The Bloody Bride (The Rocchetti Dynasty)

by Bree Porter

  Alessandro thought Anthony should stay in Chicago. “He is intent on revenge and the Gallagher’s are in this city.” He pointed out. “He won’t leave as long as he believes his father’s death is unavenged.”

  When Alessandro spoke, the table fell silent and he held their attention. It was the same for Don Piero and Toto the Terrible, but all the other men at the table seemed to lack that control.

  Now that we were around his family, Alessandro had relaxed—to a point. I could still feel the tightness of his body and see the irritation in his eyes. But he hid his restlessness well. He had shifted into Capo of Chicago, Prince of the Rocchetti family.

  Dinner was soon served. A beautiful roast that had my mouth watering. Don Piero made his plate first, but then everyone else was allowed to dig in.

  I watched the Rocchetti’s in interest. A few moments they had been at each others throats, but now they passed plates of food to each other and offered to pour wine. Easier and more casual conversations arose. They discussed sport and development and other things families talked about.

  “Potatoes?”

  I turned and saw Roberto holding out the pan. I smiled.

  “Thank you.”

  He plopped a few down onto my plate. “Is that enough?”

  “That’s plenty, thank you.”

  Roberto nodded roughly and turned away.

  The most tense conversation that occurred over dinner mentioned Beppe. Carlos Jnr made a sly comment to Enrico about Saison Ollier, which lead to Enrico asking where his second son was. Santino, Beppe’s older half-brother and legitimate son, gave Enrico a nasty look, whereas Carlos Jnr just snarled and told Enrico to wear a condom.

  I watched them with interest. Cat and I had never spoken to each other like that—though our relationship had definitely not been without fights. We use to scream and bite at each other, but never such sharp comments as they did.

  Alessandro ignored most of the end table conversation. The top end of the table included Don Piero, his brother Carlos Snr, his son and his grandson and my brother-in-law, Salvatore Jnr. Their conversation was much calmer than the teasing and bickering on the other end of the table. I was invited to both conversations with throwaway comments. Even Salvatore Jnr spoke two words to me but seemed to regard me with little interest, otherwise.

  I looked for similarities between Alessandro and Salvatore Jnr. They had the same Rocchetti complexion, with olive skin and dark hair and eyes. But Alessandro seemed much rougher than Salvatore Jnr. Salvatore Jnr didn’t have Don Piero’s charm either. He seemed to be carved from stone, an ice statue drinking wine in front of me.

  Conversation switched back to business soon enough.

  “There is the matter of the certificate.” Don Piero said. A few suspicious eyes flickered towards me. Their obvious want of me not wanting to hear this made me listen even more.

  “Can’t Santino get it?” Roberto asked beside me.

  “No,” Alessandro said. “He’s a suspect in the Gallagher murders.”

  Santino looked a little embarrassed. “Who’s going to get the cert then?” He asked. “If we don’t have it by March, we won’t be able to open the track for Spring races and then we’ll lose big money.” “We know, Santino.” Salvatore Jnr said coldly.

  “Sophia can get it.”

  I blinked. Did someone just say my name?

  Alessandro repeated what he had said. “Sophia is not linked to anything at the moment and it’s unlikely she will be. Get her to get the certificate.”

  I stared at my husband. Had he just volunteered me for Outfit business?

  Don Piero laughed. “I keep forgetting we have a beauty amongst us once more. Of course, Sophia should get the cert.”

  “Can she be trusted?” Carlos Snr asked. He gave me an accessing look.

  “She is my wife.” Alessandro said coldly. “And she is a Rocchetti.”

  Carlos Snr backed down.

  Salvatore Jnr turned to me. Having his entire focus was equivalent to touching an iceberg. His dark stone-like eyes ran up and down me, like he was trying to peel my trustworthiness from my insides. Then he could judge how much to actually trust me.

  Alessandro cut his brother a deadly look. “Something you want to say, brother?”

  “No, Alesso.” I had never heard Alessandro called by a nickname. It seemed comical to hear it now. “Do you think you are able to get the certificate, Sophia?”

  “Certificate?” I echoed.

  Roberto huffed beside me. Alessandro glared at him and he fell silent.

  “The Anti-Mafia certificate, Sophia.” My husband said. “Our businesses cannot run without it.”

  “It proves we are not associated in anyway with organised crime.” Laughed the Don. He rose his eyebrows at me. “Well?”

  I felt slightly light-headed but knew how to answer. “Of course. Whatever the family needs.”

  Alessandro and his brother shared an unreadable look. They were having their own private conversation. Cat and I use to do the same thing. Especially when we knew something someone else didn’t.

  I swallowed.

  Why had Alessandro volunteered me? Was it a reaction to something else going on? Or was it really all about the family?

  Toto the Terrible leaned around his son and gave me a crazy grin. “First you push Roberto down a seat and now you have a job? Your father didn’t mention you being quite so industrious.”

  I gave him my best bright idiot smile. “I am honoured to be welcomed into your family.”

  For a second, I could’ve sworn there was a flicker of unease on Toto the Terrible’s face but it disappeared into a sneer. Alessandro angled his body, cutting us off from each other.

  “Enough, Father.” Warned Alessandro. “You can play with whoever you want but you are not to play with my wife.”

  I couldn’t see his father but I heard him give a laugh. “If you say so, boy. She is your property, after all.” Something in his tone made the hair on the back of my neck rise.

  Don Piero gave Alessandro and his son a warning look. Both seemed to draw back at the same time. Alessandro didn’t look at me but only scanned his dark eyes over the table, looking for something and seeming slightly pleased when he did not find it.

  Salvatore Jnr gave me a second accessing look. “Enrico says you’re not pregnant.” His eyes went to the wine I had been drinking. “Still.”

  The wine turned sour in my stomach but I managed a tentative smile. I had actually began to get cramps lately, meaning my period was on her way. I shrugged casually, trying to unnerve him with my good-naturedness on the topic. Any other reaction would’ve signalled the lions to pounce.

  “Hopefully that changes by next month. How lovely would it be to have a Fall baby?” I smiled at him. “Much better than a Summer baby.” I turned to Alessandro and gasped like I had just discovered something amazing. “How nice would it be to have a little Christmas baby? Then we could dress them up in little elf outfits.”

  Alessandro looked down at me and met my eyes. I could’ve sworn there was a flicker of humour in them.

  Don Piero laughed. “A toast, then, my dear.” We all lifted our glasses. “To Anti-Mafia certificates and Christmas babies!”

  As the sound of toasting surrounded us, Alessandro leaned close into my ear and murmured against my skin, “My brother is a Summer baby.”

  “I know.” I whispered back.

  Chapter Eleven

  I took a deep breath as soon as the car door closed.

  My dress was clinging to me uncomfortably and I twisted around. I felt bloated and tired, and beyond ready to go to sleep. After spending hours trying to navigate the vicious Rocchetti’s, I just wanted to go home, eat a box of chocolates and watch reruns of The Sopranos.

  Alessandro gestured to Beppe to start the car and soon we were leaving the gated neighbourhood.

  I leaned against my seat and regarded my husband. Why had he volunteered me? My effort to stay hidden, to be perceived as nothing bu
t a dumb pretty wife, had collapsed in a matter of seconds as soon as he had opened his mouth.

  Anger grew up in me.

  Don’t say anything, I warned myself. Do not get angry, do not give him the satisfaction.

  “Why are you scowling at me, wife?” He asked in a low voice.

  My rational thoughts flew out the window. “Why did you volunteer me to get the Anti-Mafia certificate?”

  Alessandro flicked his dark eyes to me. There was calculation in them. “Are you questioning my decision as Capo?”

  “I am questioning your decision as my husband.” I leaned forward, keeping my voice low. I didn’t want Beppe or Oscuro to hear us. “Why did you put me forward like that? Did I do something to annoy you?”

  “Yes.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. What had I done? Though the better question was what hadn’t I done? I had been sharper with him plenty of times, and though he had said he would not to hurt me physically, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try and manipulate me to death.

  “Why?” My voice was almost breaking. “What did I do? I promise I didn’t mean it. I won’t do it again—“ Alessandro got up into my face, his expression fuming. “Enough with the little act, Sophia.”

  I spluttered. “Act—“

  “Yes,” he snarled. “The act. I am sick of you pretending to be the perfect wife. You sing such pretty words, wife, but none of them are true.”

  My heart was pounding. Everything I had been taught to do was annoying him. Was my upbringing annoying him? Did the values I had had shoved into me until I knew nothing else pissed him off? I opened my mouth before I could calm myself down.

  “You’re sick of it?” I hissed. “How do you think I feel? Having to watch every word I say just to survive? My wellbeing relies on my pretty words, husband.”

  Alessandro’s eyes lit up. “There she is. The creature beneath that golden exterior.” He laughed cruelly. “I was right. You’re not kind or friendly, just another monster.”

  “I am not a monster.” I snapped. “You just can’t handle the fact that sometimes people are friendly. Sometimes people are nice. You want everyone to be just like you. Miserable and mean.”

  “I am powerful.” He sniped back. Our faces were so close our noses were touching. “Miserable, maybe. Mean, definitely. But I have power. My word is law and my actions coveted. Isn’t that what you want?”

  I felt my stride stumble. “What do you mean?” “I see it in your expression, wife.” He purred. “The hunger in your eyes when you look at my office, the triumph you feel when walking with my family, the way you preen at the city below. You even felt smug when I told you the Feds had an entire file on you.”

  It was becoming increasingly harder to breathe.

  “You could’ve left with your sister. You could’ve gone with her to get her diploma. But you didn’t want to risk being powerless. You didn’t want to risk being part of a world where you would have to bow to the law.” Alessandro’s stare pinned me into place. “Everything you do is to gain power. Why are you mad I’m letting you have some?”

  He was both right and wrong.

  “Not everything I do is to gain power.” I whispered.

  Alessandro snorted. “Please. You manipulate and trick. Even your kindness to me is a tactic to get what you want. Why else would you try and soothe the man you hate?” He didn’t like me either, I thought and searched his expression. He looked at me like he had finally figured me all out. No longer was he trying to peel away my layers. He had succeeded and he was happy with what he had found.

  Except…he hadn’t seen everything. In fact, I think some parts of me, of my person, were unrecognisable to a man like Alessandro. “I was trying to make you feel better because I felt sorry for you.” I said.

  He snorted. “No one does anything in this world out of the goodness of their heart.”

  “Not even your attempt to give some more power?” I hissed. “You didn’t volunteer me to get a Anti-Mafia certificate to let me have some power. You did it to get a reaction out of your family. I know a power play when I see one, Alessandro.”

  Alessandro’s eyes flashed. “Remember who you’re married to, Sophia. I might engage in a scuffle but I will not have my decisions as Capo questioned.”

  “And I will not be used as a pawn.”

  He laughed—actually laughed. “Being born in this world dictates you are a pawn. You were your father’s. He used you to gain more power and money. But now you are my pawn. And I can play with you anyway I choose, wife.”

  I felt tears of frustration building up in my eyes but I blinked to try and draw them back. You can cry at home when you’re alone, I told myself. Not here and not in front of him.

  “You’re all monsters.” I said.

  “So are you.” Alessandro purred.

  “No.” I shook my head. “I am trying to survive. You do this…you do this for fun. That’s what makes you a monster.”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Monster I may be, but also you’re husband. You should do well to remember that.”

  I laughed softly, ignoring my survival instincts that were begging—begging—me to shut up. “You incite me to respond, to take off my mask. But the moment I do and you see something you don’t like, you tell me to put it back on.” I turned away from him. “Maybe you’re not as enlightened as you think.”

  “Maybe.” Alessandro said darkly behind me.

  The rest of the ride home was silent.

  The last days of February were warm and I spent most of them with Beatrice and Elena.

  If either of them were getting suspicious about how much time I was spending with them, they didn’t bring it up.

  We were sitting in Beatrice’s kitchen, Elena and I at the counter while Beatrice was cooking. The smell of the ingredients was making me feel nauseous but I shoved it down.

  The Tarantino’s lived in a gorgeous townhouse in the city, one that I had always coveted. When Beatrice had first moved in, the house had been cold and plain but over the months of her marriage, the house had come alive under her care. Now beautiful plants bloomed and photographs of those close to them decorated the walls and shelves.

  I thought about the cold penthouse I would return too. I may of been a wife for an entire month now, but the penthouse hadn’t changed beneath me.

  “My uncle says he is in discussion with the Falcone’s.” Elena grumbled. She was staring down at her tea with an empty expression. “Apparently marrying an Outfit girl will be highly beneficial.”

  The Falcone’s were a smaller family located in New York. Since New York was ‘shared’ by multiple families, the ties between them were imperative to ensuring a bloody war did not break out. But having the Chicago Outfit behind you would probably ensure your position in New York was better supported.

  And if conflict was to break out, you had a better chance at winning than everyone else.

  “Nothing is certain yet.” I tried to soothe her. I went to sip my tea but it smelt too sweet so I put it down.

  Elena cut her green eyes to me, not impressed with my attempts of comfort.

  “New York is not so bad, Elena.” Beatrice tried as she put her cake into the oven. She, too, was trying to calm Elena. Less she do something stupid.

  “The shopping is really good.” I offered.

  Elena grimaced. “I’ll be alone. Married to a dickhead.”

  I couldn’t help my smile. “I’m sure the dickhead will keep you company.”

  “If only I was as funny as you, Sophia.” Sarcasm dripped off her tone. “And I doubt you’re a good candidate for supporting arranged marriage.”

  She got me there. “My marriage is fine.” I said dismissively. God, did Beatrice have any anti-nausea medication? I felt like I was about to vomit. “Beatrice is the perfect candidate. Pietro adores her.”

  Beatrice went slightly pink. “We are good to each other.” She gave Elena a comforting look. “Just have an honest and open conversation with him abou
t the marriage. Men do not want to come home to conflict.”

  Elena rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’ll have an open conversation with the Boss of the Falcone family. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to know that women have thoughts and feelings.”

  “It could be worse.” I said, swallowing down my discomfort. “He could be a soldati. At least you got a boss.” Elena looked like she was going to slap me.

  I held up my hands in surrender. “I’m just trying to be funny. Ignore me.”

  Beatrice said something else but I didn’t catch it. I tried to block the smell of the kitchen from my mind. Was I coming down with something?

  A soft hand touched my shoulder. “Hey, Sophia, are you okay?”

  I looked up at Beatrice’s concerned face. Elena was frowning at me, too.

  I smiled thinly. “I’m sorry, I just feel a little off. Do you mind if I use the toilet?”

  “Of course not. Go ahead. It’s just down the hall.”

  Beatrice and Elena watched me as I left the kitchen. The reduction of the smells made me feel a little bit better. I felt so light-headed that I could’ve floated into space.

  In the toilet, I tried to vomit. Sometimes you just needed to throw up to feel better, but nothing came up. So I relented and pulled down my underwear to go to the toilet.

  I frowned at my panties. “What is that—“ I leaned closer to them and sucked in a sharp breath.

  Little droplets of blood coated the fabric.

  I was slightly relived that I wasn’t sick and it was just PMS symptoms but beneath that relief was the sick feeling of fear. I wasn’t pregnant. Alessandro would have to take me to bed again. Hopefully we would just do IVF, I thought.

  Beatrice’s words came to me suddenly. You just need to have an open and honest conversation with him about the marriage.

  But my marriage wasn’t like Beatrice’s. Alessandro and I could barely stand each other at the moment. I had been avoiding him like the plague—not even eating dinner with him anymore. I usually just put his plate in the fridge with a little note on top of it. Then I disappeared into my room with my plate.