My Revenge Against My Fiancé Began at Our Wedding

At some point, both my parents had come to stand beside me.

My mother had spent decades running the true business of the Vitale house, decisive and hard-edged, the kind of woman who never let her temper reach her face. But even a saint has a breaking point, and hers had been ground down to it. She said nothing, only took my hand and patted it, quiet reassurance.

The veins stood out at my father's temple. He took the phone from my hand, his eyes rimmed red, and spoke with terrible calm. In this world a Don who raised his voice had already lost, and Lucian Vitale had never once needed to raise his.

"Lorenzo. Adriana is my only daughter. No one gets to treat her like this in front of me."

"You and Adriana were bound to each other seven years before this union was ever spoken of. We wanted this day to go smoothly, all of us, both Families. You see it differently than we do, and we don't hold that against you. I only want one thing from you. Send the bridal artist over now. Show me you actually mean to honor my daughter."

There was a long hesitation on the other end.

"Don Vitale! Let's think of the big picture first. Help me talk Adriana into letting the substitute do her face, and I'll head over for the pickup right away. The made men and the soldiers are all here. Don't let outside Families have a laugh at us."

"After the union, hit me, curse me, I'll come and kiss the ring and beg forgiveness, whatever you want!"

"Don't call me that."

My father hung up, the disappointment plain on his face. He set his cigar down in the ashtray and did not pick it up again.

I took my phone back, lowered my head, and opened the planning group where every honor of this union had been arranged.

"Cancel the morning photographs. Cancel the bride pickup on my end too."

The lead planner replied almost at once.

"And the rest of the day? Should we keep it moving as normal?"

I thought for a moment, then typed.

"Keep filming. We'll settle the rest later."

I lifted my head.

"Papà. Mamma. I don't want to just let it go."

My parents exchanged a glance.

My father stepped forward and gently wiped away my tears. He spoke first.

"Don't be afraid, Adriana."

I'd heard those words for twenty-seven years. With him there, I truly had nothing to fear.

"Your father is going to go call over all a dozen of the Family's men right now."

I'm an only daughter, but my father has brothers. After those brothers had produced a good ten sons between them, I arrived as the only girl in the whole Vitale bloodline. The most doted on. The one the soldiers straightened their backs for.

My mother pulled me into a light hug.

"Whatever you decide to do next, I'm behind you."

Then she called over the artist we'd secured on short notice, a lesser honor bought in an hour when the greater one had been stolen.

"Would you do my daughter's face first? Not a bridal look. Just something that makes her look fresh and put-together."

She turned away and called Ottavia Marchetti, the artist the Vitales had reserved a full year in advance at no small tribute.

"It's all right that you can't come. But you'll touch no one else's face, not one person who isn't ours."

"We'll pay you all the same."

Francesca cursed the cheating dog under her breath, cracking her knuckles one hand at a time, though for once she said nothing more. Bianca rubbed my back, aching for me, and quietly refilled the water glass at my elbow.

The made woman who had been overseeing the bride's send-off, who had watched the whole thing, was seething too.

"I'll go explain to our side of the Family. No one gets away with disrespecting a Vitale like this."

The videographer flashed me an okay, letting me know he'd caught all of it. Every word laid bare for the sit-down that was coming.

Lorenzo called again. I rejected every one.

I peeled off the traditional gown and changed into the white dress I always wear.

I sat down in front of the mirror.

Reading Lorenzo's messages, I let out a scornful laugh.

"Baby, another hour and a half and I can come get you. Be good."

The artist's hands moved over my face, dabbing and blending.

Maybe it was because things had already fallen so far. The anxiety that had gripped me from the moment I learned Ottavia Marchetti had been "handed over" to someone else, strangely, settled into calm. Under the table, I stopped twisting the diamond inward against my palm and set my hand flat on my knee.

The seven years with Lorenzo played through my mind like a film.

We came up together. His Family and mine ran in the same circles, bound by respect and the long peace between us.

He fell for me at first sight and came on strong.

Lorenzo was tall and handsome, easygoing, and he had that heir-apparent glow, a year ahead of me in every room we entered. Falling for him felt like the natural order of things.

We courted, we ran together, we were seen together at every table that mattered, four sweet years.

Until it was time to take our place in the territory. We came back to the old streets to build our standing, and his adopted sister began to appear in ours more and more.