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The first time I got married, my husband got shot at the altar.
And the first time was now, and he had pushed me behind the altar, then disappeared from my view.
It all began at 10:15 am, and it would've started by 10 am on the dot had I not decided to piss off my soon to be husband and maids by deciding I wanted to go use the toilet immediately after I had been helped into my wedding gown. But I still made it on time, and I stood at the back of the cathedral, wearing a white off-shoulder custom-made Hany el Behairy dress bejeweled with precious jewels like pearls and diamonds. A dress that most definitely cost more than my future, an expensive luxurious dress that I wore to just show off how wealthy and powerful my husband was, not to actually beautify me.
The aisle stretched out, and I limped slowly across, alone, because I knew no one and had no family here to accompany me. Guests turned to look at me, but most of them weren’t even smiling. They were just watching. Wondering why I was walking like I had a peg leg on my wedding day.
I wouldn’t blame them. A mafia marriage wasn’t really about love, it was more about power. Territory. Maintaining an image.
My future husband stood at the altar—Dante Valenti, the most powerful and most ruthless Don in all of Vegas— wearing a black suit. With his face straight as if set in stone and with eyes that looked like they hadn’t known warmth since birth. He didn’t even blink or acknowledge me as I reached the altar. Lucrezia, the maid of honor was standing at the altar, and she supported me as I tried to climb the steps up, so I wouldn’t trip over. Dante didn’t even care, he just had the same expression he’d always had, the one of bored superiority.
Immediately I stood facing Dante, the priest started quickly as if he had foreshadowed what was to come. He skipped the vows and all the romantic stuff, because it was obvious none of us would mean anything we said.
“Do you, Dante Valenti, take her to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“I do.”
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