Five minutes before I say "I do," my fiancé's dead brother's widow staggers into the chapel with her dress half off, screaming that my "godfather" raped her. "Luca, save me! Nico Sokolov forced himself on me!" Chiara collapses at his feet, mascara running, one strap of her black dress hanging off her shoulder. "He said I was a fake, that I stole the Marchetti name from your real bride, that he could do whatever he wanted to me — I want to die, Luca, I want to die — " The pews go off like a powder keg. People are on their feet. Someone shouts *animal*. Someone else shouts my name like a curse, like I dragged a wolf into a church. Luca strips off his jacket and wraps it around Chiara like she's made of glass. Then he looks at me. Cold. The way you look at a stain. "Marchetti." He doesn't even use my first name. "Get that piece of shit out here. Now. He's getting on his knees in front of Chiara, and after that I want him cut. All three legs. Or this wedding's off." My parents stand up like they're about to lynch me. My future father-in-law cracks his knuckles. I almost laugh. Because my "godfather" doesn't have three legs to cut. --- *Smack.* My mother's palm lands so hard my ear rings. "You think this is funny?" Her hand is shaking. Her nails almost go in my eye. "I should've left you in that group home. I knew you were trash the second I brought you back." I taste blood on my lip. I keep my face flat. "Chiara has class. You? You brought a family of rapists with you." "Mom." My voice is calm. I want it calm. "Did anyone call the cops?" "Did anyone get a rape kit done?" "Or do we just take Chiara's word like it's the gospel?" My father kicks over a vase of white lilies. "She wouldn't *lie* about something like this, you stupid bitch!" He points at the back of the church like a general. "I want the muscle on Sokolov. Right now. In front of God and every family in New York. We cut him here. Tonight. For Chiara." Chiara presses her face into Luca's chest. Her dress is in ribbons. There are dark red marks all up her neck. "Don't — don't blame her, Daddy," she whispers, just loud enough for the front rows to hear. "Maybe Nico just couldn't help himself. I'm not a real Marchetti. I shouldn't have stolen her place — " "Couldn't help himself?" Luca's whole face is red. He's stroking her hair like she's a sick dog. "He's a fucking animal. By the time I'm done, he won't be helping himself to anything ever again." He turns to me. The man I was about to marry. "Marchetti. You heard her. She's still defending him. Still trying to protect *you*." "A girl raised by a rapist doesn't walk into a Romano house. I'm giving you three minutes. Get him here. If he runs, *you* go down for it. You'll do Chiara's time." The whispering in the pews is acid. "Real daughter, my ass." "Letting her own family rape her sister-in-law. Disgusting." "Luca's right. Put the dog down." I pull out my phone. I look right at Chiara. She's still curled into Luca's chest. The smallest smile twitches at the corner of her mouth when she thinks no one's looking. "Chiara." My voice carries. "You're sure it was my godfather who raped you." "It was him." She looks up, eyes wet, blazing. "I'll see him in hell. I'll see him *dead.*" "Good." I turn to Luca. "And you said you want him cut. All three legs." "Every fucking one," he hisses. "Good." I dial. I hit speaker. "Since you're all in such a rush to meet the devil — let's introduce you." One ring. Two. The line picks up, and the roar of a heavy bike engine blasts through the speaker and ricochets off the stained glass. I speak softly. Politely. Like I'm ordering room service. "Godfather. Come down to the church." "Somebody here says they want to take your dick off." ---
There's a soft laugh on the other end. Dry. Amused. Almost bored. "Yeah? Tell him to sharpen the knife first." *Click.* The dial tone is louder than it has any right to be. Five hundred people listen to it together. Luca freezes. Then he picks up a champagne flute and smashes it against the altar. "You put it on speaker on *purpose,*" he says. "You tipped him off." "Luca — " Chiara curls smaller against him, shaking. "He took pictures. Of me. With his phone. If those get out — " "Hey. Hey." Luca cups her face like she's about to break. He turns to his crew, eyes black. "Lock down every exit in this city. I want Sokolov dragged in here by his hair. I'm doing the cutting personally." I watch the man I was supposed to spend my life with rock his dead brother's wife in his arms, and something inside me freezes solid. Three months ago, Luca's brother Marco died on the Long Island Expressway. Brake failure, they said. Three months ago, Luca was the boy who sat by my hospital bed the night I got food poisoning and held my hand and swore on his mother's grave he'd never let anyone hurt me. Now he's *Chiara's* good little brother-in-law. Available twenty-four hours a day. "Get over here." My father grabs me by the hair and forces me down. "You apologize to your sister. On your knees. *Now.*" My knees crack against the marble. I feel skin split. "If Chiara forgives you, I'll only send Sokolov to the joint. I won't disown you." "I didn't do anything wrong." I lift my head. Look him in the eye. "I'm not kneeling." Six months ago they drove four hours upstate to bring me home. Their *real* daughter. Their heart. Six months later, one tear from Chiara and I'm a stray dog they regret feeding. "Still talking back?" My father raises his hand again. "Fine. The Romanos can kill you tonight for all I care. The Marchettis won't lift a finger." "Daddy, please don't — " Chiara is sobbing. Her eyes glitter. "It's my fault. I have the wrong face. My sister grew up rough, she can't help the people she ran with — " "Chiara. You're a saint." Luca raises his head. Every livestream phone in the front row points at him. "But animals get put down." He turns to the cameras. There must be twenty of them. Society pages. Mob gossip blogs. Some asshole's TikTok. "Romano family. One million for Sokolov's right hand." "The Marchettis match it!" my father shouts. "Two million!" The whole church explodes. Flashbulbs everywhere. They're going to chase him down like a deer. I push myself off the floor. My knee screams. I grab the mic out of the priest's hand. "You're so sure my godfather did this." My voice goes everywhere — the speakers, the streams, every screen in the city. "Want to put your money where your mouth is?" "A sit-down. Right here. Right now." My voice cracks but I don't slow down. "If my godfather raped Chiara — I drag him in myself. I sign over my inheritance. I walk into the precinct tonight and take the charge. I do the time." My parents go still. "But if he's clean — " "Every Romano share. Every Marchetti asset. Mine." "You — apologize. On a livestream. To him." "And Luca." I turn. He's gone white. "You wanted his three legs. If you lose? You give up yours." "Are you out of your fucking mind?!" my father howls. "You'd bet the *family* on a rapist?" "Why are you scared?" I push the mic into the closest camera. "You said the evidence is rock solid. Unless this whole thing is a setup my sister cooked up?" Chiara rips her dress further down her shoulder. Bruises. Bite marks. She's screaming. "Take the bet! *Take it!* He raped me, it's true, I'm not letting that go! I want her to lose everything! I want him in the ground!" "Done." Luca slams his fist on the altar. "Get paper. Get a notary. Marchetti, when he gets here, I cut him myself, and then you crawl to Chiara on your hands and knees the rest of your life." Four minutes later there's a contract on the red carpet. Cameras everywhere. Bloody thumbprints, both sides, because in our world ink isn't enough. The doors of the church kick open with a sound like a gunshot. ---
My godfather walks in. The helmet comes off. Pink-violet hair, short and wild, catches the chandelier light. Black diamonds in both ears. A leather jacket that fits like sin. The whole church chokes on its own breath. The livestream chat freezes for a full second. Then it loses its mind. "holy shit this is the rapist?? sign me up" "That jawline. That chest. I'd let him." "Wake up sheeple a hot rapist is still a rapist" My godfather doesn't look at any of them. Just walks straight to me. Lazy. Easy. Like the room isn't full of people screaming for blood. "Which one of these dogs," — a slow look across the pews — "wants to take my dick off?" Chiara's pupils blow wide. The blood drains out of her face like somebody pulled a plug. Her finger comes up shaking. "Him! *Him!* He's the one, Luca — he tore my clothes off, he held me down, he said a fake Marchetti deserved to get passed around like a party favor — " The crowd goes nuclear. "Showing his face after what he did?" "Animal!" "Somebody do the world a favor!" My godfather flicks a glance at Luca. Then looks down at me. The hardness drops out of those eyes for a half-second when they land on my mouth. On the blood there. "So this is the fiancé." Soft. Almost gentle. "He's even uglier in person." A thumb skims the corner of my lip. Wipes the blood off. The whole room sees it. The streams see it. I don't move. Luca *roars.* "Sokolov, you filth! You wear a man's face but you're not human — Boys! On him! I don't care if he leaves in pieces!" A dozen of Luca's soldiers move in. Bats. Brass. One pipe. "Easy." I step in front of my godfather. "Luca. Even a court lets the accused open his mouth." "You in a hurry to convict? Or are you scared of what'll come out?" "You — " Luca doesn't get the rest out. Chiara shoves him off her and *runs.* Straight for the balcony stairs. Heels stabbing the marble. "Then I'll prove it the only way left!" she screams down at us. "If none of you will believe me, I'll *make* you believe me!" She vaults the rail. "CHIARA!" "NO — !" She drops. The sound her body makes when it hits the marble is wet and final. Her left leg bends the wrong way. Blood spreads under her like a halo. The flashbulbs stop for one whole heartbeat. Then the church *detonates.* "She killed herself! She killed herself because no one believed her!" "Sokolov is dead. He's dead tonight." "Beat him to death, somebody beat him to death!" Luca crashes down the stairs and scoops her up. She's chalk-white. Her lips are blue. But her eyes — her eyes are still tracking. Still locked on my godfather. "Now." A whisper that carries somehow. "Do you believe me. Nico Sokolov raped me. He *raped* me." "I want him bleeding out, Luca. I want him in a fucking *box.*" Luca is crying. Crying. My mother is on me. Another slap. My head whips sideways. "You demon — I gave birth to a *demon* — " My father aims a boot at my stomach. My godfather hooks an arm around my waist and pulls me back. Light. Easy. My father's foot finds air; he goes down on his ass on the marble. "This is — this is mutiny," he babbles. "She raised her hand against me. Mutiny — " The cameras eat it up. "That's the real daughter? Cold as ice." "The fake one had to break her own leg to be believed and the real one's still defending the rapist." And in the middle of it, broken on the floor, bleeding from a leg she just snapped on purpose — Chiara catches my eye. And smiles. A small, sharp, very private smile. That's when I understand. She just bought herself a victim's badge with one leg. She is going to die before she lets me take it off her. ---
Watch? https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260619eXF9c6Mjx5 ? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "Novelix" app ? search for "ni220604", and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix