Page 1 of The Mafioso’s Bride

Giada

The lace at my throat scratches every time I breathe.

My mother pulls the bodice tighter while my sister pins another white rose into my hair. Her perfume fills the bridal room, sweet and sharp enough to coat my tongue. Lilies crowd every table.

“Stop moving,” Mama says.

“The lace hurts.”

“It’s lace. It doesn’t hurt.”

She yanks the ribbon at my waist. The bones inside the dress press against my ribs.

“It does hurt.”

My sister snorts. “Must you argue about everything today?”

“I’m not arguing. You said it doesn’t hurt, but you’re not wearing it.”

Mama catches my chin between her thumb and finger. Her nails bite my skin.

“Giada. You’ll go into that church. You’ll smile. You’ll marry Giuseppe Lombardi. For once in your life, don’t embarrass this family.”

The church bell rings above us.

The sound strikes inside my skull. I jerk, and a pin scrapes my scalp.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” My sister shoves the pin deeper. “Hold still.”

There will be six more bells after the priest presents us, followed by photographs, a receiving line, and the drive to the hotel. I memorized the order.

My fingers twitch against the skirt. I press the pads of my thumbs to each fingertip in order. One, two, three, four. Again. One, two, three, four.

Tardigrades have survived exposure to the vacuum of space, I remind myself.

“Stop doing that with your hands,” Mama says.

I flatten them against the dress. The silk is smooth beneath hundreds of tiny lace flowers.

I’m twenty years old. Old enough to marry. Old enough to have children. I want three, though one would be enough. I will love my children. I don’t know if they’ll love me back. I’m not easy to love—impossible to love according to my family—but I know I will love them very much.

I’ll make our house calm for them. Meals will happen on a schedule they can rely on. I won’t allow anyone to laugh at things my child says or does. And absolutely no one will touch them without prior warning or permission.

I want a family of my own. For that, I need a husband. I need sex too.

I’m still a virgin, but that will change tonight. I think I’m ready. I know about sex. Of course, I already knew the mechanics—that the penis goes inside the vagina and semen can cause pregnancy. But to get an idea of what to expect, I watched porn.

The women in the videos made noises. I’m not sure if I can make those same noises, but I’ll try tonight. It might be hard with Giuseppe looking at me. With his huge, naked, wrinkled body next to me.

But I’ll try.

I’ve only met Giuseppe once, at our engagement dinner. He’s sixty-two and has already buried two wives. He sat at the head of Papa’s table with his stomach pressed against the edge and a veiny red nose. Two of his sons are older than I am. His daughter asked if Papa had included instructions for taking care of me.

My brothers laughed.

My sister told them I ate the same breakfast every day and covered my ears when the blender ran. More laughter.

“She talks too much,” one of Giuseppe’s sons said. “She hasn’t stopped saying weird things since we arrived.”