Page 4 of His Dark Possession

GABRIELLA

Last night, Carina and I indulged ourselves with a trip to the nail salon. It was a dual-purpose outing: a pre-wedding treat and a desperate attempt to curb her incessant nail-biting habit. However, in a twist of irony, she seems to have swapped one vice for another, now rhythmically tapping her freshly polished French tips against every available surface that will resonate with a satisfying sound.

“Carina, I swear to God,” I begin, a wave of irritation washing over my features, my patience wearing thin.

Her wince is nearly palpable, echoing the tension in the air. “I’m sorry, Gabriella. I know this is a stressful weekend for you,” she responds, a hint of concern in her voice.

Stressful is putting it lightly. My mind has been a whirlwind ever since I stumbled back to my hotel room last weekend, replaying the encounter with Antonio over and over again. It’s not that he’s my one true love or some fairytale prince; rather, it’s the way he made me feel. The sensation of his hands on me, igniting something deep within, left me embarrassingly turned on and craving more. In the solitude of my bedroom, I found myselffuriously rubbing my clit, chasing the high he had given me, and I reached the peak of ecstasy not once, but three times. Yet, none of those climaxes could compare to the overpowering release that Antonio had elicited from me, leaving me feeling hollow and frustrated by the time Carina finally arrived, bursting with her usual energy and chatter.

She was mortified by what had transpired between the two of us, a mix of disbelief and embarrassment washing over her. Carina swore that this was precisely why I shouldn’t have gone up there in the first place, but since I had already crossed that line, she couldn’t help but ask—what had it been like? I could sense that she reveled in hearing about his delicious torture, the thrill of my experience adding fuel to her curiosity.

In the days that followed, I found myself trying to gather intel on Antonio Bianchi’s other conquests. It seemed like a dozen women emerged from the woodwork, eager to share their tales. They all insisted I was incredibly lucky to be marrying him. Two of them confided that they had been banned from ever contacting him again; apparently, there were female stalkers out there, and Antonio wanted nothing to do with the chaos they brought. Four of the women described him as the best lay they had ever experienced, their voices tinged with a mix of nostalgia and longing. The other six drifted off into a happy daydream, recalling the magical moments they had shared with him. By all accounts, my future husband had slept with half of Vegas, which only made sense; how else could one become that skilled at...that?

“You should get laid. It’ll do wonders for your nervous tics,” I teased her, not that I wanted to dwell on the thought. Carina and my brother had been in this on-again, off-again relationship since we were in high school. He was two years older than meand had been sticking it to my best friend since she was just sixteen. Initially, I was furious about it, but as I watched him treat her right, that anger faded into acceptance.

With a coy smile, Carina’s fingers instantly ceased their strumming on the leather couch, and a glimmer of excitement danced in her eyes. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Benedetto wants to get married!”

It was only a matter of time. Ben had started talking to me about Carina a full year before they finally got together. Even now, whenever they have a fight or decide to take a break, I find myself in the uncomfortable position of listening to both of them vent their frustrations for what feels like an eternity before they inevitably reconcile. “I’m excited for you. Have you guys entered negotiations yet?” I ask, trying to sound more enthusiastic than I feel.

She shakes her head vigorously, her eyes widening in surprise and delight as she speaks. “Benedetto only told me this past week! He said that all the romance in the air was making him realize he wanted to marry me before it was too late. He plans to have your father talk to my father after this weekend.” The anticipation in her voice is palpable, a bright energy that fills the room.

Romance in the air? What part of an arranged marriage could possibly be romantic? “I hope it goes well. It would be nice to have someone around who I genuinely like.” Not that Ben is terrible, but he is, after all, my older brother. He doesn’t quite grasp what it’s like to navigate the world as a woman. There’s a certain freedom I feel when I talk to Carina that I can’t access with him.

“I know it’s early, but will you be the maid of honor at my wedding?” Carina bites her bottom lip, her eyes shimmering with the threat of tears. She’s an incredibly emotional woman, and I can already picture how that depth of feeling will make her an excellent mother one day. She’ll have the unique ability to truly relate to her children, understanding their joys and sorrows with a tenderness that only someone like her could provide.

My kids will inevitably come to me with complaints about bullies, and what will my response be? Smother them to death in their sleep while maintaining a bulletproof alibi. I’m not relatable; I’m one of a kind. “Of course I will, Carina! It’ll be your turn to drive me crazy with bridal demands.” But I bet her demands won’t involve sneaking into her future husband’s bachelor party and getting licked to orgasm while twenty of his friends party on in the next room. There are two kinds of people in this world...

“You ready to go out there?” Carina asks, her voice laced with a hint of anxiousness that seeps back into her tone like a slow leak.

Honestly? No, not at all. I saw Antonio during a quick run-through of the ceremony, and he looked at me with that infuriating smug smile of his, followed by a wink that made my stomach churn. During the candle lighting portion, he leaned in close and whispered in my ear that he couldn’t wait until tomorrow night when he could finally have all of me. I quickly turned around to face my family, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. The nerve of that man; he seemed to revel in my discomfort.

“I guess so. I’m not sure they’ll believe we’re changing for much longer.” While I had slipped into a bold, red, floor-length satin dress that hugged my figure in all the right places, Carina hadn’tchanged at all, still radiating an effortless grace in her simple attire. If we didn’t emerge soon, I could picture Antonio sending his men in to check on me, his worry morphing into impatience. I haven’t been known to run from my future, but given the stories I’ve heard of other possible brides of his, I understand why they might have felt the need to escape.

Carina and I make our way toward the event space, the anticipation hanging thick in the air. Emerald At Queensridge looks absolutely stunning, transformed with large, sweeping floral arrangements that cascade from every corner, their vibrant hues contrasting beautifully with the soft, dim lights that create an intimate atmosphere. I can only assume that my father is paying five figures for this grand yet cursed event, a thought that stirs a mixture of gratitude and dread within me.

The majority of the space remains empty, a quiet preparation for the ceremony set to unfold tomorrow. However, in front of the imposing double doors that lead to the outdoor venue stand three tables. One is a head table for two, elegantly set for Antonio and me, while the other two tables run perpendicular, ready to accommodate the additional members of the wedding party. Each table is draped in navy blue cloth, adorned with more of those exquisite flowers, and tiny tealights flicker softly, casting a warm glow that enhances the already intimate setting. Nearby, people gather at the cocktail tables, laughter bubbling up as they engage in lighthearted conversation, discussing God knows what, their carefree spirits a stark contrast to my own internal turmoil.

“Look who’s finally arrived.” Benedetto is the first to spot us, his voice cutting through the chatter like a knife. He breaks away from the group, drawing their attention toward us with a confident stride. “That dress is a little much, don’t you think?”Ben remarks, his playful tone undercut by a hint of sincerity as he wraps his arms around me in a familiar embrace. “Save some mystery for the wedding night.”

The neckline of the dress dips low, a daring cut that could easily cross the line into the obscene if I had more cleavage to showcase. I lean closer, whispering in his ear with a smirk, “I think my betrothed has seen a woman’s body.” The truth is, he’s seen most ofmybody, and the thought sends a thrill through me, mingled with a hint of defiance against the expectations that swirl around us like the flowers that adorn this lavish setting.

“You’re looking especially handsome tonight, Benedetto,” Carina interjects, her smile radiant and warm, brightening the room around us.

My brother releases me from his embrace and shifts his attention to my best friend. “Cara mia,” he greets her in smooth Italian, his voice dripping with admiration, “you are breathtaking.”

A flicker of jealousy stirs within me as I observe their connection. Ben gazes at Carina with a depth of affection that I had always yearned to receive from a man. He looks at her the way I had dreamed someone would look at me—full of warmth and adoration. Johnston, in contrast, seemed more interested in defining me through the lens of his twisted desires. He thrived on humiliating me in ways that left me feeling exposed and degraded. Antonio, on the other hand, regards me with a predatory intensity, as if I am Little Red Riding Hood and he is the Big Bad Wolf, poised to pounce. Each time our eyes meet, I can sense that he would consume me whole, body and soul.

Now, as I stand amidst the lively atmosphere, it is no different. He spots me from the bar, and I watch as his pupils dilate,darkening with desire. Those lustful eyes roam my figure with a hunger that sends shivers down my spine. I catch a glimpse of his lips parting, and though I cannot hear him, I see him speak a few words to his companion before he begins striding in my direction with purpose.

The love that Benedetto and Carina share is undoubtedly enviable, a bond forged in the fires of mutual respect and affection. Yet the fervor that ignites in Antonio’s gaze when he sees me is a force of nature, unparalleled and intoxicating. In this moment, I find myself contemplating the whimsical notion of being cherished, wondering if I could cast it aside if it meant that my fiancé would always look at me with that kind of raw passion.

“Gorgeous,” the smug smile returns to his lips, radiating a sense of triumph, “I was beginning to think I’d scared you off.”

Ben audibly snorts, a rich sound of amusement that fills the air. “I thought if anyone would be scared, it’d be you, Bianchi. She’s a black widow, you know,” he says with a playful wink, clearly enjoying the banter.

I stare at him in horror, my heart racing at the audacity of his words. It’s one thing to have people whisper such jokes behind my back, a cruel jest that lurks in the shadows of my reputation, but I never thought my brother would throw it so brazenly at Antonio’s feet, as if it were nothing more than a casual remark.

Antonio, however, isn’t phased by the insinuation. He grabs my hand with a firm yet gentle grip, bringing it to his lips with an intimacy that seems to drown out the laughter echoing around us. Not even bothering to toss Benedetto a glance, he meets my eyes with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine. “I’m braver than I look, Andretti.” The unspoken words hang in theair between us:I’m not afraid of Gabriella Scott, I can control her.

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