Mafia Princess by Kennedy Slope

Chapter One

“Let’s get your veil on,” my cousin Natalia said in her chipper voice. Natalia attempted a good attitude through all of this, and in any other situation, I’d appreciate her energy, but today it made the situation even more oppressive. Her happy tone made me want to cry even harder than I already was.

I couldn’t stop no matter how hard I tried.

“Wow,” Natalia said, placing her round face next to mine in the mirror. Her dark hair was in a sleek ponytail, and she looked lovely and happy next to my misery.

“I don’t think lovely covers how beautiful you look, Sasha.”

I tried to smile at her words, but it came out as more of a grimace. In the ornate mirror of the church, my face looked pale. It was clear that I was unhappy. I had never spent a lot of time thinking about what I would look like when I married, but I had always assumed I would be happy about it.

Instead, I felt as though the walls were closing in upon me.

“Can everyone leave?” I asked suddenly. I placed a hand on my chest. All of a sudden, I felt as though I couldn’t breathe.

No one spoke. The tension in the room felt so thick that I could hardly

breathe. Natalia’s face fell as she glanced at me, and I saw my mother frown in the mirror. My bridesmaids looked around, unsure of what to do.

After all, I wasn’t calling the shots today. My mother was, and she had made it clear that no one was to leave me alone. I hadn’t even been able to go to the bathroom myself.

“Please leave,” I asked again as I stared at myself in the mirror. The tears had stopped flowing, but I felt as though I was going to start hyperventilating at any moment.

I had a panic attack. I have had a couple in the last few years.

I began gasping as my lungs constricted in panic. Clutching my chest, I bent over, trying to catch my breath, which was made all the more difficult by the tight bodice of the wedding dress my mother had picked up.

“Leave,” I heard my mother bark as various women moved towards me. I could feel her red-lacquered fingernails digging into the sleeves of my dress. She shooed them away before gripping my upper arms tightly.

If I cared, I would have warned her about ripping the sleeve of my dress.

“Get yourself together,” she barked, shaking me with such force that my teeth rattled in my head. It didn’t help me catch my breath.

“Don’t make me do this,” I begged my mother through gasping breaths. I knew my pleas would fall on deaf ears. After all, my parents were the ones selling me off to the Italians. I thought I’d made my peace with that, but standing in front of the mirror in my bridal gown, I realized that I hadn’t given up yet. I couldn’t.

“Please, mother. You can’t make me marry him,” I begged once more. My fear was so intense that I thought that it would crush me.

My mother and I did not have the best relationship, but I expected her to show more emotion at the thought of selling me off to our enemies.

“Please,” I begged once more as she led me over to the couch.

“Control your breathing Sasha,” my mother said as she rubbed my back. To the outside, her actions looked maternal, but she was practically slapping me on the back.

“In and out. In and out,” she coached.

Eventually, my breathing returned to normal, but my panic at the thought of marrying Dominic Blanchi heightened with each tick of the clock.

“Now, you need to get yourself together,” she said as she detangled herself from my prone form and walked back towards the mirror. “Come, Sasha,” she commanded. “Your father will be here shortly, and we do not want to concern him with this.”

She grabbed a lipstick and held it out. It was clear that she wanted me to come over and fix my makeup. She wanted me to walk down the aisle, the perfect doll.

My mother was not the touchy-feely type. Even as a child, she refused to coddle me and instead left the maternal experiences up to nannies. I’m confident that she paid them extra to hug and kiss me simply so that she wouldn’t have to. It hadn’t bothered me up until recently. After all, it was hard to be bothered by the lack of something you never had. But sitting here in the bridal suite of our family church on my wedding day, I wished my mother wasn’t so cold and unfeeling. I needed her now more and ever, and not having her made me feel truly alone.

“Maybe father will see the ridiculousness of this situation,” I shouted as my frustration and desperation grew exponentially at her dismissal. Typically, I was soft-spoken. I’d been trained since birth to be seen and not heard, but I couldn’t contain myself. I could hardly believe that my parents would sell me off to the family that had been our enemies my entire life.

“Your father betrothed you to the Blanchi’s,” she said. “He’s not likely to try and save you. Now, come,” she commanded.

Getting up, I made my way towards her. Even upset, I knew better than to disobey. That would only cause me more pain in the end.

“Father made this decision recklessly when I was fifteen and Nikolai died. Things have changed. The business has evened out, and we do not need them anymore,” I told her.

“Sasha, be quiet!” my mother shouted, throwing her powder compact at the wall. It exploded upon contact showering the carpet with a translucent shimmer.

“You will marry Dominic Blanchi today. You will smile and be the perfect wife. Your union will allow us all to rest and end the bloodshed that has plagued us finally. The war that has taken so many,” she told me. Her back was towards me, but I knew that she was tearing it. The only time she showed emotion was when she was talking about my brother.

Nikolai’s death was the only thing that ever made my mother sad. He had been her favorite—a living testament to the fact that she was a perfect mafia wife. A male heir was produced within the first year of her pregnancy.

I had come years later, a spare to be sold off.

Her words tugged at the part of me that continued mourning my eldest brother’s death, but I did not believe I needed to give up my entire future to a dangerous man in order to solve decades of bloodshed, a point I continuously made to my parents as they planned my wedding over the last year.

“Knock, knock,” my father said as he stepped into the bridal room. His presence brought an abrupt halt to the conversation between my mother and myself. Neither of us spoke. Neither of us wanted to upset him. That was the way things worked in our family. We all bent over backward to ensure my father’s good mood and happiness.

Now, I’ll be expected to do the same for Dominic Blanchi; thethought nearly made me spew out the little bit of breakfast I’d managed to eat.

“Don’t you look lovely, my little princessa,” he said as he kissed both of my cheeks. The smell of his cologne enveloped me as I melted into his arms. Where my mother was cold and distant, my father was warm and loving.

My brother had been the future of the Bratva, but my father had always called me its crown jewel. I hadn’t realized until this moment what exactly that meant.

Even though he was the head of the Russian mafia syndicate in New York, he was a big affectionate teddy bear who covered me in affection. Until this moment, my father had been my hero. Now, he was the person selling me off to my captor.

“Papa,” I whispered. “Please.”

My father released me from his arms. “This is a proud day for our family,” he said, ignoring my pleas. “Katarina,” he addressed my mother, “Are we ready?”

My mother nodded, a big smile plastered on her face. I bit my tongue so hard I tasted the tang of blood as it filled my mouth. I wanted to scream out how unready I felt, but I knew there was no use. Now was the time to resign myself to my fate.

I had done everything I could have to try and save myself, and it hadn’t worked.

Heart thumping, I took my father’s extended arm. This must be what it feels like to walk to the executioner’s block, I thought.

As I caught one last look at myself in the mirror before my mother swung my veil over my face. I looked terrified.

Today, I would cease being Sasha Petrov, daughter to the Russian mob, and I would become Sasha Blanchi, the wife of one of the most dangerous men in the world.

* * *

“Do you Sasha Ann take Dominic Matteo to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love and obey from this day forward?”

My veil hid my tears, and anyone close enough to hear my sobs would assume that I cried out of joy instead of anger and despair. Everyone wanted to pretend that this was just like any other wedding, so they’d tell themselves some sort of story about my anguish to make themselves feel better. Then, they’d go off and eat cake and drink the expensive booze that I wasn’t even old enough to consume yet.

A squeeze of my hand by my soon-to-be husband brought my attention back to the priest’s words.

“I do,” I whispered out in a shaky breath barely making my cue. I wondered if he could even hear me. I wasn’t sure that it mattered.

“Do you Dominic Matteo take Sasha Ann to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and cherish from this day forward, and for all the days of your life?”

Dominic answered without hesitation. “I do,” he said.

Our wedding vows were the first words I’d ever heard my husband speak, and his deep, husky voice made my skin crawl.

Dominic Blanchi had been the monster who haunted my nightmares since he came to power. Now, I stood in front of him, pledging to be a loving and obedient wife.

For years, my father spoke of the ruthlessness of Dominic Blanchi and the Italian family he now headed. They killed women and children without discrimination, and Dominic was known to particularly enjoy hurting people. The thought made me shiver. Will I be his next victim? I wondered.

I didn’t know much about men, but I’d sometimes seen women with bruised skin and haunted looks in their eyes. I never thought I would be one of them.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Those words bound me forever to this monster of a man.

“You may kiss your bride,” the priest said.

Dominic lifted my veil, and I sobbed harder at the thought of what came next. Never before did I imagine my first kiss to be with a man who despised me, and I especially did not imagine it to be in front of nearly three hundred strangers on my wedding day. But, here we were with Dominic preparing himself to steal the first part of my innocence.

Ignoring my tears, Dominic made a big show of sweeping me into his arms before placing a sweet, chaste kiss on my lips. I cried harder as the crowd went wild.

“Smile, Sasha,” he commanded in his rough voice as he took my hand and led me down the aisle amongst cheers and rose pedals. I tried my best to bottle my emotions and smile pretty, but I felt dazed by the day’s events.

The cool air on my face as we finally reached the doorway of the church brought me out of my stupor. People threw rose petals on us, and photographers snapped pictures as we made our way towards the car. I wanted to scream and shout at all of them for not helping me.

“Where are we going?” I asked Dominic as we settled into the limo. I didn’t want to talk to him, but I honestly had no idea what came next. My family had taken care of all the planning, and no one deemed to tell me anything about it.

The largesse of my wedding dress made sitting next to each other impossible, and the distance gave me space to think and take in the events of the last hour.

“Take this,” he said in response, handing me a tissue box. “Wipe your face and fix your makeup. I don’t want to walk into our reception with you looking the way you do.”

His words stung, but I said nothing. Not only did my new husband scare me, but I was too tired to fight so early on into our marriage. Instead, I began dabbing my eyes like the good girl I was raised to be.

The ceremony had been long. Catholic ceremonies always were and considering ours needed to be conducted in both the Orthodox and the Roman way, I was surprised people even agreed to stay.

I was exhausted, and I wanted nothing more than to strip off my heavy dress and take a nap.

Readings, followed by mass, followed by a sermon, followed by vows, and then finally the kiss. So much pomp and circumstance for a wedding we all dreaded. Away from the crowds and the pressure, my tears abated, as I wiped my face and began reapplying my make-up.

No use crying now.I thought. Nothing could be done.

“How do I look?” I asked after applying a fresh coat of lipstick. I silently thanked Nadia for insisting on outfitting the limo with emergency supplies.

Dominic took my face in his large hands, gently turning me one way and then another. Despite feeling like cattle under the auction appraisers, I kept my mouth shut and allowed him to inspect me.

“You look like a child,” he said with disgust before releasing me from his grip.

Tears welled once more as his words hit their intended mark. This time though, I refused to allow them to fall, not wanting to give my new husband the satisfaction. Instead, I took the opportunity to study him myself.

Dominic Blanchi had the look of a powerful man. If circumstances had been different, I might have giggled with my cousin Nadia as I looked at his handsome features.

Even I had to admit that while he might be a murdering psychopath, the word handsome did not even come close to covering his appeal. He was all sharp angles with the type of cheekbones models starved themselves to achieve. His jawline was sharp and freshly shaven, and with his hair slicked off his face, I could see the beautiful blues of his eyes. Whenever I imagined Dominic Blanchi, I pictured some meaty, hairy man similar to the made men who worked for my father.

Instead, he looked like a fit twenty-five-year-old who might have been found in the pages of some high-end male magazine. The power that he exuded made me squirm uncomfortably in my seat.

“Do you want a glass of champagne?” he asked, breaking me out of my thoughts.

“I’m not old enough to drink,” I reminded him, shaking my head to decline.

“I won’t tell,” he said, pouring me a glass despite my protest.

I took the glass. My parents never let me have alcohol. It was unsightly for a young woman to drink. I was supposed to be prim and proper.

But I reminded myself that what my parents thought no longer mattered.

“To partnership,” he said, raising his glass to mine. I grimaced at the words. They reminded me of what our marriage truly was, a way for powerful men to become more powerful at my expense.

“Come on, Sasha,” he ordered when I refused to toast. “Cheers your new husband.”

I grimaced at his command but once more refused to fight. Something inside me felt compelled to give into him.

I blamed my upbringing.

“To partnership,” I said, gritting the words out through clenched teeth. The clink of his glass against mine felt like the final nail in the coffin of my future, and so I downed the glass and asked for another.

* * *

Dominic ignored me for the remainder of the limo ride. He ignored me as we walked into our reception. He ignored me through dinner. Well, in fairness, he may not have been ignoring me through our reception. Every time either of us took a sip of a drink or a bite of food, someone came over to congratulate us and introduce themselves.

Blanchi men kissed my cheeks, and their wives and daughters commented on my beauty. Petrov men congratulated Dominic on having a beautiful bride, and the women flirted and batted their eyes. The spectacle made me nauseous.

“What time is it?” I asked Dominic over the rim of my water glass. My face hurt from maintaining my smile all night, and my head ached in pain. All I wanted was to take this horrid dress off and go to bed.

“Eager to go upstairs so soon?” Dominic asked. His tone was lewd and suggestive, and it made my stomach turn. I hadn’t thought much about what came after the reception.

“Not exactly,” I told him.

Throughout the night, I snuck peeks at my new husband. Even in the crappy blue up lighting my mother insisted on having for the reception; he stood out. Dominic wasn’t just handsome; he was drop-dead gorgeous. But that didn’t mean that I wanted to sleep with him.

“How much longer?” I groaned as another cousin came to introduce themselves.

“Go away,” Dominic barked to the interloper, and I jumped at the tone. My handsome new husband barked orders all night, and his behavior put me on even more edge as I thought about how he would treat me.

My father was Pakhan, but he always treated people with respect.

Dominic always seemed to be yelling.

“You don’t need to speak like that to people,” I told him as the pounding in my head intensified.

“I’ll speak to anyone whichever way I choose,” Dominic said to me, his tone hard.

“I’m just saying that you might get more with honey rather than vinegar,” I told him, trying a new approach. Growing up as the only daughter of a mob boss, I learned at a young age how to deal with difficult men. I watched my mother bit her tongue her entire marriage, and she often told me that that was the way to deal with a powerful man, let him have his way, but I was not my mother, and holding my tongue was not my strong suit.

Dominic stared at me for a moment. The pressure of his crystal blue eyes made me squirm in my seat.

“You have a lot to learn,” he said before returning his stare back to the middle of the dance floor and returning to ignoring me.

Chewing on bread, I went back to contemplating the next moments of my life. “I’m not sleeping with you,” I blurted out as the thought fluttered across my brain.

Dominic’s head snapped towards me so fast; I was sure he strained his neck from the movement. “What?” he questioned.

My cheeks heated with embarrassment as the words replayed in my mind.

“Do you seriously want to discuss this right now?” Dominic asked, a smug smile on his face. His surprise had only lasted a moment. The look on his face made me frown.

“There’s nothing to discuss,” I tried to keep my voice as calm as possible. “Unless you plan on raping me.”

Dominic snapped. He shot up from the table, knocking his chair backward, and grabbed me by my upper arm. The people around us stopped to look, but no one did anything as Dominic hauled me to my feet and out of the ballroom.

Tripping over my dress, I did my best to follow him as he dragged me along. Heart thumping loudly in my chest, I looked at my mother, desperate for her help. We locked eyes for a moment before she looked away and resumed her conversation with my father. No one came to help—I was truly on my own.