Chapter 5: Forged In Fire, Forged In Blood

Sienna

My father has his hand on my knee as he stares out of the limousine window with his gun drawn. He was in New York, Dragonetti Famiglia territory and on high alert, the irony being that he was basically handing me over to the man he did not trust.

We spent the car ride in silence all the way to the church; my father did not once glance my way, and it left me with an uneasy feeling in my heart. I was his only daughter, and yet he had nothing to say to me on my wedding day.

The limousine pulls up outside of the church, and I could already tell the place was filled with what I could only assume were mafia families - Both Famiglia and Outfit acquaintances. My father gets out after his men and scours the area with his eyes before walking over to my side and opening the door. He holds out his hand for me to take, and he leads me by the arm to the inside of the enormous cathedral.

It was finally sinking in; I was getting married to a ruthless man who left threats hidden in the wedding bouquet he chose for me. My heart thuds profusely, and I grip my father’s hand so hard that he turns to look at me with a frown.

“Be strong, Stellina. You are of Vincenzo blood, the woman before you were held in great esteem, and you have inherited their fire. Be strong, not for your mama but for yourself.” My father tells me before we brace ourselves to enter the church.

This piece of advice made me smile; my papa had never given me any advice before so this was precious to me.

“I love you, papa,” I tell him, and he turns to kiss my forehead.

“I love you too, my brightest star.” He responds, and I lace my arm with his again. The string orchestra starts playing, signalling that it was my turn to enter. I breathe out one last time, and my father leads me inside the church.

The church was packed and decorated exquisitely. The bottom pews held family, while the top section held Dragonetti and Vincenzo soldiers. I saw Carmella at the end of the aisle, next to the other bridesmaids, but she wore an expression that startled me. Was she sad? Then I spot my mother in the front pew and smile; she would be my strength today - then my eyes fell on the man I was to marry.

Dante Dragonetti keeps his eyes on me as I walk down the aisle with my father, his eyes never leaving me. For a heartless monster, I had to admit to myself that he was exceptionally handsome, dressed in a three-piece charcoal tailored suit. He slicked his raven hair back as usual and his green eyes seemed to be a darker moss colour today. How was this man known as il Drago when he looked like God sculptured his features?

We reach the end of the aisle and my father takes my hand in his before placing it in Dante’s, “Ti affido la sua vita, la proteggo con la tua.” (I entrust you with her life, protect her with yours) My father says while looking my intended straight in the eye.

“Fino alla mia morte.” (Until my death) He vows and my father returns his nod and turns to leave for his seat next to my mother.

I force myself to look up at Dante, but as soon as our eyes meet, my heart sinks further into darkness. My feet were telling me to run far away, but my brain would not follow. Anxiety grips my heart and I try to level out my breathing by inhaling and exhaling slowly; this seems to work, but before I knew it, the priest was at our questions already.

“Dante and Sienna, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?” He asks. Dante and I both respond with an “I will.”

“Will you honour each other as man and wife for the rest of your lives?” He continues and Dante winks at me before responding with his answer of “I will,” and I couldn’t help but think of him as extremely arrogant. We were lying in the house of God, and he seemed to see nothing wrong with it.

“Will you accept children lovingly from God and bring them up according to the law of Christ and his Church?”

“I will.” We respond again, and I send up a silent prayer of forgiveness.

“Since it is your intention to enter into Holy Matrimony, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church.” The priest says, and we let go of one another’s left hand.

Dante caresses my thumb with his, “I, Dante Dragonetti, take you, Sienna Vincenzo, to be my lawful and honourable wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will honour you until death do us part, Con il mio sangue Dragonetti, è fatto.” Dante concludes his vow with an added ‘By my Dragonetti blood, it is done.’

“Forgiato nel fuoco, forgiato nel sangue!” I jump as his brothers and soldiers respond with ‘Forged In Fire, forged in blood,” the line that was apparently emblazoned on their Dragonetti tattoos.

I brace myself and take a deep breath before looking him in his eyes and reading my vows. “I, Sienna Vincenzo take you, Dante Dragonetti, to be my lawful and honoured husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part and even after.”

Dante’s eyebrows raise at the added bit at the end but smile regardless. The priest calls the ring bearer forward, “May the Lord, our God, bless these rings which you will offer to one another as a sign of your honour and fidelity.” He says, and Dante and I take the other’s respective rings.

Dante takes my left hand in his. “Sienna, please receive this ring as a sign of my promise, honour and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” He says and slips an elegant red emerald ring on my finger. Wow, it was gorgeous! They cut the centre stone in a square with white diamonds around the border and the ring itself must be white gold.

I smile and look up into Dante’s eyes. “Dante, please receive this ring as a sign of my love, honour and fidelity to you. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” I say my vow to him, forgetting to omit the ‘love,’ part from the vow, but he seems to have overlooked it.

“Famiglia, I present to you, Mr and Mrs Dragonetti! You may now kiss the bride.” The priest says finally, and Dante lifts my veil, his eyes falling on the tear in it with a smile. When my eyes stray to his breast pocket, I noted the iron badge pinned there. So it wasn’t just me wishing this marriage good luck.

He looks into my eyes and cups my cheek, “La mia Pura Bellezza,” (my pure beauty) he murmurs before lowering his lips to mine. Dante’s lips were incredibly soft as he kissed me with possession, claiming me as his bride in front of our family and filling me with a need at my core yet again. He ends off the kiss with a slight pull of my bottom lip. “You look beautiful, Sienna.” He whispers into the kiss.

“Forgiato nel fuoco, forgiato nel sangue!” His brothers exclaim again and thunderous applause follows. We turn to our respective families and Dante laces his fingers with mine before leading me down the aisle to depart the church. They greeted us with showers of rice as we walked past our families, and I couldn’t help but laugh at this.

Dante looks down at me with a scowl as we exit the church, “She knows how to laugh,” he says and immediately my smile goes from my face. This man truly was a thief of joy. He opens the limousine door for me and I get in, waiting for him to occupy the seat next to me.

“Would you prefer I remain miserable throughout this day, Dante?” I ask him and see his eyebrows raise in surprise. He was not used to being questioned, this was obvious as he ruled over many factions.

He chuckles. “No, but it is odd to hear you laugh when I know you would rather be dead than my bride.” He says and pulls me closer to him.

I stare down at my wedding ring and realise that I was now Dante’s to do with as he pleases. Would I survive my wedding night at all? Glancing up at Dante, then I remember the bouquet he sent and a terror seizes my heart again. I wasn’t safe with this man, not at all. Would I even survive the week?

“I can smell the fear on you,” Dante says and I turn to face him, but he was staring out the window. Obviously, I feared him. Who in their right mind didn’t? He turns his head to face me, and his green eyes flash with anger.

“You are a Dragonetti now, Sienna. I will not tolerate weakness.” He says, and I was not sure if this was supposed to calm me down or terrify me more, because I certainly did not feel consoled.

But I nod regardless. “I understand,” I tell him, breaking his gaze and staring out the window.

Not fear il Drago? I have been scared of him since I met him and it has not let up. How could I not feel this way? The man was a cold-blooded murderer of innocents who demanded respect wherever he went. How could I not fear him?