It wasn't until the talk of the blood union began, until I was folded into his circle in the enclave and met Gianna, that the feeling crept in slowly.
This whole thing had been one-sided from the very start.
My plan had been simple: after the union was sealed, if Tommy was willing to keep his distance from Gianna, I'd come clean about everything. The Valente name. The blood I carried. Then I'd ask my father to give him a place inside the operations, a real chance to be made into something.
Now I could see I'd been blind.
I wrenched free of the hands pinning my shoulders, spun around, grabbed Gianna's collar with both fists, and ripped it apart.
The fabric tore instantly.
Two buttons popped off her blouse, exposing the camisole underneath.
I stared at the terror on Gianna's face and curled my lips into a smile. "You wanted things lively, right? I hope every single day of your life is just as lively."
Gianna shrieked and lunged for my face, nails first. I threw up an arm to block her, snatched the cake tray off the table, and swung it wildly. Nobody in that backwater crowd dared come closer.
"This union is OFF!"
I turned to leave.
A rush of air behind me, and Tommy's palm cracked across my face.
The force knocked me sideways. My vision went black in waves.
Through the dizziness, images flickered past like broken film.
Three years ago, Tommy had run up a debt on the book, owed to the wrong men. The vig collectors showed up at our rental, pounding the door until the frame shook. He hid in the bathroom, too scared to make a sound.
I was the one who stood in the doorway. They slapped me across the face over a dozen times before I finally got them to leave.
When he came out, his eyes were red. He dropped to his knees and swore he'd spend the rest of his life making it up to me, swore he'd kill himself trying to treat me right.
And for a long time after that, he did.
He woke up early every morning to make me porridge. Even when he worked late, he'd rush home just so we could share a meal together.
But now, over some old enclave 'custom,' he'd struck me across the face.
A searing pain tore through my right ear. Something warm and wet trickled down the ear canal.
My eardrums had always been thin. The doctor had warned me that another hard impact could rupture them.
I reached up and touched my ear. My fingertips came away slick with blood.
Tommy pointed a finger at my face. He wet his lips first, his eyes cutting toward Gianna before the words came.
"Didn't I warn you? Today you do everything Gianna says. You had to go and insult me in front of all these people?"
Several pairs of hands seized my shoulders and shoved me toward the bench at the edge of the lawn.
Someone's hand slid along my waist. Another reached around from behind and squeezed the inside of my thigh.
I struggled to stand, but a kick caught the side of my knee and I crumpled to the ground.
One of the groomsmen crouched in front of me with a grin, holding his phone inches from my face, recording a close-up.
I turned my head to dodge it. A hand clamped the back of my skull and held me still.
Gianna finally looked satisfied. She stood off to the side, arms crossed. "See? That's how it's done. It's not a party without a little chaos."
She glanced down at me, then added, "Honestly, Adriana, you brought this on yourself. A little roughhousing is one thing, but you actually hit someone? You ripped my shirt. This wasn't cheap, you know."
Tommy walked over and draped his arm around her shoulders. His voice turned so gentle he sounded like a different man. "Come on. I'll take you out back to change."
Gianna shook her head, the corner of her mouth curling upward. "No need to go through all that trouble. Doesn't Adriana have a backup gown?"
"I'll just wear that. It's not like I think of bridal gowns as anything special. It's just a piece of clothing. What's the harm in me putting it on?"
"Absolutely not!"
I grabbed the edge of the bench and hauled myself to my feet. Blood was still seeping from my ear.
"Nobody touches that dress."
Everyone knew what a wedding gown meant to a bride. I'd spent over a month overseeing every stitch, working with a master seamstress, having it handcrafted to my exact specifications.
The lace pattern along the hem was a design I'd drawn myself.
Something shifted in Tommy's expression. A flicker, like a memory surfacing. His gaze went slightly hollow.
