Strong-willed, badass and bounded by the chains of an arranged marriage, Isabela Arias dreams of the freedom to live and love as she chooses.
Being sold to the Italian mafia wasn't exactly on Isabela's to do list...
As she's forced to navigate the r...
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My head pounds with vigor. The lights streaming through the open window curtains irritate my headache further. The pills aren't enough. Is it safe to take another two? Who told me it was a good idea to get drunk the night before my wedding? If anything, I should be drunk right now—anything to forget this god-awful day.
An instant pain emerges on my hips. "Stay still! I'm almost done with your hair." Emilia complains, sticking a dozen bobby pins to hold on to the veil. Maybe that's what's giving me a headache. "Do you understand the words— stay still?"
I roll my eyes. "Actually, I don't, Emilia. Would you care to explain the phrase to me?"
"What a bitch," she mumbles under her breath, audible enough for me to hear.
My eyes narrow. "What did you call me?" Emilia shrugs her shoulders, continuing her work on my hair. Spitefulness plagues my veins. "I said, what did you call me?"
Emilia jerks her hip out. "A bitch. Are you happy?"
Her eyes widen as I spin around, stepping forward until her back hits the wall. Heavy breathing expels from her lips. Fury conquers my sanity, grabbing her veiny, fragile wrist and digging my nails into them. If I'm being forced to become a Moltsanti, I might as well use the perks that come with the name.
"Listen here," I say, gritting my teeth. "You have gotten away with a lot of things, but that ends today. I'm not just some girl anymore-- I'm going to be Isabela Moltisanti, and I don't think I need to remind you that I'm your boss." Emilia weakly nods. "So, start fucking treating me like one."
Emilia gulps. "O-Okay."
My jaw clenches. "Leave."
Like a cartoon, she bumps into the table, stool, and chair before sprinting out the door. I sigh in relief-- finally, some privacy. My eyes fall onto the collections of full-length mirrors hung in a circle in front of me. Anxiety flickers through me like a light bulb. I look beautiful, and I hate that I do. Damien doesn't deserve it. My curtain bangs are sectioned off by diamond clips, and the rest of my hair is curled, adorn with flowers. The dress looks exactly like it did the day I bought it.
I look beautiful, but I don't feel like myself at all.
I'm changing, conforming to my new lifestyle.
Any outsider would view me as the happiest girl in the world.
But I couldn't be anymore miserable.
My freedom officially ends today. I will belong to Damien on paper. Heat prickles my skin under the uncomfortable, rough fabric, spreading across my neckline like a rash. It should be him at the end of the aisle, him who saved me from the pile of endless doom and gloom. I swallow the emotion rising up my throat.
That's too much to ask of him. I should be satisfied with what he's willing to give me after all the restrictions he had.
"Miss Arias." Thrilling chills roll down my spine at the sound of his hypnotic, seductive, husky voice. My heart rate picks up. Something about Julian leaning on the doorframe with one arm above his head on the top frame and the other rubbing his lip does something to me. Butterflies swarm my stomach.
