Page 11 of Koroleva

"You look beautiful!" Irisha and Sarka exclaimed in unison.

I sought my reflection in the glass, the dress was my mother’s choice, who insisted I should dress like a princess, as Italians were very pompous.

The design looked lavish. The fabric shone on its own like a million incandescent stars, it had no lace or gems, it didn’t need them.

The neckline was a V-shape, perfectly molding to my medium-sized breasts. The waist was accentuated and the skirt was opulent. Not for nothing, the model was called "Essence of a Royal Wedding" by Ze Garcia.

The hairstylist added some extensions to give me wavy hair. I wore it down. At the top of my head, they secured a veil that fell below my buttocks and was made of soft tulle.

I requested makeup as I usually wore it. Mascara and black eyeliner, a bit of blush on my cheeks, and my unmistakable red lips.

My mother insisted on a softer lip shade, but I refused, that was my signature, and I wasn’t giving it up.

I wore no jewelry; the sparkle of the dress and the gems crowning the veil were enough.

"How are we doing for time?" I asked Sarka, who was holding her phone. She looked gorgeous in a youthful salmon-colored dress.

"You're five minutes away from being half an hour late." I clicked my tongue.

"I told you, mom, I was fine." My mother rolled her eyes. "Any bride worth her salt has to be a little late," I retorted proudly.

My mother looked very elegant in a pearl grey suit that flattered her features.

"It's true, there’s an unwritten code about that. Some brides even arrive an hour late," Irisha corroborated. I winked at my sister.

"Let’s not go overboard…" my mother warned with a cautionary tone.

"Let's toast to the best day of our lives, serve us all some vodka, Iri," I asked my sister, who quickly got to work.

"No alcohol until you have the ring on your finger. If you want to drink like a Cossack afterwards, that’s your problem," my mother scolded. "We can't waste more time, Massimo sent me a message five minutes ago asking if everything was alright."

"Have you already given him your number? Everyone's in a hurry here..." I remarked with displeasure.

"We had to communicate somehow. And stop making those faces, from today you'll be living in Marbella and they're going to become part of our family." "For a short time," I thought.

My mother approached me, took my hands, and smiled.

"You're beautiful, you remind me of myself on my wedding day, though my dress wasn't as shiny." We both smiled. I couldn’t hold anything against her, my mother always loved us and was good to us. "I’m sure your father, uncle Luka, and your brother are proud of you from up there. They're going to protect you and look after you, I'm convinced."

"I don't need any man to protect me, mom, I was taught by the best."

I looked up and blew a kiss to the three of them, with the implicit promise that I would avenge the harm done to us.

6

I do

T he sun was shining high in the sky.

The blue sky was completely cloudless, and there was a good reason for that: all the dense, gray, threatening clouds were inside me, about to create the worst storm.

I clenched my teeth when my mother handed me off to the arm of Massimo Capuleto, also known as the Capo.

He was a large, robust man with salt-and-pepper hair and a thin mustache over his upper lip, reminiscent of old gangster movies. He had tanned skin and a scrutinizing gaze.

He examined me as someone accustomed to having everything under control would.

"Bellisima!" he exclaimed, pleased.

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