CLARA ROSSI

I was confused, but relieved when Volkov sent me home.

After my failed attempt to poison him, I expected him to lash out and punish me. I expected him to be cruel and unforgiving.

Instead, he wanted me to fight harder.

No one had ever welcomed my aggressiveness with open arms before. In fact, my whole life, whenever I inconvenienced people, I was met with criticism and told to not be difficult.

When the tinted car pulled in front of my parents' house, I threw myself outside.

My mom was waiting by the door, wiping her tears with a tissue. But she wasn't alone. A bunch of her friends—also crying—stood around her.

"Oh, my baby!" She hugged me, wailing in my ear. "Oh, my heart was hurting so much. I was suffering so much. Dear God...why did you do this to me? My baby..."

"Where's dad?" I pulled back. I needed to talk to him after what happened on the yacht.

She sniffled. "He had to leave for work. Oh, that poor man, He was so worried about you—"

Work. I wasn't sure what that meant for him anymore. "Was there an emergency?"

"I don't know—"

"He knew that I was coming back—"

"Shh, shh. Let's go inside. My poor baby!" She wrapped her arm around me like I was a stray animal she rescued.

Like I was an excuse for her to perform in front of her friends. The poor, broken mother...

Inside, she was having a tea party.

"Do you want some tea? Drink tea with us—"

"Mom, I was abducted. Enough with the theatrics. I don't want to have tea!" Desperation laced my tone. Her shocked expression only frustrated me further. "You know what I want? I want someone to fight for me, when it feels like my world is falling apart."

She bristled, glancing left and right at her friends. "What do you want? Tell me."

"I want dad to come home. Volkov wants to marry me in two weeks. Now is not the time for dad to be away for work. I need him—"

She gasped in terrified shock. Finally, a normal reaction—

"We can't plan a wedding in two weeks! That's not enough time." She straightened her spine as her friends nodded their agreements. "Tell Volkov that it's impossible. You are Rossi's daughter. Your wedding has to be perfect."

This was leading me nowhere. I was tired. Tired of fighting and arguing and reasoning. My body ached to lay in bed and dissolve.

"Where's Nana?" I asked hopelessly, looking around the big house. It really looked like a museum compared to the townhouse.

Nana was the woman who raised me. She had been more of a mother to me, than my own blood. Right now, I really needed her comfort.

"I sent her home. What was I supposed to do? You weren't here..." My mom trailed off when I pivoted to go upstairs. "I'll call her right now and tell her to come back! Go rest, sweetheart. Go rest. Let me know if you need anything!"

I thought being home would feel better. But it only made me feel more alone. Mom continued to hang out with her friends. Ironic. Volkov had sent food to my room three times a day. A feast, actually. But my mom didn't bother to send a glass of water.

I heard him yesterday...with another woman. Not that I cared. This marriage was political, and I was a pawn in the war between him and my dad.

A part of me actually felt thankful that he openly showed me how much he didn't like me. I could use a bit of honesty in my life.

Hours later, when it was dark in my bedroom, I woke up to the faint stench of bleach and Nana's warm hand on my shoulder.

I threw my arms around her and sobbed. "You came!"

"I'm sorry, I'm late. I got a new job on the other side of city. I came as soon as I could." She rocked us back and forth, voice breaking with unshed tears. "Oh, Clara...What's going on? What does that boy want from you?"

I told her everything that happened since my birthday. Including what I had learned about Volkov and my dad. That they were mob leaders. Dons. She didn't seem surprised at all, which made me wonder if I'd been willingly blind my whole life.

I called my dad over and over again.
He never answered.

Volkov sent a planner, but I couldn't care less about the wedding. I didn't care what the cake tasted like, who was invited, where it took place. I didn't pick any bridesmaids or a Maid of Honor. I simply didn't care.

But the day still arrived, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Surprisingly, the wedding was at the Twilight Pavilion, known for its gothic architecture.

Everything about it was the opposite of my mother's taste.

It was...all dark and moody and romantic.

The dimly lit space was rich with the fragrance of black orchids and roses. Candles flickered on every surface, casting a warm, amber glow. Dark marble tables adorned with cascading arrangements of deep burgundy and black blooms, with twisted branches and vines.

Throughout the venue, twinkling fairy lights entwined with branches. They cast a soft, dappled glow like moonlight through a forest. A canopy of rich fabric draped from the ceiling, touching the line of lanterns on the floor.

But that wasn't the most shocking part.

When I entered my bridal suite to put on the wedding dress—a meaningless thing I had picked in five seconds—something else waited for me.

A different gown.
All black.
The most haunting, beautiful gown I'd ever laid my eyes on.

"A gift from Mr. Volkov," said the planner.

Lustrous silk pooled like liquid, absorbing the surrounding light. My eyes traveled over the fine details, unable to hide my amazement. Everything about it was perfect. Elegant yet alluring. Strong, but sensual. The sculpted strapless bodice, the long gloves, the daring high slit, and a flowing train behind...

"Wow...." I breathed.

I tried to kill him...
And he bought me a dress.

My mother cried out. "But it's black!"

"Calm down, Valentina. It's our daughter's wedding day. You're supposed to be happy," said my dad behind us.

I whirled to him in shock.

"Would you leave us for two minutes?" he asked my mom and the planner.

After they closed the door behind them, my dad crossed his hands in front of him and gave me a skeptical look. "Well? Have you talked to him?"

Of all the things he could say...

"Are you serious? You ignored me for two weeks, and now, right before you have to walk me down the aisle, the first thing you ask me is if I've talked to him?"

He sighed and took my hands, lowering us to sit on a sofa. "I know you're scared and you're confused, sweetheart. I'm sorry. You were the only one brave enough to stand up for me that day. I know I haven't been fair to you."

"Then explain." I pulled my hands back. "If I'm brave enough to risk my life for you, then I'm also brave enough to handle the truth. What's going on? Why are you enemies with him?"

He studied me. "Has he told you anything?"

I frowned. "No. Why?"

"Nothing at all?"

"What's he supposed to tell me?"

"Anything. Anything to turn you against me. Anything for you to lose trust in who I am."

"I'm losing trust in you, because you're playing games." I stood up, clenching my hands. "You let your enemy drag me out of my home. You asked me to poison him. I'm losing trust in you, because the dad I grew up with would never put me in danger and he'd never ask me to kill."

"Lower your voice," he said, rising too.

"Why? As if anyone here truly believes that this is my choice? I don't want to marry him. I'm doing it for you. To save you. And you don't have the decency to explain why I have to do it. Is it because you've done something bad? Just tell me." My voice broke. "You know I love you, dad. Just tell me. What does he have against you?"

He clenched his jaw. "I didn't ask you to stand up for me. If you don't want to marry him, then don't. But it's too late. You already decided. Now I'll do my best to free you as soon as possible. If you did as I asked that night, you'd be free by now. But you couldn't. It's not my fault."

A slap across my face would've hurt less than hearing him say those words. A knife in my gut would hurt less than seeing the cold distance in my father's expression.

A laugh left me. Humorless. "Is that so?"

"I can't trust you right now, please understand—" He reached out to hold my hands again.

I stepped back. "Get out."

"What?"

"Get out. You're not walking me down the aisle."

His gaze hardened. "Clara—"

"If you can't trust me, why should I trust you?" I turned my back against him and faced the two dresses. The black gown stared back, and something dark simmered within me. "Maybe you're just as bad as Volkov. Maybe you're worse."

"Worse?" He snapped. "Is that what you really believe?"

"You're bad enough to put me through this. I'd never do this to my daughter. Never."

"Now, listen—"

"No. Why should I? Why should I keep fighting to earn your trust? You've done nothing to earn mine. So why should I continue to give it?"

Insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. Now I knew how little my family cared.

Now I knew that I was completely on my own.

A/N
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