Strong-willed, badass and bounded by the chains of an arranged marriage, Isabela Arias dreams of the freedom to live and love as she chooses.
Being sold to the Italian mafia wasn't exactly on Isabela's to do list...
As she's forced to navigate the r...
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Bittersweet.
My vision goes red, fixating on Damien's firm grip on Isabela's hip, an inch above her ass. God, I want to rip his fucking arms off. Isabela trashes her wedding dress, opting for a classic, white glittery body-con dress that enhances her curves. She's gone from a princess to a Queen. The entire last hour, she's kept a small smile on her face as Damien parades her to all the guests.
All the air from my lung rushes out when Damien taps his cheek, signaling Isabela, and she kisses him. Pain radiates through my chest as if someone's fist clashed with my gut. How selfish of me to regret my decision once it's too late. I never do learn, do I?
"Someone looks jealous," Lorenzo taunts, a fat grin emerging on his lips. He shoves a few olives into his mouth, chewing with a smile. "I understand, though. Isabela looks extremely fuckable, and that's coming from me. Damien is never going to stop showing her off."
I groan. "Go bother someone else with your commentary."
Lorenzo raises his hands up to appear defenseless, rising from the table, causing the drinks to whirl in a circle in their glasses. He grabs the three coronas and places them in front of me with a glass full of ice.
"Looks like you're going to need them more than me," Lorenzo adds, patting my back before disappearing into the dance floor.
A surge of urge waves through me like an incoming tide. A part of me wants to, but I can't break my commitment. Alcohol does more harm than good. I've seen people throw their lives away for this, and I couldn't comprehend how or why-- for an unforgettable night? Showcase their rotten qualities to the world. Ambush their innocent children with their fists...
The music shifts from beloved Italian classics to reggaeton, trembling the floors from the severity of the speakers. Damien is on the dance floor with a train of five girls grinding on him. He's holding them by the waist, returning the same vigor in his movements. Isabela isn't anywhere in sight.
Hoisting from the chair, I scour through the route of tables for any sight of my girl. Remorse flashes in my chest. Isabela sits on the chair, her legs crossed as she taps on the table with a bored expression. She deserves to have the groom's undivided attention and affection. If it were a normal circumstance, this would be the best day of her life-- she should be smiling until her cheeks hurt.
I'll make her smile.
Extending my hand, I ask, "Can I have this dance?"
A full-blown smile crawls across her face. "I-In front of everyone?"
I shrug. "There's nothing wrong about a harmless dance, beside Damien is a bit preoccupied."
The soft ridges of her fingers slip between mine, fitting between the folds like the last piece of a puzzle. The item is recognizable without the final part, but it's never truly complete without it. How did I go through life without this piece? Because lately, it seems like I lost the will to be without it.
