Betrayed at the Altar, I Married a Powerful Rival novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: Shoes On The Wrong Feet
On her wedding morning Gianna watches Dario put her handmade shoes on the boss's daughter, drinks his mother's drugged juice on purpose, and is carried into the Orsini estate, where the groom says she is the wrong bride.
At eight on my wedding morning, Dario Sabatini found my hidden wedding shoes in a minute and came laughing to my door.
Six soldiers in black suits stood behind him, and every bridesmaid I had was watching.
Valentina Ruggeri had walked in wearing a white dress and crying.
"Gianna, I'm so jealous of you," she had said. "You get to marry the man you love."
"My father wants to send me to the Orsinis to marry a ninety-year-old man," she said. "He'd do it to keep the dock warehouses."
She wiped her eyes and looked at Dario.
"But thank God. This morning a Ruggeri advisor and two capos witnessed our marriage. Our names are in the Family records. Nobody can trade me now."
Her marriage.
To the man standing in my doorway in a black suit, holding my shoes.
I knew why before anyone said another word.
Last night I had stood outside Dario's study door and heard all of it.
The boss owed the Orsini family three years of tribute, and he meant to pay with his daughter.
Dario had found a way to pay with me.
"The convoy goes straight to the Orsini estate in Greenwich after the pickup," he had told his friend.
"My mother will put something in her orange juice. By the time she wakes up she'll already be there."
"In a year or two, when the old man's gone, I'll bring her back. A marriage in name only."
I had gone back to my room and waited for morning.
Now Paola leaned close to my ear. "That's your wedding. Why is she in white? Why is she crying in front of everybody?"
"It's fine," I said, and patted her hand.
The younger bridesmaids had hidden my shoes as a joke, to make the groom hunt for them.
He had held them out to the room, and then he walked straight past me.
"Gianna, Valentina rolled her ankle on the way here," he said. "Her heels are ruined."
He took off her heels and slid my white satin shoes onto her feet.
"She has an old injury. She can't wear hard soles."
He set a pair of canvas sneakers on the floor in front of me. "Wear these. They're only shoes. You won't embarrass the boss's daughter over shoes."
Dario had made those wedding shoes by hand when he was twenty.
His fingers had bled over the needle, and he had laughed about it.
"When we get married, you'll wear these," he had said. "Nobody else will ever have a pair."
"Dario, you made those for Gianna," Paola said. "Everybody here knows what they mean."
"Don't make a scene," he said, and stood up.
Somebody shouted, "Kiss the bride!"
One of the younger girls laughed and pushed him toward me.
Valentina swayed at that exact moment and fell against his chest.
Their mouths met.
The soldiers by the door lowered their eyes.
"You did that on purpose," Paola said.
"I lost my balance," Valentina said, and looked at the floor. "I'm so sorry."
Dario held her up by the elbows. "She has a bad foot. Leave it alone."
I took Paola by the arm before she could say more.
Dario bent down and pushed the stiff canvas sneakers onto my feet himself.
The stiff canvas rubbed my heels raw before he stood up.
Two years of Dario calling things small ran through my head.
Valentina had passed off my port plan as her own, three months of my drawings, in front of every capo in the city.
Dario had told me to defer to the boss's daughter.
The poisoned bait that killed my cat had been set out by her, and he had told me there was no proof.
He had called all of it small, and now my groom was small too.
Teresa came in then, with a glass of orange juice in her hand.
Dario's mother had raised me since I was twelve, and the little gold cross at her throat had been my mother's.
She had worn it since the funeral, for safekeeping, and I had told her years ago to keep wearing it.
"Gianna, my darling, I lived to see you in a wedding dress," she said. "Drink something. The Orsini ceremony is long, and you shouldn't go on an empty stomach."
She held out the glass and smiled.
The house was full of the boss's soldiers, and I would not make it down the stairs.
If I ran, Dario would find another way to deliver me.
So I took the glass and drank every drop.
My tongue went numb first, and then my legs gave way under the dress.
My mind stayed clear.
"The convoy's leaving!" a man shouted from the yard.
Dario lifted me against his chest and carried me down the stairs.
He had carried me home like this from a warehouse when I was twelve, and told me not to be afraid.
"I'll protect you," he had said then.
I kept my eyes shut in the car, and he didn't speak.
At the Orsini gate I opened them.
Gravel, a stone house, and a tall man on the front steps in a black suit with grey eyes.
Dario set me on my feet with his hand under my arm and said, "Don't be afraid. I'll come for you."
The tall man came down the steps and looked at my face.
"That isn't Ruggeri's daughter," he said to the man beside him.
"I'm Gianna Ferrante," I said, thick-tongued, upright. "I'm an engineer. I drew the port plan she'll tell you is hers."
He looked at Dario's car pulling away, and then back at me.
"Close the gate," Federico Orsini said.
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