The Second Chance for A Mafia's Runaway Bride

I hated the moment. Feeling like an outsider rather than the bride made me feel disgusted.

Before I could excuse myself from Gloria, a delivery interrupted us. A man entered, carrying a garment bag along with several boxes. Dresses. Lorenzo approached, smiling in that way that felt more rehearsed than real.

“Aletta,” he began, his tone light and nonchalant. “I know you’ve been busy, so I had Stefania pick out a wedding dress for you. She has better taste than you, after all.”

His words hit me like a physical blow, but I refused to flinch. Instead, I looked at him, my expression impassive, and said nothing.

Stefania stood then, crossing the room with a smug grin. “I picked a few options,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet. “You’ll look beautiful in whichever one you choose.”

The room was suddenly suffocating. Every gaze felt like a spotlight, every word like a chain tightening around me.

“Thank you,” I said softly, my voice betraying none of the storm raging inside me. “I’ll look at them later.”

The dress might have been a dagger, but I wasn’t ready to bleed for them. Not tonight.

Tomorrow, they could have their wedding. But they’d never see the bride. Tomorrow, everything will change.

Stefania’s voice rang out as she disturbed everyone as her tone dripped with bright enthusiasm. “Aletta, I’m your bridesmaid!” she excitedly said as if she had no idea from the start. “Can you believe it? Lorenzo said only me would fit as your bridesmaid. Wow! We’ll make such a grand entrance at the wedding, sister! And I promised that everyone will see how stunning our family’s daughters are!”

“Okay,” I only said.

Stefania left me next to try on the dress she will wear tomorrow as bridesmaid. She went out of the room where she changed her dresses as soon as she was ready to show us what she was wearing. She twirled on her heels, her delicate lace mermaid-style dress hugging her figure perfectly, the picture of elegance and poise. The dress looked more bridal than anything meant for a bridesmaid.

Lorenzo smiled indulgently, watching Stefania with an expression of pride. “You look beautiful, Stefania,” he said, his voice soft, his gaze lingering.

Meanwhile, my eyes were fixed on the so-called wedding dress lying on the table before me. The fabric was yellowed, cheap, and reeked of neglect. The large tear across the chest was almost mocking, a blatant reminder of just how little I mattered in this charade.

And Stefania said she picked some dresses for me to choose from… Thank God that I don’t believe any words from her anymore.

Domenico Volante, mine and Stefania’s father, ruffled his favorite daughter’s hair affectionately next. “That’s my girl, always stealing the spotlight,” he said to his spoiled Stefania in his jovial tone.

Stefania beamed, glancing at herself in the mirror. “All that’s missing is a crown, Papa!”

Lorenzo chuckled. “That’s easy. Aletta has one. She’s the big sister here; I’m sure she wouldn’t mind sharing.” His gaze turned to me then, noting the tattered dress in my hands. “What happened here?” he asked, his tone shifting to faint annoyance.

I opened my mouth to respond, but Stefania beat me to it. “Oh no!” she exclaimed, feigning concern. “That’s awful! But the bridal shop is closed now… Maybe we can find a second-hand dress for Aletta to wear? It’s just for one day, after all. You’ve always said you wanted something simple, right, Aletta?”

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. All eyes were on me, waiting for my response.

Lorenzo, ever the diplomat as long as to cover Stefania, added, “Stefania has a point, Aletta. No need to make a fuss over this. She did her part and this is all the bridal shop's mistakes.”

A fuss? I could barely hold back the laugh threatening to escape. With Lorenzo’s resources, a new dress could have been arranged with a single phone call. But no one here believed I was worth the effort.

“It’s fine,” I said finally, forcing a faint smile. “I don’t want to bother anyone. I’ll handle it myself.”

The tension in the room dissipated almost instantly. Lorenzo smiled as if I’d said the magic words to keep his carefully curated world intact.

He handed me a black card, his tone light. “Here. Use this. Whatever makes you happy, Aletta.”

I hesitated, then took the card reluctantly. “Thank you,” I said quietly.

The words felt like a chasm between us, widening the already insurmountable distance. Lorenzo shifted on his feet, uncomfortable, as if sensing the gulf but unwilling to address it.

Stefania broke the silence. “We should take a family photo!” she said, clapping her hands together. “It’s rare for us all to be together. Tomorrow will be so hectic, and we need a proper picture to remember this.”

Lorenzo nodded eagerly, pulling me into the center of the room. Stefania fetched her camera, her bright smile unwavering.

As the shutter clicked, Stefania stepped forward suddenly, brushing against me. My balance wavered, my heel catching on the edge of the rug.

“Aletta!”

Lorenzo’s voice was sharp with alarm, but as I stumbled, Stefania let out a sudden sob.

Tears streamed down her face, her cries piercing the air. “I didn’t mean to! Aletta, I’m so sorry!”

Lorenzo hesitated for just a moment, his instincts warring with his loyalties. Then, as though compelled by some unseen force, he moved toward Stefania, his arms wrapping around her trembling frame.

I crashed into the nearby coat rack, the sharp edge of a hanger grazing my arm. Pain flared, but it was nothing compared to the sting of Lorenzo’s choice.

I straightened slowly, brushing off the sting of humiliation. The room had fallen silent, all eyes now focused on Stefania as she wept in Lorenzo’s embrace.

Mikaela, Stefania’s mother, moved to comfort her daughter too, her hand resting on Stefania’s shoulder. “It’s all right, sweetheart. It was just an accident.”

I swallowed hard, the taste of bitterness of my situation thick on my tongue. My gaze met Lorenzo’s for a fleeting moment, but he quickly looked away, his attention fixed entirely on Stefania. Another set of eyes I met next, Matteo’s. I gulped as I tried to hide the pain in my eyes from Matteo’s scrutinizing gazes.

Matteo was looking at me like he wanted to help me and just waiting for me to give him a go signal. But I won’t like him to be classified by Lorenzo as the one caring for me from his ally’s peeps. I can’t let Matteo be questioned once I will be gone tomorrow.

“Aletta,” Lorenzo said after a moment, his tone placating. “You should be more careful!”