Married To The Wrong Brother

Every three years, the families would come together in glittering ballrooms and fortified villas with walls so thick you couldn't hear the gunshots from the other side, and this was called the Tri-Annual Gathering.

I was seven the first time I attended. I wore silver shoes that hurt my toes and a dress that made me feel like a porcelain doll someone forgot to love. I clung to my sister's hand and watched men with eyes like stone kiss her cheeks and compliment my father's loyalty and servitude.

Now, I am seventeen. Still wearing dresses and pretending I belong to a world that wants to mount me like a statue. Except this time, I wasn't clinging to my sister's hand. I was waiting for him.

Dominic.

Just the thought of his name made warmth climb up my ribs and settle behind my throat. He wasn't like the others or even polished like the famous Vincenzo. He wasn't carved from ice like the other trained heirs we were paraded in front of. Dominic was the only one who ever looked like he wanted to run, and the only one who ever asked if I wanted to, too.

"Shh," a voice breathed into my face like he'd been running, while his strong hands clapped over my mouth during a blackout behind a chapel. "Look at me."

My giggling was muffled, and he sighed exasperatedly, letting his fingers travel to my jawline.

"You broke his nose, Rosa."

"He deserved it."

He laughed once, then leaned closer and made me swear I'd never let them turn me into a statue, and then proceeded to kiss my ears with things I'd never repeat – not even in my sleep because some things were too sacred to risk.

"Do you want me to kill him?" A glint of mischief danced in his eyes, and I shook my head quickly, my brows pulling together.

I should've been scared. My father had warned me about the De Laurentiis a thousand times. He called them, "charming until they don't need you."

Nevertheless, I wasn't.

Dom wasn't mine yet. But he swore he'd find a way.

"Wait for me by the fountain after the gun works."

I swallowed. "Okay."

The gun works was one of those twisted rituals that made outsiders think we were playing dress-up. Men fired antique pistols loaded with blanks and ceremonial rifles into the air in synchronized bursts, a display of fake peace between families.

The louder the shots, the more bullshit they were trying to bury.

My stomach still churned every time I heard it. However, it made anticipation twirl inside me because that sound meant he was coming.

Even though I'd been to D.C. four times before, it never stopped feeling like a world apart from ours in San Francisco. I was raised in sunlight, school life, and cafe parties. Here, this life always felt fictional to me, like pages from a book my father never let me finish. No wonder he never let us stay for too long. That was changing now, though, at least for my sister.

The sky turned orange and gold as the ceremonial gunfire thundered in the distance. Even muffled by walls and space, my breath shook.

A gust of cold wind pushed through the hedges, and I pulled my shawl tighter. The air was crispy and stingy in the garden just the way he and I always liked it.

It was tucked behind the ballroom, past the ivy-covered wall and through a maintenance door most people ever noticed. Dominic found it first, of course. Said it was too perfectly hidden not to be his grandfather's idea. It was our hideaway. We'd sneak off every few years when the families met for mergers and strategic alliances, and tonight should've been the same.

Except it wasn't.

Because he was late.

I checked the time. 12:04 a.m. My back pressed against the marble edge of the fountain that was old and chipped, within the courtyard in the estate where the Gathering was held that year. It smelled like stone and moss and roses. I flattened my palms to the cold rim, watching the surface ripple beneath the moonlight.

The noise from the ballroom was mellowed with laughter, wedding vows exchanged for the newly wedded heirs and merged families, and the occasional burst of applause. A celebration of power in pressed suits and killer heels, but this wasn't my scene.

I hadn't even wanted to come, but my father insisted.

"I've always been in the Cosa Nostra and you are now, Rose. There are rules here. Appearances."

And appearances apparently meant dragging his daughter around in designer gowns while assigning a six-foot shadow to follow her everywhere.

It took me fifteen minutes to lose him.

"Bathroom," I'd said, flashing the sweetest smile I could fake as I reached the velvet-curtained hallway.

Matteo's jaw tensed the way it always did, as if he didn't trust me but didn't want to admit it.

"I'll wait outside," his voice was flat, but at least it wasn't a grunt. For once, he sounded almost sentimental, which made him attractive.

"You know, if you really think I'm reckless, you don't have to guard me. You could always tell my father you're tired."

His eyes cut to mine. "I am tired."

"Oh?" I tilted my head. "Of me?"

He looked away, uninterested, like the question annoyed him more than the dozens I'd thrown his way tonight.

"It's dangerous in here tonight."

"That's sweet." I brushed his arm gently, softening only because I liked watching him pretend not to feel. "But unless you're planning to follow me into the stall..."

The grunt came anyway, and my lips curved. I was fine. I wasn't alone.

I stepped in close enough to smell the leather of his coat. "Try not to kill anyone while I'm gone."

His silence was permission.

The moment I got in, I veered left into the staff wing, slipped through the maintenance door, and let it creak closed behind me. My heart thudded like it remembered the pattern of his knock.

Three years.

Three years since I'd last seen him in person. Since I'd touched his hand without fear of cameras or secret phone calls and texts or even consequence. I was tired of hiding. Tired of pretending we didn't mean something. Even if we were still hiding, tonight, if he showed up, I was going to let him touch me.

My heart did that dumb little skip thing it forgot how to do for anyone else. Excitement curled through me as I stepped out from behind the pillar, ready to startle him the way he used to startle me.

"Dom?" I whispered, but the name died in my throat.

No answer.

But the footsteps didn't stop, so I walked around the hedges, still smiling until the grin slid off my face like someone had poured ice down my back.

It wasn't Dominic. It was the man he swore would never find me.

As I started back, he didn't, and something about the way his shoes hit the stone made me realize he wasn't just strolling.

There were three men. One of them I recognized, vaguely. He had thick hands and eyes that burnt gold. He always sat near the outer ring of the main dining table at Gatherings. The other two looked older. Bodyguard types with formal suits and rough faces. One of them had a knife on his belt, visible on purpose.

I swallowed. It was normal to hold little pocket knives right? I used to have one for my apples, but I wasn't with it right now.

The one in the center had pale skin and gelled hair slicked back. He was broad, maybe late thirties, with a square jaw and permanent sneer I'd seen on predators that surrounded events like this.

He started towards me, smirking, and my hand tightened around my phone.

"You're not supposed to be out here, bella," his voice scraped against the walls of my ears.

"I," I stiffened, then cleared my throat and remembered what my father used to tell me about showing fear because it makes you look like prey. So, I straightened my spine and squared my shoulders.

"Just getting some air," my voice wobbled so much that I could hear my heartbeat over them.

"Oh, I know," he smiled wider. "You're Rosalia Capello, right?"

I choked.

There were hundreds here tonight. Names and dynasties and women far more important than me. I wasn't even supposed to be seen. I wasn't one of the gilded daughters or promised brides. My father always said we walked two steps behind the bloodlines, that we earned our seats and didn't inherit them. Even Dominic only knew me because of who my father worked for. So how the hell did this stranger... this man –

My lips parted, "How do you know my name?"

"Funny thing about unimportant women... they don't stay long in my memory," he turned slightly, admiring the hedge behind me. "But then there's only one pretty little blonde who keeps slipping past her babysitter."

The other two chuckled under their breath, but it wasn't funny.

I stepped back, my heart hammering in my chest, but the hedge was already closing in.

His eyes were murky like dying leaves. He looked like he belonged in a cathedral or a morgue.

"This garden's not a playground," he muttered, clicking his tongue. "You're only here because your father does... clerical work for De Laurentiis."

"Clerical?" I blinked.

"Accounting, paperwork," he started as if he was explaining a menu, and my brows pulled together. "Money shuffling. Shit the real men don't want to touch."

"That's not true. You have no idea what you're talking about," I spat too quickly.

He looked at me like I'd just tried to correct his math in front of a firing squad. "Oh, don't I?" His voice dropped, and suddenly he was in front of me. "Tell me, princess. Do you even know who I am?"

I glared at him, and from my peripheral vision, I saw the two men behind him twitch, but they didn't move any closer.

"You don't know my father." More heat rose in my voice than I expected. "He's been working with De Laurentiis for over two decades. He's not some flunky. They don't keep nobodies around that long."

His thick brows lifted and he gave a slow, pitying laugh. "Working with?" he repeated, like the phrase offended him. "Your father's been working for. That's a different story, bambolina."

It wasn't the first time someone had downplayed my father's loyalty. These gatherings always brought out the ones who wanted to remind you where the ceiling was, and exactly how low they thought you stood under it. My father always told me not to take the bait. But Davina wouldn't have stayed quiet. My sister would've smashed a wineglass into the bastard's temple by now.

"You talk like you know everything." I stood my ground and sucked my teeth. "But I don't even know your name. Which means you're either irrelevant or a coward."

That wiped the ugly smile off his face for a second. Then he stepped into me until there was nothing left between us but tension and the pounding in my ears. He was so close I could count the flecks in his irises.

"You don't need to know my name," he leaned closer, and I caught a whiff of his spiced cologne that tasted soured in the mouth.

"That's exactly what cowards say," I muttered under my breath.

His lips thinned. "I could crush your family to ashes with one phone call. Your daddy's got more blood in his books than numbers. Half the shit he's moved, De Laurentiis doesn't even know. But I do."

His hand went up to run his fingers down his slightly rough stumble, and I held my breath.

"And you," his voice was nearly tender now. "Rosalia Capello... Too soft for this world, and too stupid to realize you doesn't belong in it."

My heart thudded heavily. I looked past him, toward where Dom should've been.

"He's not coming, Bella," the man drawled, fake-pouting. "And even if he was, he's not going to change how this ends."

He grabbed my wrist, and I yanked back, but his fingers clamped down like a trap.

"Let go of me!"

My head spun when he didn't. His fingers clenched round, dragging me forward an inch before I caught myself, stumbling backwards.

"You weren't supposed to be out here.This is private. This spot isn't yours –"

"It was never yours either," I shot back through gritted teeth.

"No, but I was invited," he smiled wickedly. "You just tagged along on your daddy's leash, and now look, you slipped it."

Behind him, the second man finally spoke. "We should go. This isn't smart." His voice was flat, like sandpaper scraping concrete.

"She's not going to scream," the first one started. "she hasn't even moved."

"I will scream," I groaned.

He suddenly whipped around, his hand snapping up to grip my jaw. His fingers dug into the soft flesh beneath my cheekbone, forcing my chin up. "You won't," he snarled, baring his teeth. "Because you're not any stupider, and you know fucking well that screaming won't save you here – ironic, isn't it? Picking the perfect little hideaway?"

Oh, God. He was right, and that terrified me more than anything.

The third man circled around, now behind me. I could feel his breath near my neck.

"She's scared," he whispered, almost gleeful. "Probably her first time being this close to men like us."

"Bet Dominic never even kissed her," the first chuckled darkly that his spittle landed on my shoulder.

I squirmed, but his fingers pressed harder, nails digging into my flesh like anchors, and if I wasn't careful, I might escape with a bruised face.

"Oh," he grinned. "So he didn't. What a waste."

"You're disgusting," I breathed, and before my fear could stop me, I spit directly in his face. "Dom –"

His hand split the air and my senses as pain bloomed across my face, knocking my head sideways. I swayed, off-kilter, but the hands gripping my arms shoved me upright. My eyes blurred and my cheek burned as if something inside my jaw had popped.

"Dominic isn't coming," he sneered, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand.

I clenched my teeth so hard it ached.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. You're not special, Rosalia. You're just a payment, your daddy's name is on a deal," his eyes dropped to my mouth, "That makes the Capellos a nobody we can fold and burn like any other."

My back slammed into the cold stone wall, a sharp groan clawing out of my throat.

Before the pain spread to my spine, he actually leaned in and sniffed my hair, dragging to my face that his sweaty skin made my skin crawl. He continued drawing deep breaths like some twisted animal, his breath hot on my cheek as he whispered, "You smell expensive. Shame, but that's not what I intend to fill my nostrils with tonight."

I attempted to run, but the second I turned, one of them shoved me back and pinned me against the wall, his hand locked across my chest like iron. I gritted my teeth, my heart slamming into my ribs. I felt his breath hot and sour against my cheek that I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the worst.

Then I felt his hand trail downward, yanking my dress and hovering near my upper thighs.

No.

With all the strength I could muster, I raised my tiny knee and rammed it straight into his gut.

He gasped a breathless sound and staggered backward a few steps.

But I wasn't fast enough. There were too many of them. Before I could move again, I was slammed back against the stone that my spine jarred and my lungs emptied. I dropped to a crouch, clutching my ribs. From the corner of my eye, I saw the second one approaching. My fingers curled around my phone, and just as he reached for me, I rose with all the rage inside me and cracked it against his nose.

"Little bitch!" he spat, reeling back with a howl, blood spurting down his lips.

They pulled me back as he rose up, laughing and flashing bloodied teeth. "What a tough –"

Pow!

The sound sliced through the night air like a whip, cutting him mid-sentence.

His eyes widened and his mouth fell apart. For the first time since he ambushed me, I saw something human flicker behind his irises... fear. No, confusion. It felt like he didn't understand how his sentence had been interrupted by the searing pain blooming in his gut.

I followed his gaze and saw the wet shadow spreading across his stomach, as it thickened and darkened the white of his suit, soaking through until his jacket looked painted in dark crimson.

A sudden shriek exploded from my chest, and his grip on my wrist went completely loose. I pulled away and stumbled back, my heel caught the edge of a stone tile, and I nearly hit the ground.

"Cazzo!" one of the other men shouted behind him.

"She was supposed to be alone!" the other snapped, and I heard them both moving fast to pull something from their suits.

I didn't look at them. I couldn't look away from the man on the ground. Although, I continued backing up and breathing so fast that my hands were trembling so violently I couldn't tell if I was holding my dress or if it was holding me.

Two quick gun shots seared through my consciousness. They were louder than the first that it felt like they were fired right next to my ear.

I stifled my scream, my arms wrapped around my stomach. My eyes squeezed shut before I forced them eyes open to see all three of them were on the ground.

My chest heaved but no air stayed in. My ears rang, my throat scorched. I couldn't see through the tears, nor could I feel my legs. My entire body shook so hard it felt like my bones rattled underneath my skin.

The smell... my God, the stench of blood clung to my nostrils, the metallic taste like rusted coins melting on my tongue that made bile rise from my belly to my throat.

I pressed my hand to my mouth and turned sideways, choking back a sob that broke halfway. My knees folded as I finally dropped completely now, and my palms pressed to the stone that was warm with thick liquid.

I had never seen someone being killed or dead before, now two bodies were in front of me, and the man who did it hadn't even spoken.

When my vision cleared and the shock washed over me, I saw him approach me, and my anxiety rose back to the peak where it started from.

The air changed in a way I didn't know how else to describe it, even the crickets stopped and the breeze pulled back, only left to hear was the rhythm of his footsteps and the sound of my own breathing speeding up.

He was closer than I ever expected I'd see him, and I recognized him instantly. He didn't need to say a word. Just like the rumors said, there was nothing soft about him, with piercing green eyes like someone had dragged their thumb under them and pressed hard. He stood tall and untouchable and terrifyingly calm.

Silver peppered at his temples as if he'd been drawn in with a blade. His hair was slicked back with an effortless wave, and his jaw was locked in a square line with a shadow of stubble crawling up the side of his jaw like ivy. An emerald pipe hung lazily from the corner of his mouth, the smoke curling along the edges of his cheekbone as he exhaled. The scent wasn't sweet like Dominic's cigarettes. This was aged, bitter. Masculine like old-wood tobacco soaked in spice that Dom had told me the Dons smoked.

The man who had held me earlier was still moving. He'd rolled slightly to one side. I heard him groan again, lowly and pained that I could feel it in my veins.

I was still sitting on the ground, legs bent sideways under my dress, one hand on the stone tiles and the other still clutched around my own stomach. I couldn't stop shaking. I didn't even realize I was crying until the tears blurred my sight again.

He stopped right in front of me. Now he was visible under my gaze. His coat, the wrinkles around his mouth, the way the veins in his wrist rose when he lifted his arm. I found it difficult to tear my eyes away from him.

He suddenly moved his wrist and powwww!

The bullet left the gun and into the groaning man's head. Blood splattered onto the stone tiles and his body jerked once, then went still.

"You don't fuck with De Laurentiis," He adjusted his cufflinks, calm as moonlight.

My hand flew up to cover my mouth, but the sob escaped anyway. My entire body shook violently now, full-bodied tremors that rippled through my arms, my spine, down to my stomach.

He crouched to my eye level slowly.

"Breathe," his voice rumbled.

I didn't.

"Breathe," he repeated with less patience.

I gasped, not because he told me to. My body decided it wanted to live, even when my mind begged it to stop.

"You knew what he was, didn't you?" He sounded cruelly amused. "You lay down with dogs, ragazza. You get fleas."

His fingers brushed a lock of hair from my face, and I flinched.

A smile twisted his lips before he fisted the hair at my crown and jerked my face up to his.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and a grunt painfully escaped my throat.

"I hate repeating myself," he growled lowly, "but I'll do it one last time. Did you know?"

Tears fell, and he took them as an answer.

"Good girl," he hummed.

I whimpered.

"Tell me, how does it feel? Knowing you've disappointed the only man who ever saw you."

He didn't wait for a reply, and I didn't have one either.

He tore his gaze away and rose to his feet, gesturing to someone behind him.

Two men approached, and I rasped.

"No!" The word came out hoarse and helpless... almost laughable.

"I don't like raising my voice, ragazza. But you've left me no choice." He twirled his right fingers, and the men knelt, circling me. "Make her quiet," he ordered.

I felt something cold pressed into my jaw, and before I could react, a leather strained against my mouth, then a hard tug behind my head.

The gag bit into my skin.

I kicked blindly, but a heavy boot caught the inside of my knee and I collapsed.

"Rip the gown," he stood back. "Flip her onto her belly."

~~~~~~~~~

I don't know how long it lasted. Minutes. Hours. Maybe forever. It didn't matter. My hands were shaking too hard to push myself up. My throat was raw from crying that I didn't make a sound anymore.

There were no more tears left.

He'd said not to speak or move. That if I told anyone he'd come back, and I wouldn't need to see him. He told me I got lucky. That sometimes, punishment came slow, and next time, if there was one, it wouldn't be like this.

And I knew he wasn't bluffing. I've heard what he could do and I witnessed it with my very own eyes.

My God, I was helpless.

"It didn't kill you," he growled into my ear before forcing his way with me. "So be smart. Next time, I won't be so charitable."

That was the last thing I remembered hearing before he disappeared into the night.

I thought he was my savior. He did save me but not from himself.

One, two, three...

I counted my heartbeats. If I stopped counting, I'd remember his hand around my neck. Or how I didn't scream. I didn't scream. I stayed because I knew what kind of world this was. I'd grown up hearing stories and warnings. This was what happened when girls like me got caught in the cracks between men like them. I wasn't a Capo's daughter or even anyone's heir. I was a name on a list, a promise that got passed down, and a nobody that could be used to balance peace between empires.

And now... this was what happened to commoners in a world of kings and killers. What do you say when you learn your worst nightmare wears the face of a man the world bows to?

I thought of Dom.

How he used to call me what had now become my favorite flower, but the roses were already withering. I thought of the way his eyes burned when anyone looked at me too long. I told myself he'd feel it in his bones that something was wrong, and he'd miraculously show up, furious and loud and ready to fight the whole world and even that man for me, despite being late in the first place. And I'd forgive him.

But he didn't, and I hated myself for still hoping he would.

I tried pulling my knees up but my arms were too weak to touch them. The air stung my skin. My shawl had fallen somewhere, and I couldn't remember where. My hair stuck to the side of my face, wet from sweat and tears.

I stared at the stone floor because looking up meant seeing the bodies, and I couldn't look at them again.

Then the slow stomping of footsteps echoed, drawing closer, and my breath hitched.

I prayed to whatever god still bothered to watch this world that it wasn't another beast.

Because what was left to take if not my life?