Pregnant by the Mafia Boss

4

L I L I A N A

One - Just an hour ago, the legal agreement had been signed by my father as I had signed my marriage certificate.

Two - My father had left me alone by the entrance as I was going to walk down the aisle all alone, which I was grateful for.

Three - I was going to officially marry Marcello Russo once the two large doors opened.

And at last, they opened.

The two large doors opened in front of me.

The orchestra in the corner of the grand hall began to play a wedding song, which my sister had chosen because this was supposed to be her day.

The grand hall inside the church was filled with quiet murmurs of the five hundred guests who had stood up and waited for me to walk down the aisle.

The air was thick with the scent of flowers, but I could only feel the pounding of my heart, each beat a painful reminder of the situation I found myself in.

I stood by the entrance all by myself, and I never imagined I'd be here, standing in my sister's wedding dress, about to marry her ex-boyfriend, who she had a year-long affair with.

I felt a wave of nausea roll over me.

A day like this was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, but instead, it felt like a cruel twist of fate.

Across the room, Marcello Russo stood at the altar, a twenty-seven year old guy who had once been my first love.

I had fallen in love with him when I was fifteen years old because he was a guy out of a novel, handsome and enchanting.

The first time I saw him was during a meeting my father had held, I couldn't stop staring at Marcello, even if he was only training to take over the family business. 

Yet he had fallen for my sister, and was her lover.

I stared at Marcello, who looked devastatingly handsome in his black tailored suit. His jet black hair was combed back as his hooded hazel eyes were intense. 

But Isabella stood off to the side, wearing a blue bridesmaid dress, as her blue eyes gleamed with malice.

She had set up this entire scenario, forcing me to marry Marcello, her ex-lover.

I glanced at Marcello, I had not spoken or made any contact with him for the past three years. We had exchanged hellos and goodbyes, but that was it.

How was I supposed to be his wife?

My legs felt numb as I took the first step down the aisle, stepping onto the long white carpet which came to an end at the altar.

I hated everything about this wedding because it was chosen by my sister.

The flowers, the orchestra, the wedding dress, the guests, everything was chosen by her.

Each step was a battle against the overwhelming urge to turn and run, to escape this nightmare.

But I couldn't.

If I chose to run, a war would break out between the two families, or my youngest sister, Alessia, would have been forced into my position.

I finally reached the altar as I stood in front of Marcello, avoiding his eyes, because I knew that if I looked at him, his gaze would be directed behind me, at my sister who was standing there as a bridesmaid.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Liliana and Marcello," the priest began, his voice a dull sound that barely registered in my mind.

My parents sat in the front row, their faces masks of polite interest.

They didn't care that Isabella chose not to marry Nino Russo, because they knew if she didn't want something, I was always there to get her leftovers, her sloppy seconds.

I felt someone step away behind me as Isabella went to sit down beside our parents at the front row, as I could see her much more clearly.

Isabella's smile widened as the priest continued, her eyes never leaving mine.

She was basking in her victory, having stolen yet another piece of my happiness.

"Do you, Liliana, take Marcello to be your lawfully wedded 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 to cherish, till death do you part?"

The words felt like a cruel joke.

Love? Cherish? How could I pledge such things when our union was born of a peace treaty?

I finally glanced at Marcello, somewhat seeing him since the white veil was draped over my head.

Imagine marrying the man you once loved, a man who was your first love, but then your sister comes along, and he ends up choosing her.

This was my current situation, but still I uttered those two painful words, even if it caused me discomfort.

"I do," I whispered.

The priest turned to Marcello, repeating the vows.

Marcello's response was calm, but his eyes betrayed his inner turmoil. "I do."

He did not want to marry me, he had been forced into this marriage.

The exchange of rings followed, the cold metal of the band was like a chain that bound me to a future I had never wanted.

Marcello slid the ring onto my finger, and I felt a tear slip down my cheek.

"You may now kiss the bride," the priest announced

Isabella's smug expression changed since she didn't think we would go through with the kiss, but we would even if we didn't want to.

Marcello drifted the veil behind my back. He caught the sight of my face, and I wanted to die on the spot because my heart was pounding violently with despair and agony.

Marcello leaned in, his lips brushing mine in a brief, careless kiss.

It was nothing like the passionate kisses I had imagined, the ones I had dreamed of for so long on my wedding day.

The guests broke out in applause, their cheers a hollow roar in my ears.

But as he kissed me, I felt the taste of whiskey, which meant that he had used alcohol as a way to go through with the wedding and marry a woman he did not love.

I forced a smile, my face a mask of false happiness as we pulled away from each other, and we turned to face the cheering crowd.

Isabella masked her expression of jealousy as she cracked a smile at me.

She had won, and she knew it.

She had taken everything from me and left me with nothing but a life of misery.

I despised her with an intensity that burned through my veins, but there was nothing I could do.

Not now.

Marcello took my hand, and we walked down the aisle together for the sake of the guests as they were standing, cheering and applauding for us, but some had a look of pity since they knew the truth.

Isabella was supposed to be in my place, she was the one who was supposed to marry Nino Russo.

"We wish you the best." An elderly couple congratulated me as I thanked them.

I felt utterly hollow, a shell of the person I once was, even as the white rose petals were thrown gently all around us, my thoughts drifted to death.

This marriage was my death sentence.