Ripped Veil - A Mafia Romance

The candles flicker brighter, as if they know what's going on inside my mind. I rip the veil off my head and hurl it at a cluster of candles in the corner. It catches fire immediately and starts to crackle.

The shivering comes back. As do the memories-some of them, at least.

Tonight was supposed to be my wedding night. We'd spent weeks in preparation. The event of the decade: Father Josiah had finally decided to take a wife. And he had blessed my family with the highest of honors.

He had chosen me.

But even though the past few weeks start coming back to me, the last twenty-four hours are a complete blur. A black hole that hides the secret to what happened in this bedroom.

I shake my head, unable to look at Father Josiah's body. I'd agreed to marry him. Of course I had. He was the leader of our commune, the Sanctuary. He was strong and brave and kind and honest. He was the savior of so many families, including my own.

I'd been chosen.

And then I'd... killed him?

I look down at the paperweight where I dropped it, waiting for the last piece of the puzzle. But nothing comes. All I have are black shapes, wavy images, and fleeting emotions that I don't recognize.

But the facts are the facts. I killed Father Josiah. I killed my husband.

I don't quite understand what comes over me in the moment that follows. All I know is that my eyes drift to the burning wedding veil in the corner. I stand and rush over to it, though it feels like I'm not even in control of my actions. An out-of-body experience, I think they call it.

I snatch up the biggest candle. Hot, molten wax sears my skin, but I barely feel it.

It's not a conscious decision. But I am distantly aware of the hysteria twisting into something else. Something that feels like... survival.

I push the open flame against the filmy material of the curtain tied up on to side of the window. It catches fire immediately and the roar grows quickly. The fire spreads fast.

Then I throw the candle at the bed. I don't look to see where it lands. I just turn and run.

Down the stairs.

Out the door.

My high heels sink into sand as I cross from the patchy yards of the commune out into the wild desert. Gasping, I kick them off and keep running.

I don't look back. My eyes are on the glow of lights in the far distance. I know those lights. I've watched them my whole life.

Las Vegas.

I've never been myself, despite it being right at our doorstep. The Sanctuary is all I've ever known. To want more was to accept sin into your life. To venture beyond was to turn your back on the commune.

But I've murdered the heart of our community. The shepherd to our flock. I've handed my soul over to the devil. There's nowhere else for me to go now.

So I go toward the lights.

I keep running, even when the heels of my feet start tearing and bleeding. I pant through the pain in my side and the pain in my heart. My eyes never leave the lights ahead.

And little by little, they get brighter. More blinding. The Sanctuary disappears into the vast blackness behind me.

But it doesn't seem to matter how much distance I put between myself and my family, myself and my community, myself and the only home I've ever known.

No matter how far or how fast I run...

I can still smell the lingering hints of patchouli following me through the shadowy desert.

PHOENIX

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

Wild Night Blossom. A haven for the depraved. A hellhole of debauchery.

On the surface, it's all class. But that's a cold-blooded lie.

I know better.

So does the man I've come here to meet.

It's a meeting that's been three years in the making. My making. And tonight, all this shit finally comes to an end.

I circle the room I've just been shown into. The walls are black, but you can barely tell, thanks to the dozens of framed, mismatched mirrors hung at every height. Some are small and square with thin iron frames. Others are massive splays of rectangular glass with thick, gilded edges.

Five uniform chandeliers hang from the high ceiling. Made of crystal and flickering with candlelight, they're barely bright enough to beat back the shadows crowding in every corner.

There are no windows, of course. Not one. Privacy is of utmost importance to a man like Viktor Ozol.

The master of this whole circus of sin. The motherfucker who has plagued my peace of mind for three years.

Ever since Aurora...

Ever since Yuri...

I'm pacing hard, but the sounds of my footsteps are swallowed whole by the burgundy carpet. The music pulsing beyond these walls is felt more than it's heard. The whole point of this room is to shut out the unsavory nature of what this club was built for: sex in all its forms.

I'd come to the club alone, as per the agreement between Ozol and myself. And as expected, it was a fucking orgy of flesh from the second I stepped foot in the door. In every booth, beneath every table, on every possible surface, there were people fucking. Groans and moans filled the air.

They say the sex is an expression of freedom. Strip yourself of inhibition, reads the ornate sign over the door. They think it's a cute little double entendre.

Sex is power. Sex is confidence.

What a fucking farce.