The Return Mafia Bride

Her phone vibrated on the table, but she ignored it. Another reminder from her ex, Will Thompson, whose frantic attempts to maintain her in his life only served to heighten her disengagement from her own life. While Cathy had previously decided that some things, including her past with him, could never be corrected, he still wanted things mended. She placed the phone aside and turned to study the lovely, velvet-covered book before her. Though she never understood why her foster parents kept it secret, it was a family heritage of type from her upbringing.

Lost in ideas of a life she could not remember, her fingers softly followed the edges of the old pages as she turned them. A little picture slid off the pages as they turned. Cathy stopped the instant it touched the table. She could not identify the picture of a younger version of herself standing next to two strangers. The woman exuded royal dignity and confidence, but Cathy's eye was drawn to the archaic crest carved into her jewellery. The same symbol she had seen years ago, dim and far-off, buried in a neglected box her foster father forbade talking about.

Her breath stopped in her throat as she leaned forward to examine it, but before her eyes, the picture started to blur. The same crest, the same family emblem she had spent her whole life trying to forget suddenly stared back at her, dragging her towards something she couldn't describe.

Her mind racing with questions, she reclined in her chair and fixed on the picture. The woman's name was... Why seemed the crest so familiar? She only felt that something deeply buried was starting to surface; she had no answers. She was supposed to forget about this as well.

But Cathy couldn't get rid of the sense that this birthday, this moment, was only the beginning of something far darker as the shadows of the city spread longer outside her window.

She turned the picture over, but before she could make sense of it a shudder shot her spine. Once more buzzed the phone, this time with a single, eerie message: I know you are.

Cathy's shaking hands let the phone fall from her grasp; the terrible message still flickering on the screen. Her heart accelerated, and she got to her feet walking across her apartment's spotless floor. Once consoling in their cleanliness, the walls now seemed to be closing in on her.

Cathy had always pondered why she felt like an outsider here, why nothing ever seemed to fit exactly. Even in the glittering field of interior design she worked in, she had never really fit.

She picked up her phone once more and swiped over the screen as though under the direction of some invisible power. She had registered a flight within minutes. Venues, Italy; Venice She had never gone there, but she had always been pulled to. She prayed she might flee the gnawing emptiness engulfing her here. Perhaps she might release the weight of the message, the picture, of her past in a city of canals and history.

A few hours later Cathy was standing in queue at the security checkpoint at the airport. The surge of the throng around her did not help to conceal the sensation of something hovering about. She looked at the faces, then paused, distracted. Someone just outside the security queue, partly hidden behind a column.

Though she couldn't see his face, something about the tall, strong man's silhouette felt oddly familiar. Cathy shook her head, trying to concentrate on the present work. She was not here contemplating unusual interactions. She couldn't get rid of the feeling though, that the man was observing her from behind dark sunglasses as she passed him.

Her chest thung with her heartbeat. Her movements were nearly frantic as she hurried towards her gate. Like a cool hand stroking the rear of her neck, her sense of following grew more intense. Her ideas flew all around. Could this man have any bearing on the message? Regarding the secrets she had never known?

Cathy left the Vaporetto at her stop and experienced an odd sensation, something more than just city appeal. The setting seemed familiar, as though she had been here in another life. Her own ideas, the message, the picture, everything was drawing her towards some invisible thread she was unable to flee.

Attracted by the centuries-old architecture of the city, she meandered aimlessly. She could not help but find beauty in the meandering walkways and the complex architectural designs; nevertheless, the sense of déjà vu troubled her. The stones under her feet seemed to whisper the past.

The canals shimmered in the last of the evening, their smooth surfaces reflecting the majesty of the old structures. But she was also drawn to the architecture. She was walking along the small streets when she noticed an antique building with an elaborate stone façade with sculpture. Her pulse thumping, she moved closer to find the identical crest she had seen in the picture carved on the stone haunting her mind.

Her breath stopped and she felt a flash of identification. She had seen this emblem before, carved into a location she couldn't recall, linked to a past she did not own.

Her chest started to hurt, but she couldn't take her eyes away from the symbol. There, in the centre of Venice, it seemed to mock her, as though urging her to dig beneath the surface of her life.

Stalls loaded with vibrant fruits, glittering scarves, and shining trinkets seemed to mix into a wash of reds, oranges, and yellows. Cathy couldn't, however, really concentrate on the deals, the laughter, or the conversation. Her urgent sensation of being watched hung around like a dense cloud.

Her eyes strayed back towards the throng as she ran her fingertips over the cool metal at a stall showing glittering golden jewellery. Two men walked across the market with startling accuracy, their eyes gliding over everything but seemed to be disconnected from the vibrant spectacle all around. One was tall and broad-shouldered, his black, fitted coat shadowing his sharp jawline. With his eyes riveted on Cathy as if following her every movement, the other, shorter, moved with a smoothness almost predatory.

Cathy's stomach grew tighter. She cannot recall the last time she had been this uncomfortable. She moved and they moved every time. They slowed down every time she stopped, and Cathy couldn't get rid of the persistent feeling they were trailing after.

She accelerated her stride and turned down still another row of booths, fingers automatically touching the hem of her coat. Her emerald green eyes flew to the right, where a gathering of old lace lay, its delicate threads seemingly whispering to her, yet the towering man was still there, not far behind. He looked at her, no, across her, with eyes so icy they seemed to freeze the air between them. Her chest squeezed with every instant, so she pushed herself to turn aside and concentrate on a Grand Canal picture.

There was another male present. Right now she could feel him behind her. As his footsteps neared her spine, a shudder crawled there. She refused to turn around. Then he passed her, his coat brushing her arm, and a low voice with terrible clarity entered her ear.

Cathy tried to keep as much distance as she could between herself and the unpleasant experience, so her heart hammered as she left the store. Her breath came in short gasps; the heaviness in her chest only got worse as she hurriedly searched for a path out of the maze of streets. The noise of the market disappeared behind her, replaced by a terrible silence hanging thick in the air.

She had vanished now. She had not intended to stray into the tangle of little, poorly lighted streets, but the anxiety, the terror, had pushed her ahead without thought. She peered about, but the meandering passageways all seemed the same. The buildings loomed above her like silent sentinels, their black windows tracking her every step.

She suddenly turned a bend, looking for her way back to the main road, but she came across a dead-end alley. Her intimate proximity to the stone walls pressed in from all sides. Under her breath, she muttered and turned back to walk. She froze, though, as she did.

Behind her, the two men from the market had shown themselves to block her only exit.

First to say was the tall man with the ice-blue eyes. His voice was low, like dark velvet rubbing across her nerves. "No need to run, Cathy," he murmured with a fluid, disturbing calm. "We are not here to damage you. Not now.

The shorter person stayed silent. Rather, his eyes sparkled and his mouth opened to something between a sneer and a smile. He stepped forward, his hands laid sloppily at his sides, but Cathy couldn't get rid of the sensation that they were predator claws ready to attack.

She pushed herself to breathe even though panic shot through her. She refused to let them notice her level of anxiety. Seeking some sort of escape, she stepped back and her fingers stroking the cold stone of the wall behind her, found no use.

The lane was quite small. She got caught.

With his eyes fixed on hers, the towering man moved another step forward. Though the words were anything but comforting, he muttered, "You don't need to be afraid." "We are here for answers only."

Cathy's throat closed as she understood she lacked any answers they sought. Her mind ran for a way out, but before she could act the short man moved in front of her, his hand deliberately sluggish.

Her chest contracted, and eyes wide with terror she staggered back into the corner. The planet had reduced to only these two guys, the alley, and the unsaid menace hovering between them.

The voice of the tall guy was a subdued murmur, but it sliced through the quiet with great accuracy.

Cathy, please don't make us bring you. If you come voluntarily, that is better.