03 | THE BALL

HIDING BRUISES HAS become a part of my regime now.

It's been a month since Gianni raised a hand at me for the very first time because of whatever happened at Alessio's house then the second time he pushed me off the stairs because he thought I gained weight, the third time he nearly broke my skull by crushing it with his foot because he wasn't happy with my tone while greeting him. In the past 30 days, I've suffered from a broken skull, fractured ribs, a broken arm, and severe bleeding in my abdomen.

Sitting on the toilet seat trying the wipe off the blood that's dripping down my legs—I have this sudden urge to cry again.

One.

Two.

Three.

Taking deep breaths to not let a sob escape my mouth because I'm supposed to be getting ready for the ball, I and my husband are invited to, not crying while heeding the stab wound on my inner thigh gifted to me by my dear husband.

"Are you still not ready?" The voice from outside the bathroom door startles me and the bottle of the disinfectant in my hand falls with a small thud.

"Just t-two minutes, please," I whisper, and get up quickly trying to ignore the pain-killing me. Walking up to the mirror near the sink, I quickly apply make-up and get into the full-sleeved dress that my husband likes.

"I have no idea why it takes you women so much fucking time to get ready," Gianni grumbles as I walk out of the bathroom, limping slightly. "E smettila di zoppicare, cazzo!" At that, I try my best to walk normally but the pain shooting through my thigh hasn't lessened a bit even after taking 2 painkillers. (And stop fucking limping)

"I'm talking to you, little bitch!" He's in my face the very next moment, holding my arms in a death grip while fuming with immense anger.

"Yes, I won't limp now," I try choking down the tears but the pressure accumulating in my throat is so severe that my voice breaks.

━━━

Everything else passes in a blur, me walking down to where the car was, us driving off to one of the most luxurious resorts in Sicily where the ball is thrown is held. The only thing I did in the 20-minute ride was nod my head as my husband gave me instructions on how to behave when we reach as if I wasn't taught about all of this ever since I could walk.

The sound of cameras flashing and reporters reach my ears as we come to a stop. Peaking out the window, I see a big red carpet sprawled on the floor with nearly hundreds of people either carrying mics or cameras with impatience and smiles plastered on their faces waiting for people to arrive.

My heart drops at my feet because I did not expect these many to be excited about this ball. Without waiting for me, he gets out of the car and I'm left inside trying to take deep breaths. My side of the door is open and the cold December air greets me along with the screaming voices of other people.

"Who is that girl!?

"Is she the one who married Gianni Russo?"

"I expected her to be older than this."

"She's drop-dead gorgeous!"

"Ma'am please over here!"

"Mr. Gianni please tell your wife to look over here!"

Ice settled in my veins, as I stand here, completely frozen and unsure of what to do. Smile big and wave at them like you're a celebrity, my mother's voice nags me in the back of my head.

Straightening my spine, with my husband's arm wrapped around me, I muster up the biggest smile I can and wave anywhere and everywhere because the lights have blinded and all I see is black.

"Mrs. Gianni Russo, what's your name?"

"Please look over here!"

"How old are you!"

"Over here!"

"Oh, my God! Is that Alessio Russo's car!?"

Suddenly my name leaves their mouths and they all turn in a different direction.

"You better not look at Alessio," Gianni whispers in my ear. "Or I'll gauze your big eyes out when we reach home." All I do is nod and watch as a car pulls up behind us with a deep purring sound.

"Mr. Alessio!"

The screams of the people—mostly women—are so loud that I have to cover my ears and watch as the guards struggle to hold people away from the carpet as the man wrapped in sin and prada steps out.

I have to physically stop my mouth from falling open as I watch him open the buttons of his black suit, Rolex watch shining under the light, and runs a hand through his perfectly slicked hair with one strand falling before his eyes. His long and muscular legs are a sight to see as he walks around the car with such grace that should be filed illegal.

Perfection. This man is exactly what perfection is.

I immediately avert my eyes from his as his whiskey eyes fall on me and he walks towards us.

"Fratello!" My husband beside me beams with delight as if he wasn't just threatening me. (Brother)

"Gianni." I feel his deep voice right in front of me and it will be a lie if I said, I don't want to look up and stare at him but the hand wrapped around my waist stops me.

"Nicole," I wasn't looking but I'm sure he just gave me a short nod while putting his hands in his pockets. In return, I give him a small nod and clutch Gianni's hands.

I want your eyes on me as I make you see stars, that's what he said the night we first met. I can't help but suppress a shudder as it crosses my mind.

Getting inside the ballroom, my jaw drops in awe as the hall is enormous and looks nothing less than a beautiful dream—with white flowers and golden ribbons in every corner, people all dressed exotically along with soft music playing in the background.

Alessio brushes past me but his scent lingers in the air and I inhale the masculine scent, greedily. It doesn't give me a headache or make me feel nauseated, unlike Gianni's scent which feels like knives are being stabbed in my nose.

"Don't talk to anyone unless I tell you to," Gianni says as we walk together towards a group of people who I recognize were present at my wedding.

"Gianni and Nicole!" We're greeted by them, my husband shakes their hands and I'm engulfed in a light hug by a woman who introduced herself as Zoe. There are other two men by her side just give me a nod in acknowledgment.

"So you finally decided to bring your wife out of hiding," one says.

"What can I say? A pretty woman like her shouldn't be let loose," Gianni laughs while motioning a waiter to stop.

"I'm glad I finally get to meet you," Zoe says with a smile present on her beautiful face. "I've been hearing tales about this drop-dead gorgeous woman who married Gianni."

"Hope you aren't disappointed?" My husband asks as he sips his drink.

"Totally not," her brown eyes run all over me from top to bottom with a look in an undecipherable look in her eyes, a shiver runs down my spine at that. And then I'm invisible—my husband along with Zoe and the other two men emerge themselves in talks about things I don't care about enough to pay attention to.

This thing always baffles me how easy it is for people to leave others out of their conversation even when they're standing right in front of them, only giving them attention when they find the need to.

Without trying, my eyes drift over the hundreds of people searching for the eyes of the man who haunts my nights and has plagued my mind.

I find him standing near the bar with a drink in his hand and the other hand in his pocket. A cruel heaviness settles in my chest as I watch a woman leaning against him with her hands placed on his chest.

A tiny frown mars my forehead for a reason I couldn't name, as if he feels my eyes on him, suddenly he's looking at me while pushing away the girl who was on top of it under his gaze everything disappears.

The people standing beside me, the others chattering all across the ballroom, the soft music playing, the sound of glasses clinking across the room, it all is gone as his eyes hold me down. The disinterest swirling in his eyes a few minutes ago is gone, now the same emotion that's always there comes to the surface and I can't bring myself to look away because I'm enchanted.

Shifting eyes and vacancy vanishes as I look at his face. I'm under a spell that I don't want to break because I forget everything for a moment, the pain in my whole body, the tears that wanted to escape, the cruel words I hear every day, the beatings from my husband. Even though he is on the other side of the room, I see his hand twitching as if he's feeling the same as I am.

But suddenly it breaks as I feel Zoe standing in front of me, blocking the view. "Nicole, why don't we let the men talk and go grab a snack?"

I turn towards Gianni in question, and as he nods, I smile brightly and grab Zoe's outstretched hand.

"I see that you don't talk a lot. An introvert aren't you?" Zoe asks as we both walk towards a huge table that was spread with all kinds of dishes and desserts.

"It's not that," I defend myself. "I just—you know—actually yes." I finish with a small puff because I didn't know what to tell her. I wanted to talk to people, I liked to talk a lot but I've never had anyone to talk with except my friend Caterina, who I met once in months.

"It's alright," she says. Taking two small plates kept at the table, she hands me one. I place a small piece on mine but immediately stop when she stares at me horrified.

Zoe's brows are arched and her mouth opened in shock, "What happened? Are you all right?" I asked.

"No! How can you just take such a small piece?" She says, horrified. Then it is my turn to be horrified as she places a really big piece of cake on my plate.

"No!" I shriek. "My husband doesn't like it when I eat a lot." Before I can put the plate back on the table, Zoe's hand darts out and stops me from doing so.

Her soft features were all scrunched up in disgust as if I said something disgusting, "Who cares about what your husband likes? You should eat how much you like."

"But he is my husband," I point out.

"And?"

"He has the right to do so."

"No. He does not." She leaves no room for argument but I can't bring myself to eat the large amount of cake because if he sees me eating this much, I'm sure I'll end up with more bruises.

"I-I can't eat this much, he won't like it," I whisper-pleaded to her.

Suddenly she leaves my side and stands in front of me, blocking my view from others. "He won't like it when he sees, right? But now he can't see you so eat whatever the fuck you want."

At this, a genuine smile tilts at the corner of my lips and the heaviness in my heart dissipates a little. I didn't remember the last time I had such a large piece of cake or someone who told me to do something I like or when I smile, genuinely.

"You know, Nicole. I think we'll be great friends. So friends?" She asks.

Suddenly a heaviness sits on my chest again but this time it isn't dread or anxiety, for the first time it is an unknown feeling that is beautiful just like the first ray of sunshine peeking through the dark clouds after a storm.

"Yes!" I almost jump up and down from happiness.

"Do you know Alessio Russo?" She asks, suddenly while eating.

"Yes. why?" I ask.

She turns around and points to where he's standing with Gianni and another man, who is as gorgeous as Alessio—even more so. In a dark red shirt and black pants that seemed to be wrapped around his masculinity perfectly, the most noticeable thing was the scar running down the right side of his brow. The word attractive sounds so unfit when describing him, he's much more than that.

Standing between Alessio and that man Gianni seemed—forgive me mother—ugly and fat. He doesn't even reach the shoulders of both the men he stood with and completely out of shape with his belly struggling against the material of his shirt.

"Why do you ask about him?" I ask, still looking at Alessio's back.

"I'm interested in him," she states. My eyes widen slightly before I'm feigning indifference again. "That man is something else."

"I don't know him a lot, I've met him once." Liar. "And talked very little." Because we were so busy doing scandalous things.

"Oh," she says with a small smirk on her face.

"Who's that other man?"

"You don't know him?" Shock seeps in her voice and she makes it sound like I've committed a grave sin right now.

"No?" My answer is more of a question.

"He's The Lucifer Genovese! This ball is thrown by his family every year." When she notices I'm still confused, sighing, she places her hands on her hips and asks, "Do you know absolutely nothing?"

Blood rushes in my cheeks at that, feeling embarrassed, I shake my head. "No."

"Okay girl, so be ready to learn everything," she says while hooking her arm with mine. "The Italian mafia used to be run by the Genovese's for almost a century but the actual cosa nostra was The Russo's, so while The Genovese's ruled—The Russo's were under them as a minority that was till Alessio became the head."

"After Alessio took his position as the head of The Russo family, finally the Russo's started working with The Genovese's instead of working under them."

To say I'm impressed is an understatement, in first glance, he comes across as someone who's calculative, debonair, and controlling but turning around something that's been going for years within a moment is another level of remarkable.

Soon we begin talking about other things and my nerves detangled, coming at ease. I learned a lot about Zoe, she came here along with her brothers who were business partners with Alessio—the reason they knew Gianni. She's twenty-five years old and owns a fashion brand in New York, she also informs me that soon she's going to be going worldwide.

"Can I ask you something?" she asks, with eyes looking behind me.

"Yeah?"

"Why did you marry Gianni?"

"I—What do you mean?" A sinking feeling slid down my spine at her question.

"You're so super pretty, there's no denying that," she motions to my body and face with her hands. "So you could get any guy instead of Gianni. And also because he's really older than you."

I stared at her for a moment or two, thinking to myself. Do others really get to choose who they want to get married to?

Before I can answer, the music suddenly changes to a different tone, and like iron being pulled towards a magnet—people with their hands entangled with one another—gravitate towards the dance floor.

"Let's dance."