by Bree Porter
The Bloody Bride
Book 1 in The Rocchetti Dynasty series
Bree Porter
Copyright © 2020 Bree Porter
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 9781234567890
ISBN-10: 1477123456
Cover design by: Art Painter
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America
To all the 'sweet' sisters left behind, may your reign be infamous.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
About The Author
Chapter One
I was awoken the morning of my wedding by someone banging on the door.
“Get up, Sophia!” Called one of my aunts.
I groaned and rolled over.
The door whipped open and in came a stream of my female friends and family members. They pulled me from the bed and threw me into the bath. My skin was scrubbed raw and red, my legs waxed till they bled. My hair was yanked and brushed, with pins being dug into my scalp to achieve perfection.
My comfort was of no importance.
It was my wedding day, after all.
There was no excitement. Instead each woman went about her task, avoiding eye contact with me. No assurance was offered. No soft touch or embrace was given.
I had been to hundreds of weddings and attended to the bride a few dozen times. Even if the bride was nervous about her upcoming nuptials, the general mood was one of excitement. A new alliance, a new family, was always something to celebrate.
Except in my case.
My marriage was more akin to a sacrificial virgin being ritualistic killed for the heathen gods.
I watched my friends and family through the mirror. Even Elena Agostino, who was always so honest, refused to meet my eyes.
Cat would’ve met my eyes.
My eyes closed on their own accord.
My sister would’ve never let this happen. Whether to herself or to me. She had always been stronger, smarter. Whereas I often avoided upsetting our father, Cat would’ve burnt down our house protesting my marriage.
Even if she hadn’t succeeded, she would’ve been here with me. Making me laugh, pinching my cheeks.
Or at the very least, meeting my eyes.
“Why is everyone so solemn?” The words left me before I could stop them. “We’re not at my funeral.”
“Not yet.” Elena bitched.
“Be quiet, Elena.” Came a sharp voice belonging to one of my aunts.
I smiled tightly and turned around in my seat. The hairdresser huffed in annoyance. “Auntie Chiara, tell me about your new granddaughter. I hear she is lovely.”
Conversation grew quickly in the room at the mention of a new baby. I turned back around relieved and allowed the hairdresser to complete her work on me. Listening to my family talk was comforting, even if they were very careful about mentioning me or my wedding. Or anything to do with the Rocchetti’s.
Their name was sitting in everyone’s mouth but no one dared say anything.
Eventually it was time to dress. My wedding dress was the finest thing I had ever worn and everyone ran their fingers down the silk, trying to absorb its beauty. It was long-sleeved with a high neck, and thick skirt that stretched out into a long white train. Very small lace details decorated the cuffs and trims.
My hair was pinned back into golden curls, paired with a small tiara which held the long veil in place.
I stared at myself in the mirror as my veil was pulled over my face.
“You look very beautiful, Sophia.” Someone said softly.
I looked like a bride.
So many times I had gasped in awe and pleasure at the sight of the beautiful bride. All dressed in white, in her finest gown. I had even cried when I had seen my cousin, Beatrice Tarantino walk down the aisle, so graceful and elegant.
But seeing myself…I only felt fear.
“Your bouquet, Sophia.” Elena passed the cluster of flowers to me.
My fingers froze before I could touch it.
The bouquet had been paid for by him. It was customary for the groom to pay for his bride’s bouquet. It was the first thing given to me by him, in a way. The engagement ring had been an heirloom.
It was a beautiful bouquet, I noticed oddly. A cascade of white roses and lilies and baby’s breath. All the flowers were held together with a silk ribbon.
“Sophia?” Elena prompted.
I took it from her with a smile. Now I was all ready to be served up. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” Was all she said.
There was a soft knock on the door.
Each woman looked as if she wanted to say something else, but relinquished their words. On their way out, they gave me squeezes and light kisses. Careful not to ruin the look which had taken hours to complete.
Elena squeezed my hand. She didn’t say anything.
The door clicked and my father entered. He wasn’t a very tall man, a trait I had gained from him. In fact, Papa and I were very similar in looks. With the same blonde hair, honey brown eyes and caramel skin, both of us looked to be dusted in gold.
When Papa saw me, he pressed a hand to his chest. He was wearing his best suit.
“You look beautiful, bambolina.” He murmured.
“Thank you, Papa.”
A bit of sadness entered his eyes as he took me in. Papa had been apologetic about the match, oddly enough.
I had hoped for someone softer for you, bambolina, he had said the day he had told me. Having a family member in the powerful Rocchetti family meant great things for business, yet Papa had seemed quite resigned about the arrangement. But not resigned enough to deny my hand.
Papa stepped forward. “Bambolina…”
“It’s okay, Papa.” I smiled at him.
He sighed deeply and gave my hand a squeeze. “You’ve always been such a good girl, even if I was a bit lenient with you.” Papa met my eyes. “If you behave yourself, I am sure he will have no reason to punish you. All you need to do is behave.”
“I know.”
Papa held out his arm for me. I took it, grateful for the support. “You were always going to marry someone, Sophia. I am an old man now and cannot be alive forever to take care for you. I know you had wished otherwise.”
I had.
After Cat’s death, I had hoped Papa would let me live with him. Take care of him and the household in his old age. But that was not the way our world worked.
“I’ll come visit you, so you are not lonely.” I murmured. The idea of him al
one in that big house made my heart ache.
“If you are allowed to, you are welcomed anytime.”
If I am allowed to.
I swallowed the words down.
Papa had always been perhaps a bit lenient with Cat and I, seeing child raising as woman’s work and not bothering to concern himself with it. Our discipline was given to our nannies and stepmothers. But we learnt quickly that if we reached Papa before our punishment, he would usually be persuaded with a few easy words to let us go.
I knew it was not like that for all fathers and daughters.
It especially was not like that for husband and wives.
Papa led me through the house, helping me navigate the stairs and doorways. Eventually we made it to the car outside and he helped me in.
The man in the passenger seat turned around. He had a hard jaw and bald cut. In his lap, a shotgun rested.
“Ready, ma’am?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t recognise you. Are you new?” I smiled in greeting as I tried to tame my skirts.
He blinked at me. “No, ma’am. I am work for Mr. Rocchetti as part of his security team. I am honoured to be charged with protecting you.”
Now it was my turn to blink in surprise. The Godless had already sent his security to me? We hadn’t even reached the church yet.
I quickly recovered. “Thank you, Mr…”
“Oscuro, ma’am. Francesco Oscuro.”
“Well, thank you, Mr. Oscuro. I imagine you would rather much be with your Capo.” I gave him a warm smile.
Oscuro actually seemed to go pink before turning around in his seat and signalling for the driver to start the car.
I watched the streets pass as we moved into the city. I had grown up just outside of Chicago, leaving me with a basic understanding of the city. But I knew where the church was. We had been visiting the same church every Sunday my entire life. I had seen weddings and funerals there, and now it was my turn.
I swallowed against my dry throat.
My eyes flickered to Papa.
Perhaps this was all a strange dream, I thought. Maybe in a minute I’ll wake up and tell Cat about my terrifying dream where I had to marry the Principe of Chicago.
But I did not wake up and the car continued to move towards the church.
The moment the church came into sight, I began to feel a sense of reality.
The church was a beautiful building. With tall spires and archways and curved roofs. Huge steps led up to the doors, and beautiful stained-glass windows decorated the walls. Snow fell to the ground, but a well-worn path had been made from the car to the church doors.
I turned my head away from it, as if I could banish it from existence if I wasn’t looking at it. I ran my eyes over the frosty street, paying attention to the skeleton trees and Dodge Charger at the end of the road.
“Come on, bambolina.” Papa opened the door and stepped out.
Cold air came rushing in and I shivered, despite my layers. Papa helped me out of the car, holding me tightly as I steadied myself on the ground.
Oscuro was already out, gun tight to his chest. “This way, ma’am.”
Papa led me behind Oscuro, who held open the doors for us. Inside the church it was much warmer and I could hear the soft chatter of the guests behind the walls. Oscuro left us, slipping quietly through the doors. He would signal to the Rocchetti’s I was here—an absent bride would’ve put a damper on the festivities.
We waited by the two large doors, listening to the sounds of the flower girls and page boys walk down the aisle. Sounds of coos echoed back.
I looked at the wall.
On the other side of it, a monster waited for me. He would bind me to him, take me home and make a wife out of me. Then I would get pregnant and be forced to a life of servitude.
“Papa.” I clutched his hand.
“Sophia.” His tone was warning. He was watching my face.
“Please…” I glanced nervously at the doors. “I’ll marry anyone else. Just not him.”
Papa sighed deeply. “Bambolina, we cannot go back now. The family reputation will be destroyed.”
I was beginning to shake. “Please, Papa. You’ve heard the rumours. About what happened to the other Rocchetti women. I can’t—“
“Sophia.” He warned.
I gripped tighter to him. Papa brought his face to mine, meeting my eyes. Very carefully, he put a thumb to my cheek. “They will not let us go now, bambolina.” He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Listen to me, Sophia. Be good, behave yourself.”
I blinked rapidly. My chest was caving in. “I will.”
“Do not give him a reason to hurt you.”
There was nothing to say to that.
My eyes closed briefly. I wanted my sister so much in that moment it physically hurt. Instead of Papa beside me, I wanted my sister. My best-friend since before I could remember. We had had different mothers, but she had been my twin soul.
The music began to change. I heard everyone rising to their feet.
I opened my eyes and looked to Papa.
He placed my hand on his arm. “It’s time, bambolina.” His eyes flickered to me. “Remember what I said.”
Before I could promise my agreement, the huge doors swung open.
Light hit me first, followed by the powerful tune of the organ.
Then I was moving. Papa was leading me down the beautiful aisle, the pews decorated with flowers and silk ribbons. Everyone we knew was there, dressed impeccably and watching me. Some gazes were filled with pity, others were sizing me up. Absolutely no one looked happy for me.
Closer and closer now…
I ran my eyes over the pews. In the first row, the Rocchetti family sat. All dressed beautifully, with the same dark hair and eyes. They all had the same lethal agitated energy—like a bunch of wild animals locked in a cage. The Don looked proud and strong, with his son Toto the Terrible bedside him. I met Don Piero’s eyes and he smiled.
I quickly looked away.
Almost there…
We stopped at the stairs leading up to the platform.
There was a little squeak and I looked down to see one of the flower girls looking up at me expectantly. I couldn’t help my little smile as I passed my bouquet down to her. It was too big for her, but she held it proudly and toddled back to her mother.
My happiness was short lived when Papa kissed my cheek. He shook the hand of my groom, before holding my hand out.
For a quick second, I hoped he wouldn’t take it. He would accuse me of treachery or something, something that would get him out of this marriage.
But then his large warm hand lightly curled around mine. His palm was rough but his grip wasn’t painful.
He waited as I stepped up onto the platform.
I could only stare at our joined hands. Dark olive skin against lightly tanned skin. He had short nails, whereas mine where long and painted for the wedding. Little scars broke up his skin, proof of the violent life he led, while my hands were unblemished and soft.
The Priest stepped forward, Bible in hand.
My eyes latched onto his shiny loafers. They were so clean I could almost see my reflection in them.
The Priest began to talk about the beauty of marriage, giving his little speech. I tried to listen, tried to follow him as he began a lengthy Bible verse on love and marriage. He said something about love being patient and kind, I think.
“Sophia Antonia,” said the Priest.
I glanced at him.
“Do you take the man before you as your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?”
Until death do you part.
My tongue was heavy.
You have to agree, murmured a voice in my head. Your refusal will cause much more damage than your acceptance.
“I do.” I said.
The Priest nodded at me and turned to the groo
m. He repeated the same words and he stated his ‘I do’ much quicker and much more confident than I.
“Please present the rings.”
A young boy came forward with the plain gold wedding bands on a little pillow. He held them up for us.
My groom took a ring and held it out to me.
I spread out my fingers and he slid it on. The Priest coughed softly. I quickly remembered my lines. “I take this ring as a sign of my love and faithfulness in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.” Each word my voice shook a little more.
My groom was much more help when I had to place the ring on his finger.
The Priest smiled. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
The church erupted in applause and cheers.
But I could barely hear any of it.
Very carefully, he pulled up my veil and over my head.
You have to look up, Sophia. You have to look up.
I tilted my chin and met the dark eyes of Alessandro Rocchetti.
My sister and I use to tease each other with the Rocchetti’s.
Instead of fearing the bogeyman or the monster under the bed, we hid under the covers for the royal family of crime. Whenever we snuck up on each other, we would yell their family motto and dress up as them to chase each other around the house. As little girls who were use to guns on the kitchen counter and our father coming home before dinner covered blood, we were quite thick-skinned when it came to fear.
And yet…the Rocchetti crime family filled our hearts will complete and utter terror.
They were not so much men anymore but monsters. Criminal royalty.
The stories and legends that surrounded them were enough to make a grown man feel nauseous. Even my Papa, a man raised in the bloody world of the mafia, gave the Rocchetti’s a wide berth.
And I was to marry one.
Alessandro Rocchetti. The Godless. Principe of Chicago. Second son of Toto the Terrible.
If you were stupid, you would think him handsome. And he was, in a way. Olive skin and beautiful dark eyes. His hair of dark brown was short and pushed back, paired with a short stubble. He had a sharp jawline and chin, giving him a hard but gorgeous complexion. He was tall, well-built and always dressed impeccably.
