the floor.

"Get her cleaned up," Marco ordered. "And someone find out where the fuck security was. Seven shots fired and it took them eleven minutes to respond. That doesn't happen by accident."

Someone helped Rosa walk me out of the bedroom. I looked back once. Rafael was still on the floor, his white dress shirt completely crimson, his face already looking waxy and unreal. The man I'd married six hours ago. The man who'd smiled at me during the ceremony and promised we'd figure this out together. The man who'd died before we'd even finished our wedding night conversation.

We'd been talking about stupid things. Where to go for a honeymoon. Whether we wanted kids eventually. How to merge our lives when we barely knew each other. Normal things that couples discuss, awkward but sweet.

Then the door opened and everything ended.

Rosa led me to another bedroom, this one untouched by violence. She helped me out of the ruined dress, peeling lace and satin away from my skin. There was blood everywhere. In my hair, under my nails, between my fingers. I stood there shaking while she filled the bathtub.

"In," she said quietly.

I climbed in. The water turned pink immediately.

"They're going to blame me." My voice echoed off the tile. "My family will think I failed. Everyone will think I killed him... the alliance... oh god." I knew I was panicking but I couldn't stop.

Rosa didn't deny it. She just wrung out a washcloth and started cleaning blood off my shoulders. "Rafael cared for you."

"He didn't even know me."

"He knew enough. He wouldn't have covered you otherwise." She paused, cloth hovering over my collarbone. "My son died protecting you, Thalia. That means something. Whatever happens next, remember that."

What happened next was going to be hell. I knew it already. Could feel it coming like a storm on the horizon.

Rafael was dead. And I was a widow at twenty-three, covered in my husband's blood.

This was supposed to be my wedding night.

Instead it was the worst night of my life.

And somewhere out there, the person who'd pulled the trigger was still breathing while Rafael wasn't.

THALIA

I didn't sleep.

How could I? Every time I closed my eyes I saw it again. The door opening, the shadow, Rafael's body jerking on top of mine. Seven times. I kept counting them in my head like some kind of sick mantra.

Rosa had put me in a guest room after the bath. Clean sheets, soft pillows, everything perfect and untouched. It felt wrong. Rafael was dead down the hall and I was supposed to just lie here in the dark and rest? The whole thing was insane.

Around three in the morning I gave up trying. Got out of bed and walked to the window. The Torrisi compound stretched out below, I couldn't help but stare at the manicured gardens and security lights. Guards were everywhere now, way more than earlier. They moved in pairs, talking into radios, checking shadows. Locking the barn after the horses already ran off. Or got shot. Whatever.

My reflection in the glass looked like a stranger. Rosa had braided my hair to keep it out of the way while she cleaned me up, and I was wearing some borrowed nightgown that was too big. I looked about sixteen. Tiny and lost and completely out of my depth.

A knock on the door made me jump.

"It's me," Rosa said softly.

"Come in."

She entered carrying a tray. Tea, from the smell of it. "Couldn't sleep either?"

"No." I turned away from the window. "Is there news? Did they find who did it?"

Rosa set the tray down on the nightstand. Her hands were steady but her eyes were still red and swollen. She'd been crying. Of course she had. Her son was dead. "Marco is handling the investigation. Your father is on his way here."

Great. Exactly what I needed. Dad storming in, probably thinking I'd screwed up the one job he'd ever asked me to do. Marry Rafael. Make peace. Don't ruin everything. Well, I'd spectacularly failed all.

"Salvatore wants to see you in the morning," Rosa continued. "He has questions."

"I already told Marco everything I saw."

"You told him you saw a shadow." She handed me a cup of tea. "Salvatore will want more."

"There isn't more. It happened so fast." My hand shook holding the cup. Tea sloshed over the rim, burned my fingers. I set it down before I dropped it.

Rosa sat on the edge of the bed. For a minute she just looked at me, studying my face like she was trying to figure something out. "Do you know why Salvatore agreed to this marriage?"

The question caught me off guard. "To end the feud. Same reason my father agreed."

"That's part of it." She folded her hands in her lap. "But Salvatore also did it because Rafael asked him to."

"What?"

"My son came to his father six months ago. Said he wanted out of the family business. Wanted to build something more... legitimate. Salvatore refused, of course. The Torrisi legacy is everything to him. So Rafael offered a compromise. He'd stay, he'd do his duty, he'd marry into the Corsini family to secure peace. But after that, he wanted freedom to pursue other ventures. Better, legal, non-violent ones."

I sat down in the chair by the window. This was news to me. During our engagement Rafael had mentioned wanting to do things differently eventually, but I'd thought he meant years down the line. Not right away.

"He never told me any of this."

"He wouldn't have. You were the bargaining chip, not the confidante. Not yet anyway." Rosa's voice was gentle but the words still stung. "I'm telling you because I want you to understand something. Rafael chose you. Not because he loved you, not yet. But because he saw a way out and you were part of it. He would have protected that chance with his life."

"He did protect it with his life."

"Yes." She stood up, smoothed her dress even though it was already perfectly smooth. A nervous habit maybe. "Which is why Salvatore is going to want answers. His son died protecting a Corsini. That sacrifice needs to mean something or it was all for nothing."

After she left I sat there thinking about what she'd said. Rafael had his own agenda. His own plans. And I'd been completely clueless about all of it. We'd had dinner three times during our engagement, talked on the phone maybe twice. Awkward conversations about music and movies and surface level stuff. He'd seemed nice. Reserved but kind. I'd thought maybe we could make it work.

Turned out he'd been planning an exit strategy and I was just part of the process.

The sun came up around six. I watched it rise over the compound, orange and red bleeding across the sky. Appropriate colors for a morning after a murder.

Someone brought me clothes around seven. Black dress, simple and conservative. Mourning clothes. I put them on feeling like I was playing dress-up in someone else's tragedy. Except this was my tragedy too now, wasn't it? I was Rafael's widow. That made his death mine to grieve even though I barely knew him.

Marco came to get me at eight.

"Salvatore is waiting," he said. No good morning, no how are you holding up. Just straight to business.

I followed him through the compound. We passed the bedroom where it happened. The door was closed now, crime scene tape across it. I made myself look away.

Salvatore's office was on the ground floor, overlooking the back gardens. He was standing at the window when we entered, hands clasped behind his back. He didn't turn around.

"Leave us," he told Marco.

Marco hesitated. "Boss, maybe I should..."

"Leave. Us."

Marco left. The door clicked shut and I was alone with my father-in-law. Former father-in-law? Was there a term for this situation?

"Sit." Salvatore still wasn't looking at me.

I sat in one of the leather chairs facing his desk. The office was furnished with dark wood and expensive art, the kind of room designed to intimidate. It was working.

Finally Salvatore turned around. He was in his late fifties, silver hair slicked back, face that probably had been handsome before age and grief carved lines into it. He'd aged ten years overnight. I could see it in the shadows under his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged.

"My son is dead."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Sorry." He said the word like he was tasting something bitter. "You're sorry. How generous."

I didn't know what to say to that so I kept quiet.

Salvatore moved to his desk, pulled out a folder. Dropped it in front of me. "Security footage from last night. Or what little we have of it. Someone disabled cameras in the bedroom wing from eight-forty-five until nine-fifteen. Right around the time of the shooting."

I opened the folder. Inside were printouts of grainy surveillance images. Hallways, stairwells, the garden where the reception was held. Nothing useful that I could see.

"Whoever did this knew our security system," Salvatore continued. "Knew exactly which cameras to disable and when. That suggests inside help."

"You think someone in your family helped kill Rafael?"

"I think someone wanted my son dead or my alliance with the Corsinis destroyed. Possibly both." He leaned against the desk, arms crossed. "Tell me again what you saw."

I went through it one more time. The door opening, the shadow, the gun. Rafael throwing himself in front of me. The shots. All seven of them. The blood. The waiting. The eleven minutes it took for help to arrive even though I was screaming the entire time.

Salvatore's jaw tightened. "Eleven minutes."

"Yes, I know it took some time but I heard Marco say eleven minutes."

"This compound has forty-two guards on duty during events. Someone should have reached you in under two minutes." He straightened up. "Yet it took eleven. Why?"

"I don't know."

"Because someone delayed the alert. Someone made sure help wouldn't arrive in time." He came around the desk, stood over me. Not threatening exactly but definitely intimidating. "My son died in those eleven minutes, Mrs. Torrisi. He might have survived if medical help had arrived sooner."

Mrs. Torrisi. The name felt like a slap. I was a widow before I'd even gotten used to being a wife.

"I didn't delay anything," I said. "I was screaming for help. I wanted someone to come. I wanted Rafael to live."

"Did you?"

The question hung in the air between us. He was asking if I'd wanted my husband dead. If this whole thing had been a Corsini setup and I was the bait.

"Yes." I met his eyes. "I didn't love him, we barely knew each other. But I didn't want him dead. He saved my life. The bullets were meant for me."

"Marco's theory."

"It's not a theory. Look at where I was lying on the bed, where Rafael was standing. The shooter was aiming for me."

Salvatore studied me for a long moment. I couldn't read his expression at all. Finally he nodded, just barely. "You're aware that tradition demands the alliance be maintained."

It took me a second to understand what he meant. When I did, my stomach dropped. "You can't be serious."

"Rafael is dead. His twin brother Dante is next in line. You will marry him to preserve the alliance between our families."

"But.... But that's insane." I sputtered.

"That's tradition." He walked back to his desk, sat down. Picked up a pen like we were discussing business contracts instead of my life. "The wedding will take place in three days. Small ceremony, immediate family only. Marco will handle the arrangements."

"Dante hates me."

"Dante hates everyone. He'll adjust." Salvatore started writing something, effectively dismissing me. "You're a Torrisi now, Thalia. That comes with obligations. You'll fulfill them."

I stood up. My legs felt like water but I made them work. "And if I refuse?"

Salvatore looked up. His eyes were cold, flat. Dead. "Then the alliance fails, my son died for nothing, and I'll make sure your father understands exactly who's responsible for starting the war that follows. Do you want that blood on your hands?"

No. I didn't. But I also didn't want to marry Dante, who looked at me like I'd personally murdered his twin.

"Three days," Salvatore repeated. "Marco will escort you back to your room."

The door opened. Marco must have been waiting right outside. He put a hand on my elbow, guided me out into the hallway.

"He's grieving," Marco said quietly as we walked. "He doesn't mean half of what he says right now."

"Which half?"

Marco didn't answer that.

Back in my room I locked the door and sat on the bed. Three days. I had three days before I married Dante Torrisi, the most violent enforcer in the family. The man who'd barely looked at me during the wedding reception yesterday. The man whose twin brother had died in my arms.

This was going to be a nightmare.

My phone buzzed. Text from my brother Nico: Dad's coming. Brace yourself.

Perfect. Just what I needed.

I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Twenty-four hours ago I'd been getting ready for my wedding, nervous but hopeful. Now I was a widow planning a second marriage to a man who probably wanted me dead.

Rosa was right about one thing though. Rafael's sacrifice had to mean something.

I just had no idea what yet.

THALIA

My father arrived the way he always did when he was pissed off, loud and impossible to ignore. I heard him before I saw him, his voice carrying through the hallways of the Torrisi compound as he demanded to see me immediately. Rosa had tried to give me breakfast earlier but I couldn't eat, my stomach was too twisted up in knots thinking about what was coming. Now it was here.

The door to my room swung open without a knock. Dad stood there looking older than I remembered, his salt and pepper hair more salt than pepper now, lines around his mouth deeper. Behind him were my brothers. Nico first, twenty-eight and already taking over parts of the family operations. Then Vincent, twenty-six and always spoiling for a fight. Finally Luca, twenty-four and the most level-headed of the three even though that wasn't saying much.

"Out," Dad told them without looking back.

My brothers hesitated but they knew better than to argue when he used that tone. They filed out and the door closed again, leaving me alone with Domenic Corsini and whatever lecture he'd prepared during the drive over.

He didn't say anything at first. Just looked at me standing there in my borrowed mourning clothes, probably seeing all the ways I'd disappointed him. I'd always been good at disappointing him, ever since I was sixteen and decided I wanted to study art instead of business. Since I refused to learn the details of family operations. Since I tried to run away with that boy from college and Dad had to clean up my mess.

"Tell me exactly what happened," he said finally.

So I did. Third time now telling this story and it didn't get any easier. The wedding night, the conversation with Rafael, the door opening, the gun, Rafael covering me with his body. The seven shots. The blood. All of it spilled out while Dad stood there with his arms crossed, face getting harder with every detail.

When I finished he was quiet for a long moment. Then he walked to the window and looked out at the grounds like they held some kind of answer he needed.

"Salvatore thinks you were the target," he said.

"Marco said the same thing."

"Which means someone wanted to destroy the alliance by killing you on Torrisi property. Make it look like they couldn't protect a Corsini under their own roof." He turned back to face me. "You understand what that means, Thalia? Someone wanted to start a war. And they almost succeeded."

I sat down on the edge of the bed because my legs were starting to shake. "Salvatore wants me to marry Dante. To keep the alliance intact."

"I know. He called me this morning." Dad came closer, stood right in front of me. "Is that what you want?"

The question surprised me. Since when did what I wanted matter to Domenic Corsini? He'd arranged my first marriage without asking my opinion. Had my college boyfriend killed and forced me to terminate my pregnancy, then locked me away in Switzerland for a year when I couldn't handle it. My wants had never been relevant before.

"Does it matter what I want?" I asked.

"Answer the question."

I thought about it. Really thought about it instead of just reacting. Did I want to marry Dante? No. Obviously not. The man looked at me like I was something he'd scraped off his shoe. But staying married into the Torrisi family meant I could figure out who'd killed Rafael. Who'd tried to kill me. If I went back to Boston, back to my father's house, I'd never know. I'd spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder waiting for the next attempt.

"I want to know who did this," I said. "I want to know who pulled that trigger and why they wanted me dead. And I can't find out if I'm back home being protected and kept in the dark like always."

Something shifted in Dad's expression. Not quite approval but close to it. "So you'll marry him."

"I'll marry him. But I need something from you first."

His eyebrows went up. I'd never negotiated with my father before. Never had the guts to try.

"I need you to teach me," I continued. "Not everything, I know you won't do that. But basics. How to protect myself. How to read people in this world. How to understand what's really happening instead of just the version everyone shows me."

Dad studied me for a long moment. I could see him weighing options, calculating risks, doing whatever mental math he did when making decisions. Finally he nodded once, sharp and decisive.

"Nico will work with you. He's better at the details than I am anyway." He moved toward the door. "And Thalia? Don't trust anyone in this house. Not Rosa, not Marco, not even Dante. Someone here helped carry out your husband's murder. Until we know who, everyone's a suspect."

He left before I could respond. My brothers came back in immediately after, probably because they'd been standing right outside the door eavesdropping.

"So you're really doing this?" Nico asked. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed in that way that reminded me so much of Dad it was almost creepy. "Marrying the psycho twin?"

"Dante's not psycho," Luca said. "He's just intense."

"He's killed like thirty people," Vincent added. He said it casually, like he was commenting on the weather. "Personally. With his own hands."

"Twenty-three," I corrected without thinking. Rafael had mentioned it during one of our engagement dinners, talking about his brother with this mixture of pride and concern that I hadn't fully understood at the time. Now I wondered if Rafael had been trying to warn me about something.

All three of my brothers stared at me.

"What? Rafael told me." I stood up, suddenly restless. The room felt too small with all of them in here. "Look, I don't love this plan any more than you do. But someone tried to kill me last night and they're probably going to try again. At least here I can figure out who and why."

"You can't figure it out if you're dead," Vincent pointed out.

"That's why Nico's going to help me not die."

Nico pushed off from the wall, came closer. He had Dad's eyes, calculating and sharp. "You understand what you're asking for? Once you start learning this stuff, you can't unlearn it. You can't go back to pretending you don't know how the family works."

I'd been pretending my whole life. Pretending I didn't know what Dad did for a living. Pretending my brothers had legitimate jobs. Pretending the money that paid for my art supplies and college tuition came from legal sources. I was so tired of pretending.

"I don't want to go back," I said.

Something passed between my brothers, some silent communication I couldn't read. Then Nico nodded.

"Okay. We'll start tomorrow. Basic security protocols first, then we'll see how fast you pick things up." He glanced at his watch. "For now, get ready. Salvatore wants the whole family together for dinner tonight. Both families. It's going to be awkward as hell."

That was an understatement.

They left me alone to get ready. Rosa had arranged for some of my clothes to be brought over from my father's house, so at least I didn't have to wear borrowed things anymore. I chose a simple black dress, nothing fancy. Put my hair up because I was sick of it getting in my face. Added minimal makeup because I looked like shit without it.

The girl in the mirror looked composed. Put together. Like someone who had her life under control instead of someone whose husband had died in her arms less than twenty-four hours ago.

Fake it until you make it, right?