Dead At The Altar: The Don's Regret

On the day of my wedding to the mafia godfather, Bianca-the orphaned daughter of my fiancé's mentor-blocked my way and forced a glass of hard liquor on me.

"Drink this to honor the elders of the underworld, and big sister's wedding will go off without a hitch."

I was severely allergic to alcohol and refused with a smile. To my surprise, Bianca's eyes instantly brimmed with tears.

My fiancé Dante's smile vanished. He pressed the glass to my lips:

"Stop faking jealousy and telling lies over something this trivial. Drink it, then apologize to Bianca right now."

My brother pinned me down, and my best friend forced the liquor down my throat.

Just like that, I suffocated to death on my fiancé's back.

As a ghost, I could only watch as that vicious ward slapped my corpse and smothered the angry allergic rash spreading across my body under layer after layer of heavy foundation.

I screamed myself hoarse trying to tell everyone I was already dead, but not a sound came from my throat.

All I could do was watch, in an agony of dead silence, as the very people who had sworn to protect me for life blindly pushed me into the abyss.

Just as Dante was about to lift my wedding veil-

My soul circled coldly in the air above, my heart utterly still:

This wedding was about to become a funeral.

Chapter 1

On what should have been the proudest day of my life-the day I would be crowned the mafia's godmother-my billionaire fiancé pressed a lethal shot of grappa against my lips, while my own brother and my best friend pinned my arms down from either side.

They hissed warnings in my ears: if I did not drink this poison to soothe that sniveling orphan, the two families would erupt into a street war before the vows could be spoken.

The bridal suite at the Rossi estate was stifling, the air thick with a suffocating, unspoken tension.

I stood in the center of the room in a custom black lace wedding gown-designed by Dante Cavallaro himself.

He was the Godfather of the New York mafia, a cold-blooded tyrant who ruled the underworld with an iron fist-yet he had once spent months personally selecting pearls and sewing them onto the bodice of my gown one by one.

But now his icy eyes were fixed on me, without a trace of warmth.

Bianca stood barring the bedroom door. She was the orphaned daughter of Dante's late mentor, and in her hands she carried a silver tray bearing a small glass of high-proof Italian grappa.

"Drink it," she demanded, her voice trembling with rehearsed piety. "You must drink it to honor our forebears of the underworld." It was an ancient tradition every bride was meant to follow.

I stared at that clear liquid, and cold sweat instantly soaked the back of my neck.

I was severely allergic to alcohol, yet every one of them stubbornly insisted it was nothing more than the itchy rash I'd had as a child. They believed I had long since outgrown it-and Dante clearly assumed my refusal was nothing but petty nitpicking, a deliberate stunt to humiliate the orphan girl under his protection.

But even a single drop would make my throat swell shut. This was a fast-acting, lethal allergy.

I looked at Dante, my heart slamming against my ribs. "Could I... have tea instead?" I begged softly.

Bianca's shoulders slumped, her eyes brimmed with tears, and she let out a sob of injured innocence.

"This is a slap in the face to my dead father!" she cried. "You're just using your status as a mafia princess to bully an orphan!"

Dante took a step forward, and the dangerous pressure of a godfather filled the room. When it came to shielding his own, he lost all reason where his ward was concerned.

He lifted the glass from the tray and pressed it directly to my mouth.

"Stop being dramatic," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "Drink it, and apologize to Bianca."

Fear seized my chest, and I shook my head desperately. "It will kill me," I told him, my voice shaking beyond recognition.

My brother Lorenzo stepped up behind me. He was the second-in-command of our family. He seized my left arm with a grip that nearly crushed bone, and I gasped at the pain.

"The dons are all waiting outside," he snapped through clenched teeth. "How is the entire Rossi family supposed to hold its head up over this petty jealousy?"

Valentina moved to my right side. She was my closest friend, the girl I'd grown up with, my sworn sister-bound to me by a blood oath to protect each other for life. Moments earlier, Bianca had whispered to her that the tray held nothing stronger than Prosecco.

She grabbed my right arm and wrenched it behind me without mercy.

"That's enough. Stop acting like a spoiled princess," she said, rolling her eyes impatiently. "Bianca poured you low-alcohol Prosecco. It won't kill you."

I fought with everything I had, twisting my body, trying to break free. "Please, just listen to me!" I begged.

Valentina seized my jaw, her fingers digging hard into my cheeks, and forced my mouth open.

Dante stood by with cold, imperious detachment, letting Valentina snatch the glass, watching without moving a muscle.

Without a moment's hesitation, Valentina dumped the entire shot down my throat.

The scalding liquid had barely touched my tongue before it slid down my throat like fire.

Only then did they let go. I crumpled, my knees slamming into the thick carpet.

The allergic reaction came fast, violent, and lethal. Within seconds, my airway swelled completely shut.

I clawed at my own throat, fighting for air that would not come. My lungs burned as if I were burning in hell.

Terrified, eyes bulging, I looked up at Dante and reached for him, silently pleading for help.

Bianca was quick-she snatched up the heavy bridal veil and threw it over my head.

In an instant, the heavy fabric dragged me into darkness. It cruelly hid my bulging eyes-and the angry red hives erupting across my neck.

Lorenzo and Valentina seized my arms again and roughly hauled me up off the floor.

My body made its last hopeless fight against suffocation, legs kicking wildly in the air.

Lorenzo grunted in irritation and shoved my struggling body onto Dante's broad back.

Dante reached back to hook my knees, adjusted my weight, and carried me out of the suite on his back.

His stride was steady and powerful as he swept down the corridor. The extreme lack of oxygen drained the strength from my limbs; my desperate convulsions faded into weak, feeble spasms. The heavy fabric of Dante's suit and his rapid strides completely muffled my weakening struggles.

My body jolted with his steps, and the world went black.

My heart beat out its final, desperate rhythm in my chest, on the verge of failure.

I tried to pat his shoulder, but my fingertips only slid feebly across his expensive jacket.

My lungs stopped working entirely. The last wisp of oxygen in my brain burned away.

My arms dropped limply to my sides-a heavy, lifeless shell slumped across the back of the man I loved.

Then, suddenly, I felt a strange pull. In the next instant, I blinked and found myself floating at the ceiling, looking down at them.

I was dead. My soul hovered above the corridor, fully severed from the body below.

Dante walked out through the main doors carrying my corpse on his back and lowered my body, effortlessly, into the back seat of the lead armored SUV.

He slid in beside me, took my stiff, ice-cold hand, and laced his warm fingers through mine.

Feeling the bone-deep chill of my skin, he frowned slightly-then ordered the driver to turn the heat to maximum.

Looking at my veiled, lifeless form slumped against the window, a mocking smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

"Sulk at me all you like," he began, rambling on about our honeymoon in Switzerland, his voice laced with dark amusement, "but tonight, you will surrender to me."

The car door was suddenly yanked open.

Bianca stood outside, eyes wide, reciting an old Sicilian superstition:

"It's a terrible omen for the bride and groom to ride in the same car before the vows!"

She leaned in, roughly seized my arm, and coldly dragged my corpse out of the SUV.

My body hit the pavement with a sickening thud. The black veil slipped slightly, exposing my chin.

Bianca quickly climbed into the car, settled beside Dante, naturally took his arm, and told the driver to go.

Dante did not so much as glance back. Trusting her completely, the lead vehicle drove off toward the cathedral, leaving a cloud of dust behind.

Lorenzo and Valentina rushed to where my body lay.

Lorenzo swore under his breath and hastily pulled the veil back over my face.

They dragged my limp, heavy body across the concrete and shoved it into the back seat of the bridesmaid's SUV serving as our decoy.

Lorenzo touched my ice-cold arm, and his brow knitted tight.

He hesitated for a moment, then slowly reached out, preparing to lift the heavy veil and look at my face.