Liliana's neck ached as she awoke the morning of her wedding. From the moment she rose to consciousness she was brutally aware of the awkward position she lay in and the unfamiliar heat of Marcello's warm naked chest pressed against her cheek. She had fallen asleep on the sofa, somehow managing to wind up in Marcello's arms.

She flinched away from him, rubbing at the sleep in her eyes as she rose to a sitting position, jumping with a start when she realised they were not alone in the villa's lounge.

Greeting her that morning were the smirking faces of three D'Onofrio men.

"What-" Marcello awoke with a start as Liliana jolted beside him. Already her cheeks flushed with an unavoidable heat, and she kept her gaze downcast.

"It's good to see you two bonding so well, so soon before the wedding," Sebastiano drawled, moving to take a seat in one of the available arm chairs, a coffee in hand. He seemed entirely unaffected by the sight of his eldest son and Liliana spooning on the sofa, as if it were a regular occurrence.

Angelo and Giovanni remained directly in front of her, both seeming mighty smug.

"Bad to see the bride on the big day, isn't it?" Angelo teased, winking directly at her.

"That's what I've always heard," Giovanni weighed in, hands buried deep in the pockets of his shorts.

Liliana couldn't find anything in their words humorous, despite how funny they seemingly found themselves to be. It wasn't the two of them that were marrying today. They didn't have to worry about the end of their lives as they knew it. Every playful joke of theirs was just a painful reminder of what awaited her today.

A brief glance beside her confirmed that Marcello also failed to see the humour in the situation. He glared fiercely at his brother, asking Giovanni, "Why are you encouraging him?"

Giovanni shrugged, taking a seat opposite them. He turned his attention to his mobile, tapping away at the small screen in his hands without meeting Marcello's gaze.

"It's not often I get the chance to have this much fun. I'm taking advantage of it before we all return home," Giovanni explained.

Angelo was still watching Liliana. Keeping her gaze steady and unwavering as the young Italian man faced her with nothing but amusement in his expression, it was only when she felt the touch of Marcello's hand on her knee that she turned away.

Instantly she was at her feet.

"Mi scusi," she wobbled out quietly to no one in particular. "I must start getting ready."

Just as she spoke up, a panicked call of her name could be heard from inside the villa followed by the distinct sound of rushed footsteps. All eyes shot to the doorway where seconds later a gasping, red faced Adelina Fiorenza came bursting through, freezing at the sight of the D'Onofrios. Instantly her eyes shot away from the inquisitive face of Sebastiano and focussed on Liliana still in her sleepwear - or more accurately the freshly awoken Marcello slumped next to her.

"Oh," she exclaimed, blinking slowly as if she didn't know what to make of the situation. "I thought you'd..." Her aunt didn't need to finish for Liliana knew what she was going to say. She had thought Liliana had run off the morning of her wedding. Not that there would be anywhere for her to hide on the small island with no boats arriving until a few hours.

"Well, we... ah..." her aunt struggled for words. "We should start getting you ready."

Liliana immediately accepted the outstretched hand and hurriedly followed Adelina out of the door and towards her own bedroom. By the time they were both locked away inside the room Liliana fell onto her bed groaning into her hands. Heat scorched her cheeks and she fought back tears.

"I certainly didn't expect to find you with Marcello this morning," her aunt said from across the room. Liliana could hear her setting numerous things out onto the dressed table but didn't lift her face from her hands.

"Nothing happened." Her words were muffled.

"It wouldn't matter if it did. It's no ones business but your own."

After an entire week of holding back her emotions, of forcing back tears, she began to cry. Huge, aching sobs racked through her as fat tears drenched her cheeks.

"Oh Liliana," Adelina cooed by her ear, and arms came to wrapped around Liliana's shaking body.

Liliana rolled onto her side, allowing her aunt to get a good look of her rosy face and watery eyes. Adelina's face softened at the sight and she brushed away the damp strands of hair sticking against Liliana's wet cheeks.

"I'm scared Zia." Liliana sniffled and hugged a pillow into her stomach. "I'm scared of getting married and I'm scared of the man I'm marrying. What if-" she hiccuped as her tears became uncontrollable sobs. "What if - I do - something - wrong - and - and..." More tears streamed down her face.

What if I do something wrong and they hurt me?

"Okay." Adelina's firm voice broke through the sound of Liliana's sobs. Two cool hands planted themselves firmly against Liliana's hot cheeks and her face aligned with her aunt's. The woman in front of her was no longer her kind Zia Adelina but a determined woman who had endure the same binds of marriage. "You listen here, Liliana. You are a Fiorenza. I raised you these past three years and I raised you to be the strong women I know you are, not some weak girl whose going to bend at her husband's first command. Okay? You will get married today because it is your duty. But if they try and hurt you, if they try to push you down, manipulate and force you into something you're not, you do not let them. You do not bow down to anyone and you certainly do not cry over domineering men in your life who think they know it all. We women endure far more than they ever have to, and they forget just how strong we can be."

Adelina's thumbs wiped at the remaining tears on Liliana's cheeks and she pressed a heavy kiss on her forehead before stepping back from the bed and pulling out the chair to Liliana's vanity.

Her aunts words held understanding and hinted at her own experience with marriage. Liliana knew from visits to her aunt over the years of her childhood that Adelina's husband was a fierce, intimidating man. Her cousins never spoke of their father, and neither did her aunt. It was clear whatever relationship they had had was fraught.

"Now go get a shower and then we'll start on your hair and make-up."

Liliana nodded mutely and gathered to her feet.

***

In the reflection of the dressing table mirror, Liliana stared at her own sullen expression, blinking drearily as she sat frozen in her seat.

Her hair had been twisted elegantly away from her face, resting in a loose knot at the base of her skull. A small pearl hair-clip from her aunt held everything in place. Simple diamond studs that once belonged to her mother adorned her ears while her neck and wrists were left bare of any jewellery. Her make-up - something her aunt had spent over an hour perfecting - was made to look natural despite the number of products that had been used.

She looked - as her aunt had said - like a principessa.

Not that she cared. She had sat in silence ever since the preparation began, and even now as she sat alone in the bedroom while her aunt had gone to collect her own dress she couldn't muster the energy to say anything, to feel anything.

Liliana was numb as she gazed at herself, eyes skimming over the details of her hair, make-up, and jewellery, instead focussing on the exhaustion she recognised in her expression.

Already the prospect of this marriage any and all energy from her body.

In the reflection of the mirror Liliana was able to only see the square neckline of her wedding dress. A dress she had not picked, nor seen before today. A dress that had been picked for her, just like every other aspect of her wedding - including the groom himself. She didn't know who had picked the dress, she didn't even know when it had been picked. But it was the right measurements, if only ill-fitted in small, unnoticeable places.

From the small glance she had paid it before her aunt forced her to dress, she knew the dress elegant and simple. The smooth ivory satin wrapped perfectly around her torso, the only detailing the small buttons on the plunging back, before the dress flared out above her hips and rested against the floor. It was a beautiful dress, Liliana couldn't deny that. But it wasn't her dress. She did not pick this, she didn't attend the bridal fittings as most young girls would with her close family or bridal party. Hell, she didn't even have a bridal party besides her aunt.

A knock against her bedroom door startled Liliana out of her daze. Her grandfather's beaming face peaked through the opening doorway, and where their eyes met he stepped inside.

"Liliana," he breathed, bright eyes wide and wet with tears. "You look stunning."

"Grazie Nonno," she whispered quietly, eyes cast towards the floor. She tried to force a smile to her face but the effort was futile as her lips began to quiver and a tear fell.

"Oh Nipote, such a grim face for such a beautiful day." Her grandfather stepped closer to her, a hand falling to her shoulder. "You cannot go out there like this. You need to steel your spine and prove that the Fiorenza's are strong and resilient. These are the cards life has dealt you, and no matter how distasteful they may seem, you have no choice but to endure and to survive the best you can."

"What if I don't want to survive? What if I don't want to live like this?"

He grabbed her chin hard, lifting her face to his. She noted the hard expression that darkened his face like a dark sky before an oncoming storm. Liliana felt a sharp bite of fear at such an expression - like none she had ever seen from him before.

"Liliana Fiorenza, you are my only nipote and I wished for nothing more than for you to live freely from the shackles of our life. But that is not the situation that has been dealt to us. That is not the life your father has chosen for you and I am unable to intervene," he said, eyes dark as distaste curled so blatantly on his lips. "But you are a Fiorenza by blood, and you will not bring shame to our name; you have so much more to live for in this life and what a waste it would be to throw it all away over one man. Life is unfair to the best of us, but you will not yield to this fear of yours. You will stay strong. You will endure. You will do as is expected of you. Do you understand?"

Liliana held his gaze in silence, back straight, shoulders back, eyes unwavering as she faced this patriarchal figure. While he assured her that any influence he held was useless against this situation, she was unsure steadfastly she believed such a statement. Her grandfather was the most powerful man in Italy. Even while he had retired from his position at the head of their family, the responsibilities now falling to her eldest cousin Marco, she knew her grandfather commanded from the shadows. She knew who still held the power, and she knew her cousins still followed their grandfather's command without question.

The power her father had in comparison was minute. How could it be that her grandfather - had he truly wished to try - could not put an end to such a horrible fate?

"Liliana," Valentino Fiorenza warned sharply when she was still yet to reply. "Do you understand?"

"Yes Nonno," she uttered defeated, pulling away from him altogether to take her place at the dressing table once again.

He asked her to understand and yet it seemed to Liliana that she was the only one who understood the full gravity of this wedding. It wasn't just a man she was marrying - it wasn't just Marcello - it was his family, his reputation, his lifestyle. It wasn't just the man she was marrying, but his whole world that terrified her.

She heard her grandfather sigh from behind her and nearly flinched when he suddenly reached across her to place something on her table. The item clattered against the wood but she didn't bother to look.

"Before I forget," he murmured. "I found this sitting outside your room along with this note. I'll leave it with you while I wait outside your door. The wedding is beginning shortly." He placed a chaste kiss to her cheek and took his leave from her bedroom. Only then did Liliana dare to examine what he had left behind.

It was a small azure broach no larger than a euro, set in silver. Beside it a note simply saying 'For Luck' in black cursive letters on a small scrap of paper with no name to identify who the gift had come from. It was a beautiful delicate broach, and though the silver was dull and in need of a polish, and though it would not match the rest of her wedding outfit, Liliana found herself pinning the broach to one of the straps of her dress.

Movement by the doorway caught her attention and Liliana found her aunt lingering in the doorway, a soft strained smile directed her way. Her aunt was in her own dress now, made of a soft olive green material, looking stunning despite the slump of her shoulders and the sadness so clear in her expression.

"Are you ready?" She asked in a gentle tone, an outstretched hand towards Liliana.

Bitterness filled Liliana's mouth, and her gut twisted into a tight uncomfortable knot. She felt as if any moment she would vomit. Nervous energy thrummed through her veins and infected her entire body. As she rose to her feet, it was with shaking hands and knocking knees. She could barely walk straight as she grasped her aunts hand tightly and allowed her to lead her from the room to where her grandfather waited.

When they reached the front of the villa her aunt placed a long veil upon Liliana's head, hiding her face beneath the translucent silk. She then handed Liliana a small tear-drop shaped bouquet, embraced her in a short hug, and stepped out onto the beach to lead the way as her maid of honour.

Liliana locked arms with her grandfather and released a long, wavering sigh. As her grandfather stepped towards the open doors, to where Liliana could hear soft music playing, her gip on her grandfathers arm tightened considerably.

"I can do this," she muttered to herself, not daring to look at her grandfather beside her. She lifted her chin high, eyes held firmly forward as she forced herself to stand straight and proud. "I can do this. I can do this."

Again and again she chanted her new-found mantra in her head as they stepped out onto the beach.

She could feel the stems of her bouquet bending under her grip as her fingers tightened and tightened more and more with every step. They rounded the corner of the villa and instantly the sight of white wooden chairs all lined neatly away from her with a makeshift aisle splitting them filled her gaze. Delicate flowers adorned the chairs by the aisle but Liliana didn't care to recognise the beauty of it.

Her eyes found her papa first, where he stood at the end of the aisle beside her aunt. Liliana had refused to allow him to walk beside her today. She did not wish to give him the honour of giving her away. It had been her only request for the wedding and thankfully - despite her father's protests - it had been granted.

All guests turned to face her once the music changed speed, signalling her arrival. She didn't glance at any of them. She did not know any of them after all, except her cousins who sat in the front row, expressions neutral and devoid of the joy that graced all other guests. Instead Liliana looked towards her husband to be who stared right back at her with impassive features. Beside him stood his brothers. His father on the first row of chairs. All watching her as she made her way slowly towards them. Her new family.

She stepped in time to the daunting beat of the music, each step bringing her closer and closer to the end of one life and the beginning of one she didn't want nor accept.

Under the glare of the midday sun her skin felt clammy. Her bare feet sank into the scorching sand and Liliana begged and pleaded silently for her body to sink further and further into the beach so that by the time she reached the end of the aisle all that was left of her was her veil at Marcello's feet. She didn't care where she disappeared to, she just wanted to be anywhere but here.

But, much to her displeasure, she found herself in front of Marcello, her eyes staring into his dark, vacant ones and her hands clasped in his. She no longer had the urge to cry or kick or scream like a child, now all she felt was that numbness once again. Numbness arising from her feet to her arms, fingers and all the way to her face which remained inexpressive beneath her veil.

And before long Liliana was no longer Liliana Fiorenza the only granddaughter of Valentino Fiorenza and heir to Antonio Fiorenza. She was Liliana D'Onofrio the wife of Marcello D'Onofrio, a wife to a hugely feared Mafioso.

***

Marcello found himself alone in bed on that first night as a married man. He knew the exact moment in which his wife had quietly slid out from under the thin sheets, and he knew exactly where she now sat dejectedly outside their private villa.

She had been quiet throughout the entire wedding, speaking only when spoken too, a hollow look in her eyes that had anger building within him throughout the entire night. Already she resented her new life, already she resented him - that much was obvious. And he was powerless to stop such feeling festering. He couldn't fault her for such feelings but knew that if he noticed her sullen mood others were sure to follow. They needed to uphold their image for the public eye, and in front if his extended family. They needed a strong, united front. He did not want questions to arise on the subject of his hasty marriage.

If word spread that Marcello D'Onofrio had been forced into marriage by his father, his command would be in question. No longer would he be perceived as a strong, independent mafioso, but a mere boy playing a role under his father's thumb.

With a drawn out sight, Marcello headed bare foot towards the open double doors leading to the private deck of their honeymoon villa. The cool, ocean breeze brushed against his naked chest, a welcome reprieve from the otherwise warm temperatures. He sought out Liliana in the moonlight, finding her instantly curled up on the wing bench, wrapped in a large thin cotton blanket as she stared out at the waves glistening under the moon's glow.

She looked haunted as she did so, not acknowledge his presence by the doors, or perhaps simply not noticing him. His footsteps were almost silent against the wooden planks as he approached her, and still Liliana didn't offer him so much as a glance.

A scowl was quick to encompass his features. Especially when he noted the stiffening of her body as he closed the distance between them.

She didn't say a word as he sat down beside her, his arms cross against his chest as the cold breeze continued to graze across his exposed skin. Without turning towards him, Liliana unwrapped the blanket from her shoulders and offered him it's warmth.

So they sat out on that swing bench in silence, sharing a blanket and watched the ocean. It was a melancholy sort of moment that stretched between them, and Marcello found himself without words to express his thoughts.

He was not used to the company of women - despite the frequent money hungry whores that aimed to sink their claws into him in the past. How did they proceed now, in the privacy of their marriage? The woman beside him, now a shell of the fiery woman he had first met, was his wife. She was now his to protect, and it was now his responsibility to keep her safe and happy. The latter felt like too daunting of a task.

He knew how to be a feared mafioso; he did not know how to be a husband.

Despite the expectations his father pushed onto him, he could never be the husband Liliana - like every woman her age - would desire. Though he knew very little about woman's desire, he knew they did not truly desire a man such as himself - past all of the money and the power. He was cold, rough and reserved. Though he cared deeply for his family, he did not always show it. He did not know how to show it. That would never be enough for a woman like Liliana.

Such thoughts had not occurred to him before their marriage. But that was before he witnessed the full affects of such an event on this petite woman. Already she seemed so plagued by darkness, and he knew a marriage to a man like himself would only force her further into despair.