by Tabatha Kiss
Oh, wait. That’s just the Zappia way.
A Zappia woman is brave, never tortured or fearful.
A Zappia woman is focused, never careless or rash.
A Zappia woman is wise, never arrogant or cold.
A Zappia woman is a slave.
I added in the last one myself.
“Sofia?”
I turn around to see Rosalie peeking her head into my room. Her expression changes from one of pleasant interest to quick judgment.
“What are you doing?” she snaps, closing the bedroom door behind her. She motions for me to come back in. “You’re not supposed to be outside.”
I roll my eyes, not caring that she can’t see them behind the thick, black veil, and stay in place on my balcony. “I’m not supposed to leave my room,” I say. “Last I checked, this balcony was included in that.”
“You’re not supposed to speak either.”
I look at her again and sigh. Her long, brown hair hangs about her youthful face, strands clinging to the sweat-covered cheeks. “What have you been doing?” I ask her.
“Dressing the guest rooms,” she says, pushing the hair off her face. “The Lutrova family is coming today.”
I nod as my memories instantly rush back to that day in the garden. That was the last time I saw the Lutrova boys. They’ve been here a few times since then but I was never allowed to go near them again. Beatrix feared I was too tempted. I can’t say she was wrong about that.
My attentions wander back over the balcony and I gaze into the garden, following the trail all the way to the shed in the back between the trees.
Rosalie joins me on the balcony. “Perhaps my future husband will be among the guests…” she muses with fantasy in her eyes.
I scoff. “Well, as your life maiden, little sister, believe me when I say you don’t want to be a bride—”
She slaps my shoulder. “Don’t be foolish, Sofia. I’d kill to be in your black shoes right now. Gio is dreamy…”
I bite my lip to hold back my disgust. My little sister is young and stupidly naive — the perfect Zappia bride, in theory. “If you want him, he’s all yours, Rosalie.”
I don’t mean a word of it. I’d rather my little sister be dead than be Gio’s bride.
She hits me again, her eyes glancing around for nonexistent listeners. “You shouldn’t talk like that. You shouldn’t be talking at all…”
“I’m allowed to talk to you,” I point out. “I’ve broken no vow.”
Rosalie sighs. “But don’t you want to be pure for Gio in every way? They say that every word you speak during your vow of silence brings one year of hardship to your marriage.”
I stare at her through the black filter. “Good.”
She tilts her head at me but says nothing, most likely to deter me from speaking again.
One year of hardship. I might as well be reciting poetry from dawn until dusk. If that superstition is true, then I should speak ten thousand words to ensure that Giovani Zappia dies a miserable, broken, old man.
I smile.
It feels strange, so incredibly out of place that it makes me dizzy. The very thought of Gio dying alone, embarrassed, and humiliated makes me smile. I have not smiled like this since…
I look over the balcony again at that distant garden shed.
A bolt of warmth surges down my spine until it tickles my toes but it disappears just as quickly.
Rosalie nudges my ribs. “Chin up, Sofia,” she says, her voice chipper than ever.
“You can’t even tell it’s down.”
“I’m your life maiden. I can feel it.”
She throws an arm around me and we both look out into the distance together — or what we can see of it. Life outside of the epic walls of the Zappia estate is one of pure mystery to both of us.
We were sent here to Rome as young children. Our parents died after she was born and the Zappia family was generous enough to take us in. However, we have never been treated as family. We shared a room in the servant’s quarters until I turned seven. Then, I was moved into the main house where Beatrix began training me in the Zappia way.
A Zappia woman must never speak to a man outside of her bloodline.
A Zappia woman is always eager to please her kin.
A Zappia woman greets each new day with a smile.
That’s when she told me about the marriage. It was all Antony’s idea; bring me into the house, train me in their ways, and pair me with one their boys to continue their bloodline for a new generation.
Enzo, as the oldest, was to focus on the business. Marty was younger than I am and since a Zappia bride may not be superior to her husband in any way (age included), he was deemed ineligible for the union.
That left Gio.
He’s claimed ownership of me ever since.
I am his. He’d bark it at anyone that would listen — family, friends, visitors — even his own mother when she dared to disagree with him at where I should sit at the table or what I would wear to church on Sunday morning.
I couldn’t do a thing to stop it. I had no voice, no say. Any attempt to speak out was met with the threat of an open palm.
My only solace comes in my dreams. A gentle hand will appear in the darkness, beckoning me to take it. I’ll look up and the boy would gaze down at me with his big, gray eyes. He’ll smile and I’ll hear his voice calling out to me.
“Come on out… I won’t hurt you.”
I reach for him but his hand fades away into the black mist before I can grab it.
Luka Lutrova.
The boy in the garden shed with kindness in his eyes.
I often wonder about him; heir of the Lutrova crime family. Has the life of a Russian mobster turned him as cold as Antony is? I hope not. I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.
Rosalie tugs my arm. “Come on… you should get inside before someone sees you out.”
I let her guide me back in but I pause as a black car passes by in the distance, just barely grazing my peripheral vision. “Wait…”
I crane my neck to see it roll down the driveway and disappear around to the front of the estate.
“The Lutrovas, I bet…” Rosalie hums.
“Already?”
She nods. “They’ve come for the wedding rehearsal, of course. Speaking of which, we should get you ready. It’s in an hour.”
I gesture down the black dress covering me from my neck to my toes, stopping at the veil concealing my face. “I think I’m ready, Rosalie.”
She winks. “Doesn’t mean you can’t throw on a little lipstick, too.”
I shake my head but I let her lead me off the balcony anyway.
Chapter 4
Luka
It’s been several years since I’ve set foot on the Zappia estate. It hasn’t changed at all. The lawn is still brightly decorated with vibrant flowers and large, neatly-trimmed trees. The stone wall surrounding the grounds has seen better days but still appears as daunting as it ever was, even with the vines clawing their way to the top.
My eyes catch two differences as I step out of our car: Colorful lanterns hang from wires, draped from spike-to-spike up the long driveway and a heavy increase in security. Both can be explained by the important wedding taking place tomorrow. I count at least a half-dozen men on the drive alone, plus another four just outside the back garden and another three near—
Yuri nudges my ribs. “Drop the shield,” he teases. “It’s a wedding.”
I say nothing and keep my eyes open. My brother clearly doesn’t understand the duties of being the Lutrova family bodyguard. Being on the Zappia estate is no excuse to slack off. I don’t care how safe the rest of them think we’ll be this weekend. Ally or no ally, I would never trust a Zappia with my life.
I take my mother’s hand and help her out of the car as the front door flies open and Giovani steps outside with raised arms.
“The Lutrovas!” he greets. “You’re just in time.”
My father bounds up the steps towards him. “Gio
— my god — you’ve grown up!”
“I should hope so. It’s the day before my wedding!” he jokes.
My father shakes his hand and shows a genuine admiration for Gio’s tight grip.
The last time I saw Gio, he was short and pudgy with a red, pock-marked nose. His skin has cleared up since then and he’s shed the extra pounds but he’s still a wimp, hovering only a few centimeters taller than my mother.
She bounds up the stairs and exchanges a kiss on the cheek with him. “I don’t know how you Zappia boys grow more handsome every time I see you,” she quips, flashing a smile. “Your poor mother must pray daily for all the girls your brothers torture.”
Gio keeps his smile but I see that look gloss over his eyes as he stares back at her. That how dare this woman speak to me look. “I guarantee you she does, Madam Lutrova. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
I smirk. My mother has never purposefully shown disrespect to the Zappias or their ways but I feel great pride in the fact that she’s never once allowed their rules to affect her behavior on their estate. Nina Lutrova does whatever she fucking wants and no man — Russian or Italian alike — will tell her otherwise.
Gio steps to the side and allows for my parents to walk in while extending a hand to Yuri. “And you two,” he says, nodding. “I am very grateful to the two of you.” He lays an open palm on his chest. “Thank you for agreeing to be a part of my family’s special day. It means a lot to me — and Sofia.”
I bite my tongue, swallowing my reply. We never had a choice in the matter to begin with and it pains me even more to hear him speak for Sofia yet again. While I haven’t seen the girl since that day in the shed, I heard her name often during the sporadic trips we made to this estate. Sofia will wear this. Sofia will have that for supper. Sofia will stay in her room until the Lutrovas have taken their leave.
Yuri snorts. “Are you kidding? We’ve been looking forward to it. We love weddings!”
I force a smile and offer my hand to Gio. “Yes, we’re happy to be here.”
We shake hands and Gio grins, revealing a full mouth of crooked, off-white teeth. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says.
“Gio!” my mother calls from the front hall. “Where exactly can I find your mother? I have been dying to catch up with her.”
“I believe she’s in the guest wing tending to your rooms, Madam Lutrova,” he answers, doing his best to hide his utter contempt for her. I smirk again. “I’ll be happy to see you all there myself.”
“Excellent!”
We follow Gio into the front hall and my senses spike as I take in the surroundings. The inside is just as guarded as the outside with an armed suit stationed at each open doorway. I wonder if this is normal Zappia family gathering behavior or if my family should take it personally.
“Gio, how is your father’s business in Chicago?” my father asks. “Still thriving, I assume?”
“More than thriving,” Gio answers, guiding us through the long, ornate corridors with wood carvings and giant paintings covering every inch of the walls. Why the Zappias must go over-the-top with every aspect of their lives is beyond me. “The casino is more successful than ever and Enzo just opened his first business downtown — a deli, I believe.”
“And Marty? What of him?”
“Oh, little Marty does what he does best,” Gio chuckles. “Which is not much at all.”
“Just give him time,” my father says. “He will find his place in the family.”
“Last I heard, he had his eye on working security.” Gio glances back at me. “Maybe you can offer him a few tips, Luka? He’s a bit squeamish.”
“He’ll grow out of that,” I mutter.
“I hope so, too,” he says. “Until then, he bankrupts losers at my father’s poker tables — which, I admit, is not unhelpful but he could be doing more for the family.”
I’d love to know what the fuck Giovani Zappia does all day to help the family but I hold back my scoff.
We round a corner and I pause, my eyes instantly pulled all the way down the opposite corridor. I recognize Rosalie’s petite face and that permanent smile she always seems to have etched onto her mouth but I don’t keep my attentions on her for longer than a second.
I lock onto the girl in black.
The gown covers every inch of her skin from head-to-toe, along with a translucent veil that obscures her face. My mother told me of the barbaric wedding traditions passed down through the Zappia line but I honestly thought she made most of it up. Now that I see it, I wonder how much of it really is true.
Rosalie pauses and yanks on Sofia’s arm, offering me a short, gentle curtsy as she scurries along. I watch them leave, admiring the bride’s graceful movements, even if she is weighed down by the black garb.
Sofia whips her head back, casting one final glance at me before she disappears around the corner.
Chapter 5
Sofia
I step into the chapel and all movement stops.
Voices fall silent. Heads turn in our direction. Zappias. Lutrovas. Even the servants pause to adjust to my presence. None of them have seen me or heard me speak in two weeks, after all. I guess it’s not every day you see the black bridal gown of Zappia tradition either.
“Sofia!”
There’s one good thing that comes from having to wear this veil. Gio can’t see my face so I don’t have to hide the fact that I cringe every time he says my name.
He grins and rushes down the aisle towards me and Rosalie. “My bride!”
His fingers entwine with my gloved hands and it takes everything I have to stop me from flinching away. I let him tug me towards the front of the chapel, towards the gawking and smiling faces, and I lock eyes with every single one of them.
Antony sits with Nikolai Lutrova off to the side, their murmuring voices no doubt passing mafia trade secrets back and forth.
Beatrix and Nina Lutrova sit in the front pew together, smiling at me with kindness.
The Lutrova brothers stand with the Zappia boys at the front in a line, shifting around as the priest attempts to instruct them on where to stand.
They all can’t tell I’m looking at them. They can’t see the pain in my eyes, screaming at them to let me out.
And then there’s Luka. He stands with stiff posture with his hands in his pockets but he keeps his head down. I wish he wouldn’t. I haven’t seen him this close since we were children. I need to know if those eyes I see in my dreams are still as comforting as they were before.
As we reach the steps, Yuri frowns at me. “I mean no disrespect, Gio, but could you explain the purpose of this black dress?”
Nina flashes him a scolding eye from her seat in the front pew but Gio chuckles.
“No disrespect taken, Yuri,” he says. He lays a hand on my waist and guides me over to display me for all the Lutrovas to see. “In Zappia tradition, a bride wears this gown for two weeks prior to the wedding. She spends that time in silent prayer and reflection to prepare herself for her new life.”
Yuri blinks. “But why?”
Nina glares at him again. Even Luka fires a quick, annoyed glance at his brother and I catch a brief flash of his eyes in the light… along with the black ribbon tattoo swirling up the right side of his neck.
I bite my hidden lip.
Gio smiles. “A Zappia bride must be as pure as freshly fallen snow in every way,” he says. “White skin, white dress. Sofia isn’t even allowed to speak to anyone but her life maiden during that time. Not even me.”
“Life maiden?”
“A confidant — usually a family member or a close friend. In Sofia’s case, her little sister, Rosalie.” He gestures to the front aisle and Rosalie smiles from her seat next to Beatrix in the front pew, her cheeks filling with blood. “The bond between life maidens is sacred. For a woman to betray hers is punishable by death in Zappia law.”
“My goodness…” Nina whispers, clutching her chest. “That’s a bit extreme, is it not?”
Gio waves his hand. “In all of our family’s history, there’s never been a single instance of that happening and I don’t see anything ever coming between these sisters. I wouldn’t worry, Madam Lutrova.”
Yuri shakes his head. “Your laws are certainly something, Gio. I’ll give you that much.”
Gio squeezes my hand a little tighter. “We might be old-fashioned but it’s not without purpose,” he argues. “These laws have existed for hundreds of years and our family is more powerful now than ever. You’ve all heard the phrase—” He raises an enthusiastic fist. “Only a Zappia may rule in Italy. Obviously, we must be doing something right.”
“Obviously.” Yuri chuckles and pats Luka’s shoulder. “Maybe our family could learn a thing or two.”
Luka says nothing. Instead, he looks straight into my black veil and I finally see his eyes. That gray color pops, as fierce and bold as the rest of his features, and my knees sway beneath my gown. My fingers twitch with the temptation to reach for him but I force my hand to remain at my side.
Gio twists me around to face him, robbing me of my view. “Anyway, let’s get this rehearsal over with. The staff has prepared a wonderful feast for our guests and I’ve been smelling it all day.”
***
“Sofia?”
I cringe at the sound of my name and turn around as Gio lets himself into my room. He kicks the door closed and flicks his wrist to lock it behind him.
“I think I’ll miss the sight of you in your bridal robes,” he says, his eyes wandering up and down.
I’d hope the presence of company would keep him from coming in here tonight but luck has never been on my side. I stand up from my vanity seat and his smile grows.
“It’s your last night in this room,” he says, licking his lips. “Tomorrow, you’ll finally join me in the master suite.”
He drifts even closer to me and I fight the urge to scream at him. I’ve suffered through two weeks of Gio sneaking in here late at night, trying to get me to break the vow of silence. It’s a little game Zappia grooms have played for generations: get your bride to speak and spend the wedding night punishing her for it.
