The room erupted in gasps. Father smashed a glass in fury, while the Southern elders called him reckless and insane.
But I understand the weight of that gesture. It meant placing the Don of Southern Silenzio’s life in the hands of the enemy.
Later, he told me Antonio nearly lost his mind over it and raged that he’d handed the symbol of Southern Silenzio’s power to the heir of their Northern rivals. But he just shrugged and dismissively said, “We’ll be family anyway.”
Back then, Natalia was just an inconvenience to him. Whenever she was brought up, he’d always seem annoyed. “Antonio’s daughter is a dead weight I can’t shake off.”
The first time I saw her was at our engagement party. Standing in the corner, she was dressed in a white chiffon dress, looking pale and demure.
“That’s Natalia?” I nudged Rafael’s elbow.
He didn’t even glance her way. “Yeah. Should’ve stayed home if she’s so sickly and fragile. Annoying as hell.”
Then, he snapped his fingers for an attendant. “Bring that lady in the corner a blanket and some warm milk.”
Later, I noticed that their dynamic was a contradictory mix of annoyance and devotion.
“Natalia’s too needy,” he’d complain, but memorize every allergy she had.
“She’s such a pain,” he’d grumble, but he was the first to arrive whenever she was hospitalized.
“Can’t you be independent and thoughtful of others for once?” That was the sentence he’d always say before leaving our wedding and running to her side.
My phone rang sharply and yanked me back to the present. It was Bianca Spade, one of my few friends who knew everything, and the Principessa of a family in the North.
Her voice was sharp with rage. “Gianna, did you see that bitch’s new post? Why is Rafael there when you’re having your wedding today? Has he gone off to that sick bitch’s birthday when he’s supposed to be with you for your wedding night!
“And he made tiramisu for her! Did he ever make you anything?”
I stayed silent and could feel my fingers go cold.
“Gianna? Say something! Don’t tell me you let it slide again!” Bianca panicked.
“There’s no wedding night, Bianca. The wedding’s off,” I calmly announced.
The line went dead for two seconds as if Bianca’s legendary temper was plugged. Then, a sharp inhale followed.
“He did it again? During the vows?”
“Yes.”
Her voice pitched high in rage and disbelief. “17 times, Gianna! And you’re pregnant!
“What does Rafael think he’s doing? Is she really his sister?”
“Not by blood. She’s Antonio Sullivan’s daughter.” I corrected her in a flat voice.
She cursed. “Fuck Antonio! Does his dying wish mean you have to waste your whole life paying for it?
“You’re a Rossetti, Gianna. Since when are you this subservient?”
“I’m done groveling,” I declared and looked at my pale, tired, but unshakably steady expression in the mirror. “Bianca, do me a favor.”
“What?”
I calmly said, “Find me an ob-gyn. After the abortion, I’m going back to Montrava.”
