PlotlumeAfter three years together, my fiancé, a Mafia capo, finally agreed to come with me to try on the wedding dress I'd had made for a year.
I was over the moon. I got up at dawn and booked out the most expensive private couture salon in New York.
But as the appointment came closer, he and his sweet little childhood friend both vanished.
It wasn't until the salon closed that my fiancé finally texted.
[Forgot to tell you. The family's having an inner-circle dinner on a yacht tonight. I'm taking Bianca to see how it's done.]
Bianca sent a voice message right after:
[Hey, sis, the yacht dinner is amazing. When we get back, we'll come try on wedding dresses with you, okay?]
I didn't get angry. I smiled and replied: okay.
Then I turned around and messaged the current Godfather:
[How come your family's having an inner-circle dinner and nobody told me, the woman about to take over the whole organization?]
1
An encrypted voice call popped up on my screen.
I answered.
On the other end, the current Godfather, Ryan, was shouting.
"What inner-circle dinner on a yacht?"
"Every top man in the organization is at the estate tonight for an underground security meeting!"
"What damn dinner?"
I sat in front of a full-length mirror in the empty salon.
The heavy, layered train of the gown weighed on me until I could hardly breathe.
"Horton told me he's at the family's inner-circle dinner tonight."
"And he took Bianca."
Ryan swore on the other end.
"That's a load of crap!"
"That bastard Horton came to me this morning to ask for the day off!"
"He said he was going with his fiancée to try on the wedding dress she'd had made for a year, and begged me to give him the whole day!"
"I only gave it to him for your sake. And he's using the family as an excuse to lie to you?"
The clock on the wall ticked.
I looked down at the white lace I was wearing.
I clutched the fabric of the skirt so hard the veins stood out on the backs of my hands.
"Ryan, are you free right now?"
"For my little cousin, I'm always free! Where are you?"
"The private couture salon on Fifth Avenue. Come pick me up."
"Hang tight. I'll be there in twenty minutes!"
I hung up and dropped my phone on the velvet sofa beside me.
Half the crystal chandeliers in the salon had been switched off.
The staff were starting to tidy the racks, wheeling garment rails back and forth.
A few young apprentices were gathered in the hallway outside the fitting room.
Their voices slipped through the crack in the door and into my ears.
"Is that client still sitting in there?"
"Yeah. She's been waiting since eight this morning. She hasn't even eaten."
"She paid a fortune to book the whole salon for the day, and the groom never even showed up. That's brutal."
"What good is money? She's still being played for a fool by a man."
"Shh, keep it down. Don't let her hear."
I kept my back straight and sat perfectly still.
The click of high heels on marble came closer.
The salon's director came over with a glass of warm water.
She bent down and set it on the coffee table in front of me.
"Miss, have some water. You must be parched."
"Mr. Horton is such a busy man. Something urgent must have held him up today."
"Please don't take it to heart. Men always put their work first."
I didn't touch the water.
"Thank you. I'm not thirsty."
The director turned and brought over a gold-embossed VIP couture album from the display shelf behind her.
She placed it on my knees.
"Since Mr. Horton isn't here yet, why don't you look at our lookbook?"
"You could pick out veils and bridesmaid dresses ahead of time, so you won't be rushed later."
I lowered my eyes and casually opened the album to the first page.
I froze.
A huge, retouched photograph was mounted on the first page.
The man in the photo was Horton.