A FAKE BRIDE FOR THE MAFIA DON

~~~RAINA.

“Your sister is gone!”

The sound hits me before the words even register in my head.

I freeze. One of my eyes lined, and the other bare, the makeup brush hovering midair. My reflection in the mirror looks so ridiculous. Half bridesmaid, and half startled ghost.

“Breathe, Mum. What are you saying?” I turn on the swivel chair, my heart thudding.

She is standing at the doorway, clutching the frame like she needs it to stay upright. Her chest heaves beneath her expensive silk gown, the one she had swore was too much but wore anyway because it’s her daughter’s big day.

Except now, she looks nothing like herself.

Her lipstick is smudged and her hair has come undone.

And right now, there is something in her eyes that I have never seen before.

Fear. Raw fear.

My stomach twists as I stand, crossing the space between us. “Mum?”

“She is gone,” she whispers again, like saying it softer will make it untrue. “Talia is gone.”

I shake my head, the room tilting. “No, no. What do you mean gone? I just left her an hour ago. She was in her room and her makeup artist was about to start!” My voice cracks.

But my Mum is already moving around the room, trembling, her perfume heavy in the air. “She is not there anymore. Her phone, her purse… everything is gone.”

Silence slams down between us, and God it was thick and suffocating.

From downstairs, I hear noises through the open windows, the wedding planner barking orders, the decorators shouting, and the faint hum of cars honking outside. The hall we rented is barely five minutes away, and the convoy is supposed to leave any moment now.

It is Talia’s wedding today.

The flowers are here, the guests are waiting, and of course, the groom is waiting too.

So, there is no way… No fucking way she is missing.

“She must be in the garden,” I mutter, forcing a shaky laugh that sounds nothing like me. “You know how much she loves spending her time there.”

I brush past my mother before she can stop me, my robe fluttering around my legs as I hurry down the corridor. The sound of my heartbeat drowns out the click of my slippers on the floor.

Talia has to be there, she has to.

Maybe she is just nervous. Maybe she needed a minute alone before walking down the aisle.

I mean, it is supposed to be her wedding, and I for sure would have been nervous as hell if it were me.

But the moment I step into the garden, my stomach turns rather aggressively.

The swing she always sits on sways gently and empty.

The breeze carries only the faint scent of her perfume fading, and almost gone.

“Talia?” My voice cracks and I glance around, half-expecting her to pop out from behind the rose arch, laughing at her own stupid joke.

But there was silence.

Then something catches my eye. A folded sheet of paper lying on the swing and my stomach turns as I rush forward, snatching it up before the wind can take it away.

Her neat, slanted and familiar handwriting was on the paper.

She left a message.

My fingers tremble as I unfold it.

“God, I’m sorry. I can’t do this. Forgive me,” read the short message.

For a second, the words blur and then the tears come hot, uninvited, and blinding.

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No, no, no…”

We talked last night.

We talked for hours about her dress, about the flowers, and about how nervous she was but how she would still show up because she was happy. She said she was happy.

But, was she, truly?

I mean, no happy bride would abscond her own wedding, right?!

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and turn, already moving. I crumple the paper in my fist as I hurry back inside, past the servants whispering, past the open doors and the faint sound of church bells in the distance.

Maybe she is back in her room. Maybe she changed her mind. Maybe she came back.

But the moment I step into her room, the air shifts.

My father is there standing rigid beside my mother, who now looks like she has aged ten years in ten minutes. Her mascara has streaked down her cheeks, and he is gripping her by the shoulders, trying to keep her steady.

“He is going to kill us, God!” my mother cries, her voice breaking as she grips her husband’s arm like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

“Ki…? Who?” I stammer, blinking at them.

She looks at me, wild-eyed. “Him. Your sister’s fiancé.”

“Excuse me?” I let out a bitter scoff. “My sister is missing, and all you’re worried about is him?”

“You don’t understand, Raina!” my father snaps, his voice low and sharp. “You think this is just about embarrassment? About reputation? That man doesn’t forgive and he doesn’t forget. If he finds out we deceived him. No, if he realizes Talia ran, he will destroy us.”

I stare at him, my breath uneven. “Destroy us? He is not a goddamn warlord, Dad. He’s… he’s just…”

My father’s look cuts me off cold, his silence saying it all.

“Oh, my God…” The room spins. “You don’t seriously buy that?”

He runs a hand through his greying hair and mutters something under his breath. “The wedding starts in less than an hour. His men are already at the hall.”

My mother begins to sob harder, whispering prayers under her breath. “He will kill us. He’ll kill all of us.”

I clutch the note tighter in my hand, the paper crinkling. “So what? What do you expect me to do? Go find her? Because I—”

My father’s eyes lift to mine, and for a moment, I see it.

That look.

That calculating, desperate gleam I have never noticed before.

And for the first time, I see through my father.

“You look like her,” he says quietly.

“What?” My brows snap together. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He takes a slow step forward, his gaze unwavering. “You and your sister. You share the same build, the same face. Hell, even the same voice if you try. You could walk down that aisle, Raina, and no one would know the difference.”

For a moment, I just stare at him because my brain refuses to process the words as if they are in a foreign language.

Then it hits me.

The meaning. The madness.

Oh, no way.

“Raina…” my mother’s voice trails off as her gaze darts around the room, wild and frantic.

Before I can ask what she is doing, she moves faster than I’ve ever seen her move in her life. For someone who looked moments away from collapsing, she runs across the room with incredible purpose.

I turn around confused, and then, she whirls back toward me.

And that’s when I see it.

The dress.

Her dress.

The one Talia was supposed to wear today. The ivory satin catches the light, blindingly pure against the chaos around us. 

Pressing it sharply to my chest until the corset bones dig into my palms, my mother whispers through a tremor, “You will take her place, Raina. You will marry him.”

“Mum!” My voice comes out louder than I intend. “Do you hear yourself? That is insane! You want me to marry him… A man who thinks I’m my sister?”

“Raina, you don’t understand what is at stake. He will destroy us if he finds out she’s gone. You’re the only one who can fix this,” she said, shaking me so hard.

“Fix this?” I laugh, sharply and frantically. “By pretending to be my twin sister at her own wedding? What happens when he finds out? What happens when he realizes I am not her?”

“Then pray he never does,” my father says flatly. His tone leaves no space for argument, no trace of softness. 

Just cold, and brutal finality.