Page 43 of Forbidden Mobster's Daughter

“So Vito will watch Ms. Sienna?”

Elia kicks some grovel. “After tonight, she’s no longer our problem.”

28

Sienna

“Here’s my bride,”says the average-height man with a stocky figure and too much product on his comb-over hairstyle. Francesco.

He flashes me a smile.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, and stretch out my hand, but he pulls me into a hug and kisses my cheek. The few people around him cheer him on, chuckling nervously.

Bile floats up my throat. His lips are clammy and gross on my skin, like a soggy piece of square cheese that’s been sitting out for too long.

“No need for so much formality, honey. We’re to be family very soon,” he says, and winks at me.

I carefully disengage from his hold, hoping my lips can convey a smile and not complete disgust. Fuck. What am I going to do? I glance around me, and my eyes meet my father’s.

He looks away.

I purse my lips. He knows he’s in the wrong.

I need to find a way out of this.

“Why don’t we get the ceremony going? I can’t wait to get started,” Francesco says, giving me another creepy wink.

29

“Are you ready to go downstairs?” Clara asks, regarding me with a measure of approval.

She brought me to a spacious room on the second floor to change into the wedding gown. She contacted the lady from the bridal shop, who sent over the dress I’d picked—after Matteo ripped the other one off me. How convenient.

I look at the reflection in the mirror. The dress is an elegant, V-neck mermaid style with intricate embroidery. The gown would look timeless and romantic in different circumstances, but now it’s a giant shackle weighing me down.

I’m marrying Francesco Caruso, the awful man I met ten minutes ago. He had that used-car-salesman energy with the edge of someone who’s high. Dilated pupils. We exchanged a few sentences. Nausea twists in my stomach.

What happens to Matteo?

Clara said he’d be unscathed, but I don’t trust her. My blood pounds in all my pulse points, the sense of dread taking over. I need to talk to my father—need to plead with him once more. I saw regret in his eyes earlier. “I want to talk to my dad before he walks me down the aisle.”

Clara shakes her head. “Can’t you talk to him after?”

I lift my chin. “He owes me that. I’m not marrying anyone unless I speak to him.”

“Okay. Fine.”

She opens the door, whispers something to security, and within a few minutes, my father shows up. Clara nods and leaves the room.

“You look beautiful,” he says, stepping toward me slowly like I’m an animal he’s found in the wild and is unsure whether I’ll bite.

I lock the door behind him. “I don’t feel beautiful. I feel gross.”

He scratches his chin. I’m positive he’s internally second-guessing coming to talk to me. “Sienna?—”

“I want you to promise me that you won’t hurt Matteo,” I say, my voice wavering. The idea of Matteo in pain causes tears to well up inside me. “I swear to God, if you do, I’ll kill my groom in his sleep and really start a war. I don’t care about going to jail or dying at that point.”

He takes a step back and stares at me. “Wow. I didn’t know you feel about him so strongly.”

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