Page 1 of Brutal Union
1 - Valentina
The wedding dress had been my grandmother’s, my mother’s, and now it would be my prison.
I stand before the full-length mirror in the bridal suite, studying the woman reflected back at me. Cream silk and vintage lace cling to curves I inherited from the same bloodline that cursed me to this fate. The dress is beautiful, timeless elegance that should make any bride glow with happiness. Instead, it feels like a shroud.
My fingers clutch the rosary beads hidden in the folds of silk. Mother's rosary, the one she held when she died. The smooth wood grounds me, keeps me from shattering into the thousand pieces I feel breaking inside.
"You look beautiful," Alice says softly from behind me, adjusting the antique veil that cascades down my back. Her hands are steady, but I catch the tremor in her voice. My baby sister, only nineteen, trying to be strong.
"Beautiful enough to seal an alliance." The words taste bitter. "Father must be so proud of his prize heifer."
Alice's reflection meets mine in the mirror. We both know what this wedding means. With me married to the Irish, she's safe from being bartered away herself. At least for now. The Bernardi family only has two daughters to trade, and I'm the eldest, the one Father groomed to understand our world even as he denied me any real power in it.
"Mom would be proud of you," Alice whispers, but we both know it's a lie.
Mom died trying to escape this life. Eleven years ago, her car wrapped around a tree on a perfectly clear night, no other vehicles involved. Father called it tragic. I call it murder. She'd been packing when I found her that afternoon, promising to take us somewhere safe. By midnight, she was dead.
Now I wear her wedding dress to marry a man I don't love, cementing myself in the world that killed her. The beads cut into my palm as I clutch them tighter, the only protection I have left.
The memory of another time I pushed too hard surfaces. Father's lieutenant, questioning my presence at a family meeting. "Maybe the little princess should go play with her dolls," he'd sneered. I'd smiled sweetly and asked if he'd learned to count past ten yet, since the books never seemed to balance when he handled them. Father had backhanded me later, but the lieutenant never looked me in the eye again. This compulsion to provoke dangerous men is the only time I feel alive in this cage.
Alice finishes with the veil, stepping back to survey her work. In the mirror, we look like opposites. Her dark hair loose and free, still wearing jeans despite Father's orders to dress formally. Me, trapped in generations of lace and expectation.
"Promise me," I say suddenly, turning to grab her hands. "Promise me you'll go to college. That you'll study something that has nothing to do with this family."
"Val…"
"Promise me." My grip tightens. "I'm doing this so you don't have to. So you can have choices. Don't waste it."
Her eyes fill with tears she refuses to let fall. We're Bernardi women. We don't cry where anyone might see. "I promise."
I pull her into a fierce hug, careful not to wrinkle the dress that defines our family's status. She smells like the strawberry shampoo she's used since she was twelve, still my baby sister despite everything.
When we part, I force my spine straight, lifting my chin the way Mother taught me. Never let them see you break, Valentina. You can shatter in private, but in public, you are marble.
The door opens without a knock. Only one person in this family has that privilege.
"Perfect." Father's voice fills the room like smoke, choking and inescapable. The scent of his cologne, expensive and oppressive, makes my stomach turn. Alonzo Bernardi surveys me with the same calculating gaze he uses to evaluate property investments. "The Irish will be pleased."
"I'm sure Liam will be thrilled with his acquisition." I watch his jaw tighten at my tone. "Should I moo for him? Or do you save that for the honeymoon?"
"Watch your tongue, Valentina." He moves closer, adjusting the veil with proprietary satisfaction. His fingers are rough, careless. "This alliance will change everything. The Bernardi name combined with Irish muscle. We'll finally have enough power to challenge the Rosettis' stranglehold on Chicago."
The Rosettis. Even the name makes something twist in my chest. Not just fear, but something far more dangerous. I think of dark eyes across a negotiation table two years ago, of wine dripping from an expensive suit, of a voice that could freeze hell itself saying, "You'll regret that, principessa."
"Liam O'Brien is weak," I say, watching Father's reflection. "His father runs their organization. Liam just plays at being dangerous."
"Weak men are easier to control." Father's smile is sharp as a blade. "You'll guide him, shape the alliance from within. You're my daughter. You know how power really works."
Yes, I know. Power works by trading daughters like poker chips, by killing wives who try to leave, by pretending love exists in a world built on blood and bullets.
"The ceremony starts in fifteen minutes," Father continues. "The cathedral is full. Every family of consequence is here to witness this union. The Morettis, despite their blood feud with the O'Briens. The Torrentis from Detroit. Even representatives from the neutral territories. This is bigger than just a wedding, Valentina. This is history."
History. I'm about to become a footnote in someone else's story, the Bernardi daughter who married Irish to forge an alliance. Not a person, just a hyphen between two names.
The church bells begin to ring, deep and solemn, summoning me to my fate. Each toll feels like another bar sliding into place on my cage.
"Time to go." Father offers his arm with the same formal courtesy he'd extend to a business partner. "The groom is waiting."
