Scarlet Rebellion
Sofia
Today was my wedding day and I was waiting for the organ music to signal my entry into the chapel.
Gothic arches loomed over the pews, casting long shadows across polished marble floors. The altar was draped in white lilies and crimson rose, symbols of purity and sacrifice.
Dozens of candles flickered against stained glass windows reflecting on the pictures of saints with mournful eyes.
It was all so perfectly, painfully Catholic.
And yet, I had never felt less holy.
I stood at the back of the church, my heartbeat thrumming loud against my ribs as I heard the first note of the bride match song. The moment had arrived, and I was not dressed in white, like a conventional Catholic bride.
I wore red.
Crimson silk hugged my curves with scandalous precision. The neckline was modest and I wasn’t foolish enough to risk further ire from my mother. But I hoped the color screamed out loud the message that I wanted to pass across to everyone present in this faux of a wedding.
I would not be taken down easily.
My hair was swept into a classic chignon, pinned with delicate blood-red rubies. No veil. No gloves. Just the fire of a woman who refused to be extinguished by the cold hands of arranged marriage.
Gasps echoed through the chapel as the doors creaked open and the guests saw me.
Holding my breath, I took my first step.
One foot in front of the other, slow and deliberate, the red hem whispering over the marble floor like a defiant kiss. Mama’s face was frozen in horror, her cheeks drained of color. Shock had everyone rooted to their seats, they could only watch in amazement and horror as I made my way down the aisle.
My cousins and aunts murmured behind manicured hands.
“Oh my gosh, what is she wearing?”
“Rosa is traumatised. Look at how pale she has gotten.”
“I bet her father is turning over in his grave.”
But I paid them no mind.
Mafia Dons from Naples, Sicily, and New York sat rigid in the pew, dangerous men who valued tradition as much as blood.
My brothers were no different. Leo had a smirk on his face, like he knew I had been plotting something all along, while on the other hand, Ric had a puzzled expression on his face like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. This was the first time that I had seen Ric this confused.
I chanced a quick glance at Luca's face. He has a stoic expression on his face, I had refused to let him walk me down the aisle this morning. And now he finally understood why I had put up a fight, I didn't want anyone to catch on to my little plan of rebellion. Mama had begged him to concede to my request to make me happy.
I knew he was mad, pissed at my display of stubbornness.
I passed the first pew which was occupied by members of my immediate family, Mama's hand flew to her chest like she was having chest pains. She looked away like she couldn't bear to look at me.
Some of the other ladies had judging looks on their faces, showing their distaste and clearly not a fan of my rebellious act.
But I didn’t look at them.
My eyes found Marco. He watched me approach with an unreadable expression on his face, giving no hint of what was going on in his head.
He stood at the altar with his best man, his brother Giovanni at his side. They were both dressed in a custom black suit, crisp white shirt, black tie.
As I settled in my position beside him, Lucia helped me arrange my gown. I knew she had a proud sister moment because she was my accomplice in this crime. She was the only one who had been aware of my plan and had helped me in securing the red dress that had taken my fancy during the dress fitting.
The priest cleared his throat, visibly rattled. “Let us begin,” he said, though his eyes flicked to the guests, as if silently apologizing for what he was about to officiate.
Marco nodded at me, whether to affirm or confirm if I was okay, I don't know but I didn't smile.
I could only lift my chin to show that I wasn't scared.
Let him see that I was not some meek bride.
Let them all see.
The ceremony began.
In Latin, of course. Because nothing says mafia royalty like ancient rituals and dead languages.
The air was thick with tension. From behind, I could feel eyes digging into my back like knives. I could practically hear whispers from some of the guests that had recovered from the shock.
“Do you, Marco De Santis, take Sofia Bianchi to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.” His voice cut clean through the room, dark and deliberate. No hesitation. No sentiment.
“And do you, Sofia Bianchi, take Marco De Santis to buy your lawfully wedded husband?”
My lungs tried to push in air desperately.
The silence stretched for a fraction too long. People were growing restless at it.
Marco stood still, hands behind
“I do,” I said finally, the words tasting like ash on my tongue.
The priest let out a sigh of relief, perhaps he had been expecting me to say no.
He motioned for the rings. Marco’s brother, Giovanni, stepped forward, his expression severe. He handed Marco the ring, his eyes flicking to me and back again.
I guess Giovanni was not a fan of my dress.
“Here you go.” He whispered to Marco.
When Marco slid the ring onto Sofia’s finger, his thumb lingered.
Not possessive.
Testing.
I tried to make sure my hand didn’t tremble.
When it was my turn, I slipped the band onto his finger while the priest blessed our matrimony.
The priest proclaimed the words that I have been dreading.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Marco hesitated before grabbing my chin.
We stared at each other before he swiftly planted a chaste kiss on my lips. It was over too soon.
But I couldn't meet his gaze.
And in that moment, something passed between them.
The ceremony ended. The crowd clapped. Some out of politeness. Some out of relief.
I stood beside my new husband, staring at my hands now uncertain about my future.
Instead, I turned to the chapel and scanned the faces of the guests.
As we stepped out into the courtyard, camera shutters clicked. Journalists kept at a respectable distance, behind velvet ropes and armed security. Rumors would swirl within hours.
The mafia world would feast on this for months.
The Virgin Bianchi bride in red? Now married to Marco
De Santis and known as Sofia De Santis.
What would my future hold as Mrs De Santis?