Accidental Bride by Cristina Lollabrigida

ChapterOne

Anticipation madeAlessandra giddy as she reached for the heavy veil. Turning the fabric over in her hands, she tried to picture the face of her husband-to-be. She hoped for a charming and adventurous man with tousled dark locks and captivating eyes who could sweep her off her feet.

Growing up, Alessandra fantasized about this day many times. She visualized the moments with her bridal party, sipping mimosas while getting their hair and makeup done. Family and friends would watch in reverence as she attempted to stifle happy tears while floating down the aisle to her groom—glowing with pride—shedding a tear of his own, waiting to pledge himself to her. She would vow to happily obey him as a loving and devoted wife as long as they both shall live before riding off into the sunset of wedded bliss.

But this was far from that circumstance. The only company she had was a hair-and-makeup artist who tried to make conversation, but Alessandra found it hard to muster a smile. She stepped into her dress, transforming into the most beautiful bride, and wished her mother was there to see her. Her groom would most likely be an associate of her father—some greasy-haired, middle-aged man who smelled of cigar smoke with meat sweats. Her skin crawled at the thought.

Once, a teenaged Alessandra thought she’d found true love. The kind of fairytale that romance novels made young women believe in. They made plans to run away together the day she turned eighteen, leaving Lake Forest a distant memory. She didn’t need the pomp and circumstance of a white wedding, only the groom and a Vegas wedding chapel. He promised to love her forever, and everything was perfect until her father discovered their secret romance, twisted it, and made it lethal.

As the only daughter of Anthony Russo, Alessandra’s hopes of choosing anything in her own life never came easy—if at all. Bitter tears stung her eyes as she fought them back. Reminiscing about Luca Donato only hurt; she had the scars to prove it. Alessandra chastised herself for being foolish and instead focused on not ruining her makeup.

Today would be a day just like any other, and she would be strong enough to get through it. The only problem was she just didn’t want to. The only thing she knew of her new husband was that he was influential in Chicago, which would benefit her father. Women had no power in this life and helped the family through strategic arrangements.

Tony took care of all the planning, allowing Alessandra to choose only her dress. Two weeks prior, her brother’s girlfriend, Jenny, had taken her to a dress shop on Randolph Street.

A bell could be heard from the rear of the shop as they entered. Shortly after, a slender woman with pink colored streaks and a hoop in her nose and brow, welcomed them with a flawless smile that didn’t quite reach her icy stare. “Welcome to 606 Bridal, ladies. Is one of you the lucky bride?”

“I am,” Alessandra admitted.

The woman’s smile grew wider as if she was anticipating a sale. “You’ll make a stunning bride. When is the wedding?”

“It’s in two weeks.”

“I’m afraid that doesn’t give us much time.” Annoyance flashed across the woman’s face.

Alessandra pulled her father’s black card from her Hermès handbag and handed it to the saleswoman whose tag read Alicia. Her eyes widened as her manicured fingers grasped the card. “What is your name, Miss?”

The name Russo was on the black card. “Call me Alessandra.”

“Please follow me this way, Alessandra. I’d be happy to fetch you a glass of champagne as we discuss your needs.”

Alessandra and Jenny took seats on the plush purple loveseat while a team of women surrounded them. Rack after rack of dresses was brought for Alessandra to peruse. Noting that nothing seemed appealing to the bride-to-be’s tastes, the saleswoman asked, “What would your fiancé like?”

Alessandra laughed wryly. “It’s an arranged marriage to a stranger. I don’t care what he would like.”

“Alessandra,” Jenny said, scandalized.

Alessandra rolled her eyes at the petite woman sitting beside her. The bridal shop attendant appeared sympathetic and excused herself.

“Your father won’t like you discussing your affairs with everyone.” Jenny scolded her like a child.

“And who is going to tell him? You?”

“You’re being completely selfish, Alessandra. Why can’t you think of Marcello?” Jenny sniffed.

“I’m sorry, Jenny.” Alessandra frowned.

They were interrupted as Alicia re-entered, cradling a transparent plastic dress bag. She hung it on a rack and unzipped the bag with reverence. “This gown was custom-tailored for a bride whose wedding was canceled. If you’re interested, we can rush alterations.”

Alessandra tried on the show-stopping, cream-colored trumpet gown without batting an eye at the ten-thousand-dollar price tag. If she was forced to marry, her father would damn well pay for it. It was soft and sweet-meets-elegant and chic. Delicate floral lace, pearl beading, and textured tulle added a touch of luxe that an elite Chicago bride must have. The sheer back led to a lovely, ladylike train and didn’t hide the roundness of her ass or softness of her hips.

She couldn’t help the swirl of emotions as she ran her hand across the sweetheart neckline and down the side of the corset-style bodice. Her husband-to-be would surely appreciate the ample cleavage and her highlighted feminine curves.

“You look beautiful, Alessandra,”  Jenny said.

“Does it matter?” Alessandra sighed. She turned back to the mirror and told herself not to get her hopes up. Looking the part didn’t mean anything.

Alessandra’s hands trembled as she fingered the four-carat diamond necklace and earring set she’d inherited from her mother. She said a silent prayer, asking her mother to bless her union. What wisdom would she impart to her daughter on her wedding day?

Everything about the exquisite dress, flawless hair, and runway-worthy makeup was perfect, leaving Alessandra feeling like an actual bride. But that damn veil—she sighed, turning it over in her hands again. The gorgeous smokey eye and luscious lashes accentuated her green eyes, and merlot lipstick was the perfect topper to bring classic elegance to her pouty lips. It was a shame the long, thick veil would obscure her face and the hard work of the woman who went to great lengths to achieve such results.

“I don’t understand, Papà. I don’t want to marry a stranger. Please don’t make me do this.”

Tony’s backhand connected with his daughter’s face so quickly she didn’t have time to brace herself. A loud crack resounded within the confines of the cozy bridal chamber. The sudden sting caused Alessandra to cry out and grasp her cheek.

“You will put that fucking veil on and walk down the aisle like you were told. You know better than to question me, Alessandra. It’s time you perform your duty to this family. Your brother, Marcello, wouldn’t question me. He’s the reason you are doing this. Don’t you want him back?”

Anthony Russo’s word was law. Alessandra’s dress would stain red if she argued further. She dropped her gaze from his stern face to avoid another blow from her heavy-handed father and spoke to his lapel.

“Yes, Papà. Of course.”

If Marcello was present at her wedding, she wouldn’t feel so adrift. He would walk her down the aisle or offer an escape route. But it was on her to brave the long walk alone, as he was currently incarcerated at the Cook County Jail that had housed numerous celebrity criminals, from gangsters such as Al Capone and Frank Nitti to serial killer John Wayne Gacy, over the years. If Tony’s plan worked, the first Russo behind bars would be released soon.

Alessandra rooted through the makeup bag the stylist left in case she needed a touch-up throughout the day. Luckily, it included concealer that she blended over the already-blooming bruise on her cheek. If there was one thing she knew how to do, it was hide marks beneath makeup and plaster a smile on her face, because men were so busy leering at her body that they never saw the pain in her eyes.

Tony glowered at her as she picked the veil off the dull, crushed carpet where it had fallen from her grasp and shook it out with a sob. She was thankful for that ugly thing now; at least the groom would no longer see her tears.

An attendant knocked on the door, signaling it was time to exit the bridal suite. She sighed heavily, rolled her shoulders back, and picked up her modest bouquet. Beneath the veil, her mask slipped back into place. Resolve filled Alessandra’s heart. She was prepared to dive headfirst and would prove to her father that she wasn’t weak.

Alessandra would be the perfect coiffed, waxed, and dressed mafia wife in public. She would stand aside while her new husband took as many goomahs to warm his bed as he pleased. When he wanted her, she would perform her marital duties as the perfect submissive sex doll and bear a son to continue the vicious cycle.

“Make me proud, Alessandra,” Tony said before slipping away.

She was a socialite in her own right, regardless of being hidden from the world. Marcello might be the one in jail, but Alessandra was the one who never experienced freedom. The scars on her back prevented her wings from sprouting. She wondered if her husband would continue clipping them or if he would set her free and let her fly.

The wedding march began, bringing her inner turmoil to the surface. Becoming a stranger’s wife was less than ideal, but there was no turning back now. With her fulfillment to her family complete, Alessandra Russo would be no more. Her new identity would be molded to suit her husband’s needs.

Those in attendance rose from the pews to watch the bride walk down the aisle. Many odd stares were cast in her direction due to her veil-obstructed face. She ignored them, putting one foot in front of the other and focused on the man at the end of the aisle.

Alessandra gasped in shock and lost her footing. A man shot up from the pew beside her and offered his hand, but she ignored it. She took a deep breath and resumed her walk with as much grace and dignity as she could muster.

The man of every lust-filled fantasy she’d ever had stood at the altar, waiting for her. The devastatingly-handsome Drake Walker was her husband-to-be. Standing in a black tuxedo with his hands behind his back, Drake commanded the room just like he did in court as Chicago’s top prosecutor.

Alessandra was captivated by his wavy brown hair and the dark stubble that adorned his chiseled jaw. Her nipples tightened as his hungry gaze peeled every stitch of clothing off her body, leaving her to walk bare. Depraved images flashed through her mind about what he would demand on their wedding night.

Why would her father choose the prosecutor on her brother’s case as her groom? With the evidence mounted against Marcello, it was only a matter of time before Drake won his case. She should lift her heavy skirt, turn around, and run away as fast as she could, but Drake smiled and reached out his hand. Like a moth to a flame, she fluttered closer.

His warmth radiated through her as he pulled her close. She looked at her small hand in his and thought for the first time that maybe marriage wouldn’t be as bad as she thought. Maybe he was sent to save her again and give her wings.

Drake leaned toward her and whispered, “What’s with the veil, principessa? That dress is perfezione. I can’t wait for the ceremony to end, so I can take you back to the bridal suite, tear your clothes off, and fuck you dirty.”

It was shocking that he’d say such a thing in front of a priest inside a church. Drake’s dirty promise licked fire through Alessandra’s veins. She bit her lip to keep from begging to hear more.

The priest raised his hands for the congregation’s attention. The ceremony stretched around them, but everything became a blur until Drake leaned in and lightly chuckled in Alessandra’s ear.

“It’s your turn, bella,” he whispered as he gestured at the priest.

Alessandra was suddenly aware of everyone silently waiting on her. “I do!” she spluttered.

The priest pronounced them husband and wife moments later. Permission was granted for Drake to kiss his bride. Alessandra’s breath hitched in anticipation as her husband reached for her veil. She licked her lips and puckered up, only for her fairytale bubble to burst when Drake barked.

“What the fuck!”

Gasps and uncertain words rang through the church. Even the priest recoiled at Drake’s outburst.

Drake grabbed Alessandra’s arm, but not hard enough to hurt her, and dragged her down the aisle. She struggled to keep pace with his long strides in her Jimmy Choos. The church erupted in noise the moment they were out of sight.

Drake didn’t stop until they entered the bridal suite, and he slammed the door behind them. Alessandra gulped when his finger flicked the lock. Fire flashed in his chocolatey gaze as he angrily undid his tie and pulled his collar open. She watched breathlessly as he discarded his jacket on the settee and removed his cufflinks in a seamless move. She practically swooned when he rolled up the sleeves of his starched white dress shirt to reveal muscular, corded forearms.

“Che cazzo, what the fuck is going on here?” he growled. Alessandra flinched at Drake’s furious outburst.

His handsome face twisted in anger so intensely that he resembled the men who plagued her nightmares. She backed away from him, bumping into the vanity, and grabbed it with her hands to steady herself.

“What do you mean?” she stammered. “We just got married. Why are you so upset?”

Drake scoffed. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I be? What kind of sick joke is this? Where is Riley?”

“Who’s Riley?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Drake didn’t hear her, or if he did, he didn’t care. He paced, running his hands through his wavy hair before suddenly halting. He darted to grab Alessandra, and she cowered before him.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she pleaded.

Drake immediately dropped his hands and stepped back from Alessandra, studying her intently as if seeing her for the first time.

“I’m not going to hurt you, bella. I’m just trying to make sense of what the fuck is going on.”

“Please calm down. I think I deserve answers too, Drake.”

Alessandra couldn’t wrap her mind around everything. She waved the emerald-cut diamond ring Drake had placed on her so gingerly just minutes before. It fit her manicured finger perfectly as though it was meant to be hers. Drake tenderly took her hand and played with the ring on her finger.

“First, tell me how the hell this happened,” Drake cajoled.

“My father brought me here to get married. He told me it was time for me to do my part for the family.”

“So you set me up?” he snapped.

“What? No! Of course not! My father arranged the marriage. I didn’t know who the groom was until I saw you standing at the altar. I thought you were expecting me,” she said, gazing timidly from beneath her lashes.

Drake deflated slightly. “Alessandra, what happened to your cheek?” He gently grazed her cheek with his fingertips, causing her to wince in pain. His eyes darkened.

“When I told Papà I didn’t wish to marry, he struck me.”

“Bastardo!” Drake dropped Alessandra’s hand and began pacing once more. “Tell me just one thing, and be honest, please. What happened to Riley?”

“Who’s Riley?”

“My fiancée!”

“You have a fiancée?” Alessandra was genuinely shocked. After all, he had just married her.

“I can’t tell if you’re playing with me or just this fucking stupid! I was supposed to marry her today, not you.”

Alessandra’s heart sank. It was one thing to marry a stranger and call him her husband, but it was another when that man hated her. An angry retort rose in her throat, but Drake cut her off before she had the chance to speak.

“What the fuck happened to Riley Watson? What did you do to her?”