Chapter 2. A Wedding Dress or a Lingerie

Ennio’s POV

“It should have been you!” The jerk shouts, and my eyes block every damn sound in the warehouse.

I can feel my heart pulsating as I try to form words in my mouth.

Padum.

Padum.

Padum.

Padum.

Padum.

My heart beats, and my hands shake in terror. I run my hands through her hair as I watch her try to gasp for air. My hands are covered in blood, her blood, and I’ve never felt scared of blood like this in my entire life.

“S-stay! Stay,” I manage to croak out, taking her hand to my cheek.

Her once blue eyes are now fading away as if by any minute, she’ll ascend. She looks at me with trepidation smiling as if it’s her last.

She’s not going to die.

She’s not dying.

She can’t die.

“Mamma,” the jerk tries to come close, and with enough strength, I pick the gun on the ground.

“Stai lontano! Stay the fuck away!” I growl, pointing the gun in his direction.

I am not hesitant to shoot. Hell, after this, I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him. I’ll blow his brains out!

“E-Eno… ” she tries to speak, a tear falling from her eye as she stares at me.

She’s pale, and I am afraid… I am so afraid.

“Shh, mamma! Ash, he’s coming. You’ll be fine. You’ll- you’ll be fine,” I croak out, kissing her hand softly.

I stare at the doorway to find Giovanni has already escaped. My eyes search for any sign of Ash, and my ears perk up with the hope that in the next few minutes, I’ll hear ambulance sirens and paramedics coming through the doorway.

“E-Eno… ”

“No. No. Don’t talk. Save your strength. It’ll be over. I promise.”

“Listen… you have to listen… You are a good man, and I want you to be happy.”

“I’ll be happy, mamma. I am happy,” I cry.

She smiles that suspicious smile I’ve grown used to.

“You are not. Find a wife, start a family, and be happy. Promise me,” she says, coughing, and the red liquid splutters out of her mouth.

“P-Promise me,” she stammers.

“I promise,” I utter, feeling her fragile hand loosely leave my cheek.

Her eyelids slowly cover her eyes as I feel her body give up her soul in my hands.

“No-No. You can’t do this! You can’t leave me. I need you. Svegliati!”

I shake her body, and she doesn’t move.

“Right over here,” I hear Ash’s voice and a couple of medics running fast in my direction.

They take her from me, and I am left on the floor, shaken by what just happened.

“Eno. I am- am sorry, man,” Ash’s hand grips my shoulder. I stand up feeling bereft. Feeling as if I should take the gun in my hands and blow my brain out.

I am to blame.

“We can catch Giovanni. He’s not too far. Rafa is trailing him as we speak,” Ash’s voice assures from behind.

“Leave him,” I state.

“What? Eno, he- he just shot-”

“I know,” I growl. “She’s dead. There’s nothing that can bring her back. Call my father, tell him the news, and tell him to find me a damn wife!”

***

“Sorridi nipote,” nonna says.

Except there’s nothing to smile about. I’m pissed having had to stand an hour waiting for my bride.

“Where the hell is she?” I growl under my breath, staring at those big closed doors at the end of the aisle.

My grandmother, after a few futile attempts to calm me down, goes back to her seat, and I’m left standing like a desperate sciocchezze in front of everyone.

The priest stands in front of me and has barely looked me in the eye since I arrived.

He keeps wiping sweat off his face, which disgusts me and pisses me off. I can recognize him as the same priest who officiated Santino’s little burial right after one of my henchmen, Ash, put a bullet through his head.

Among the crowd in the church are people I do business with, some friends, others enemies, and the rest here just for the thrill of it.

I never wanted a wife. I never wanted another dead weight to carry around. Women are a certain species that I don’t like around me. They are all a vulnerability to every man. They make great men fall without as much as pulling the trigger, yet here I am waiting on a woman.

A woman I barely know, I’ve barely seen, and I’ve barely talked to. Are they not all the same, really?

The only difference with this woman is that I’ll have to live with her, feed her, and make babies with her.

My father sits in the front row, chuckling heartily at something the man seated next to him is saying.

I suppose he is happy to see me marrying. I know mamma would be. I am doing this for her. To honor her wish, even though it means sacrificing myself and tying myself to one woman for the rest of my life.

Georgia Marie Moretti is the name of my bride. I didn’t know the Morettis had a daughter until my dad told me about it three weeks ago.

The Morettis, or more so Manuel Moretti, is an underground trafficker who exports any merchandise overseas from Italy to Chicago and Los Angeles. We’ve crossed paths twice, and I can’t exactly say I am a big fan of the man. He’s a greedy bastard that would gladly take a million dollars in exchange for his niece.

I snap back to the present, my hand turning into fists. I am about to lose the little patience I have and cancel this forsaken wedding.

It’s only after I release a frustrated sigh do the doors part and the light emanating from outside blind me from seeing my bride.

I hear gasps, I hear murmurs, but I don’t bother to cock my head again and stare at her.

She is just another woman. I have slept with a share number of women to drink in their beauty, their every little action, how they smile when I am around, how they act when I am around them, too, and I have a gut feeling that once this one sees me, she’ll cling to my hand like a leech forever.

The long slow-motion walk is over, and in mere minutes, she stands in front of me, and only then do I get to look at her.

The Morettis are and always were ugly bastards, but to think that the woman standing in front of me shares their blood is next to impossible.

I didn’t expect her to look like this. I expected her to be simple. Simple, plain, and unlikeable.

Someone that I wouldn’t have to look at more than twice.

“Dearly beloved-” the priest starts, and I am not sure I will be able to stand here any longer waiting for the long ‘till death do us part’ speech.

“I do,” I cut the old priest short. The priest gulps a huge chunk of saliva and turns his gaze on my bride.

I scrutinize the piece of clothing she has on. Her boobs are mercilessly strained by the dress, and no mere lace can hide that.

The slits on both sides of her dress show too much skin for a wedding dress, and I can’t decipher whether it’s a wedding dress or lingerie. My eyes go back to her face, her flawless beautiful face.

Her lips are covered by a purplish red lipstick, and I would be kidding if I said I didn’t want to taste those glossy lips.

Her brown eyes are like thick gravy pulling me in, but I would rather look away.

My father, without a doubt, chose diligently. She’s fucking gorgeous, but beautiful or not, I am not going to build up a little fantasy and fall for a ragazza americana.

Love isn’t on the table.

“Do you, Georgia Marie Moretti, take Ennio La Monda to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The priest asks her, and she stays mute. People croon, others gasp, and I? Well, I am amused by the situation.

Does she not know who I am? Believe me, she should be grateful that I am willing to lay everything down and marry her.

The priest asks again. And again. And again, until the whole thing starts to become boring.

I hate how she looks at the crowd, how desperate she looks for someone in the crowd as if I am the devil himself. As if once we are married, I’ll take her to one of my warehouses and chop her little fingers.

“Georgia Marie-” the priest starts to stutter. He is also afraid of the whole situation.

He knows as well as everyone in the room that if she doesn’t say yes in the next few seconds, something bad will surely happen.

I’ll surely lose my temper, and things aren’t going to get pretty.

I am not even pissed at the freakish wedding at this point. I am pissed at the self-proclaimed Moretti princess plainly hesitating to marry me. Me? Of all people?

“I do!” She cries, and everyone heaves a sigh.

“Georgia Marie Moretti and Ennio La Monda have chosen these rings to exchange with each other as a symbol of their unending love. As you place this ring on your bride’s finger, please repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed and pledge you my love now and forever,” the priest hands me the golden ring.

I take her hand into mine, slipping the ring on her finger as I say, “I, Ennio La Monda, with this ring, I thee wed and pledge you my loyalty now and forever.”

The priest turns to the bride giving her another ring. She’s hesitant at first, but she takes my hand, holding onto it as she slips the ring.

Our hands touch, and there’s a rather surreal feeling in my body.

“By the power bestowed upon me, I pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss-”

And wet warm liquid spatters on my face as the priest falls to the ground dead.

It takes mere seconds for people to realize what has just happened, and in those few seconds comes panic and frenzy as everyone run for their dear lives.

“Get down!” I grab hold of my wife’s hand, taking out the gun behind my back.

I grab the lifeless body of the priest, using it as a shield from the oncoming bullets that sprint my way.

“Here. Use this. Don’t move, don’t run until I tell you to,” I shout, seeing my wife quiver in surprise.

She’s shaking, and half of her face is covered with the dead priest’s blood.

“I-I can’t use him as a shield. He- he is a human being,” she cries.

“He is dead. He might as well be useful,” I say flatly. “Stay here,” I command.

Luckily for us, the priest is one chubby fellow who covers both of us. I peep through the underarm of the dead priest, counting how men they are.

Ash has taken one down, and Rafa is behind another man by the doorway, ready to shoot the back of his head.

With the commotion, I identify the third shooter in the third-row seat. I have to lead him away from my wife.

With one bold move, I run toward the front row of seats seeing the fucker turn his head in my direction. He is distracted, and with one bullet, Ash takes him out.

“I thought you I told you to guard this place,” I hiss at Rafa and Ash.

People start to run out of the church, and among them are my dad and grandmother.

“They were dressed as civilians, boss. We killed a few of them, but some escaped,” Rafa says, dropping his gun.

“They were Giovanni’s men. I recognized a few,” Ash says, his chest moving up and down as he takes deep breaths.

“Fucking Giovanni is back?” I scratch my head with the nozzle of the gun, turning around to get my wife. The only problem is… she’s not there.

The bloody priest is on the floor oozing blood, but my wife is gone.

“They took her,” I mutter angrily.