THE MAFIA’S MISTAKEN BRIDE

Xavier’s POV

Getting married to Andre or Jasmine is meant to strengthen my footing in the family business.

Relief was what I felt this morning at the registry but now, I feel the total opposite. Rage and anger is the best way to describe how I felt after she pulled that stunt and I couldn’t do anything.

The door opens and I watch her come in while I sit crossed leg on a sofa with a phone glued to my ears.

She is glancing around the room with curiosity and awe as though this isn’t the first time she is here. Instead of sitting down and trying to get out of her dress, she stands avoiding my gaze while I continue my call.

“Where are they now?” I ask the person on the other side. It is Antonio. He had to leave immediately after we left the registry.

“The men are taking a ship out of New York tonight. We have no idea where they are headed but I have my men on their trail. They will strike before the ship moves”, he informs me calmly and I nod in satisfaction.

Everything must be resolved tonight. I want Russell dead too so I can concentrate on other things.

“What about Russell?” I ask him, wondering where the hell he is.

“I’m watching him, boss. He won’t escape this time”, he mutters with confidence.

Even though I am curious about where he is hiding or where they are, I decide not to say anything else.

“I want no mistake. Kill every one of them”, I instruct with a tone of anger. Just then, Andre’s eye meets with mine.

Then I drop the phone.

I don’t know if it is just me or if I am actually seeing her eyes widened because of what I said. Why is she surprised that I am asking someone to kill a betrayal? This is how I have always been. I don’t spare who I don’t want to spare, especially traitors like Russell.

Besides, Andre knew who I was before she ran off. I guess that was another reason why she felt she couldn’t marry me. She hated what I do and this is something I can’t do without.

It’s my life.

I was born into this.

I am meant to be this leader.

I can’t fail my people. I can’t let traitors get away with their wrongdoings. That is unethical.

The expression on her face right now signifies that she had no idea the kind of person I am and at this instant, a strong feeling engulfs me.

A strong feeling of having mistaken a total stranger for Andre. Then guilt that I haven’t felt in years slipped in. The guilt of forcing her to marry me when there were doubts about who she really was.

I was blinded.

By my anger.

By the desire to take my revenge on Andre for running off and her father. I had a feeling one of her parents was involved.

I have eyes everywhere and I really can’t deal with the fact that this same girl has been toying with me for eleven months now. The moment we find her, she always slips away like a thief in the dead of the night. How she manages to know we have found her is what amazes me to this moment.Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

From my years of experience, I know she must have someone helping her. Probably a spy.

I swallow the huge lump of dread stuck in my throat, feeling angry at myself for this guilt and this horrible feeling stirring inside of me.

I don’t regret the things I do. I do things and forget about them. Why do I have to regret bringing this woman here? Why am I regretting marrying her? How do I handle this?

The plan for tonight is to deal with her for pulling that stunt at the party.

She clears her throat. I am thinking she is about to say something so I shift my gaze to her but instead, she looks away and remains quiet.

“Aren’t you going to get out of that dress?” My voice comes out loud and harsh.

The fact that the hair is contrasting with her black dress is beginning to bring back my anger. It irks me.

Why did she pull that stunt? To defy me? To annoy me? What the hell was that for? That fucking hair looked weird and I’m sure everyone must think the same.

She looked weird.

She nods vigorously and moves around, not knowing where exactly to go. Still sitting, I watch her stroll eagerly to the closet close to the bed. It looks like she is trembling and it makes me wonder why she is so scared of me.

How can a woman like this be confident about her actions this minute and be scared of me the next minute? I’m sure she regrets what she did earlier. She must have thought that I would scold her but I am really in no mood for that right now.

She opens the closet to find her clothes already packed and arranged there. Her shoulders lump in relief.

Her hand moves to the zip behind her back. She is about to pull it down when she stops and turns around slowly to see me still waiting intensely.

I don’t intend to take my eyes off her. She is my wife after all. Whether she is Andre or not, we are married.

She continues to watch me, probably to signal to me to take my eyes off her but I don’t take heed. I continue to stare at her back, waiting for the dress to come down.

There is another way to find out if this is Andre pretending to be someone else or someone else who was really mistaken like she has been claiming ever since we brought her to New York.

Suddenly, her hands leave the dress and she stalks towards me.

I look up to see the angry flush on her face and her jaws tightening.

She shuts her eyes, exhales deeply and flutters them open again to meet my intense gaze.

“Xavier”, she calls my name for the very first time, making me raise a brow.

The name rolls out of her mouth sweetly and I like it.

“Can I call you that?” she looks taken aback by my expression, probably. I am amused. The fact that she is scared this minute and fearless the next minute makes her more intriguing.

I do not answer her. I just continue to watch.

She seems to be trying so hard to control her anger with the way she puffs and exhales every minute. “I know we are married but I want you to know that this is wrong. Absolutely wrong. I know you don’t believe every word I say about not being that woman you are mistaking me for but can you at least give me some privacy? I need to take a bath and go to bed…”, she trails off, another flush flooding her expression which almost makes me laugh because I know what she is thinking.

Silence falls.

I don’t stir. I am only blinking as I keep watching her battle within herself on whether to go on with the outburst or stop talking.

“Can I ask a question?”

I do not say anything.

I don’t give room for questions and she is not an exception. Being my wife doesn’t make her an exception. Andre has always been a curious woman and I guess this is one of the qualities they share in common.

She loves to ask me questions. I gave her the privilege of asking me one time but she ruined it.

“Since it’s our wedding night, are we….”, she pauses, hesitation crossing her expression. She gulps, nods and asks again, barely in a whisper. “Are…are…we…going… to…”

“Sleep together?” I help out and her mouth drops agape. Comfortable with her restlessness, I ask. “Aren’t we married?”

She nods. “Yes, we are but…”

“But what?!” I growl and she jerks upright, startled at the volume of my voice.

I am tired of hearing the same thing over and over again. She keeps talking about not being Andre. I have heard so much about that already and I am tired of hearing that from her again.

It makes me feel guilty and I hate it.

I have my ways of knowing if she is really Andre or not and if she isn’t, I promise to nail down that girl wherever she may be hiding. Until then, we remain married.

She shakes her head, tears filling in them. “Never mind.”

With that said, she rushes back to the closet, closes it and throws herself onto the bed. I sit still, wanting to get up to take a bath before joining her in bed, my amusement gone when I hear a low whimper followed by a sob.

In frustration, I stand up and stalk towards the bathroom door, kick it open and enter.