The Devil’s Bride

Betrayed Blood

There was something coming through the walls of a ruined household. One by one servants had been relieved. Elena Rossi saw it all—she was ever seeing.

Being twenty-four, she had that grace of a daughter of legacy. Her family name had been a burden on her shoulders all her life but of late, she bore nothing on her than the paralyzing awareness from the fact that something was not right.

This night the truth was nearer.

Elena stood in the entrance waiting to get into the room where her father spent his time, and her hand was touching the cold wall with the heavy wooden door. She shouldn’t have been there. Vittorio Rossi despised her to be present in business. She was too soft, too naive, too of a liability to family business, said Marco, her elder brother. But the tone of the men inside wasn’t business as usual.

Their phrases slips beneath the door like smoke.

“Months you had, Vittorio,” said a body voice. “Months. And still you have come bare-handed.

Elena froze. She knew the tone of her father as he responded—not the proud imperative of an Rossi patriarch, but almost of a plea.

“Please, Enzo. The market… the shares… I just need time—”

“Time doesn’t pay debts.” There was another voice which stopped him, lower, more savage. “What did we agree on? Every man pays his dues. You gambled with us. You lost. Now you pay.”

Elena’s brows furrowed. Debts? Gambling? She had overheard Marco brag of poker-nights, and of bargains closed with whiskey and cigars, but she believed it was harmless bragging. Nothing could move the house that her forefathers set up.

Then Marco’s voice rose. Compos, self-possess, over polished.

“We can’t give you the cash. But we have something better. Something worth more.”

Elena’s pulse spiked. She leaned near to the door. Her brown hair, which was the shade of chestnut, curtained her paler face and her green eyes were as sharp as brilliant glass.

Her father’s voice cracked. “Marco—”

“Blood, Papà, you said yourself, buys blood. Flesh pays what coins can’t. The girl—”

The girl.

Elena’s stomach knotted. One hand over her mouth she floundered back.

No. Vittorio said in a feeble, almost practised way. “She’s my daughter.”

“She’s our answer.” The words Marco used were harsh as glass. “Would you rather die with no money? Would you have them cut open your throat, before your men? Since that is what follows. Let me handle it. She will bring a price with which no one of us can measure.”

There was a beat of silence in the room that was oppressive. Elena clung to the wall, nails biting into the plaster.

Enzo’s laughter broke it. Harsh. Satisfied. “Smart boy. Finally speaking sense.”

The scrape of a chair. The clink of a glass...

Elena clumsily made her way back down the corridor heart racing, each breath coarse. Flesh. Blood. Payment.

She was the payment.

The masquerade of normalcy was dinner that night. The table was covered with silver platters. Her father sat at the head and wine was shimmering in his hand and Marco was lying beside him as though nothing was said in the study.

Elena had to force herself to eat, but every bite lodged there in her throat. She examined their faces, the father who had been reading her fairy-tales in bed and the brother who would run off bullies in school. Strangers they became.

“Why so quiet”, smirked Marco, “Don’t say you have another suitor that broke thy heart.”

Her fork shook. She gritted her teeth in order not to spit venom on the table.

Her father wouldn’t meet her eyes. That told her everything.

After dinner the house got colder. Elena was sitting at the vanity, brushing her hair in a mechanical movement and looking at herself in a mirror, she saw a face that she hardly recognized.

There was a gentle knock at the door, and she leaped.

Chi...é ? She said, in a strained voice.

“It’s me,” Marco answered.

She opened the door but a c***k. With his long and imposing presence that masked a smile, his smile was practised and empty.

“Pack a bag,” he said.

Her blood iced. “Why?”

“We’re visiting friends.” His tone was false. “Important men. Wear something pretty. You’ll represent the family.”

Elena gripped the doorframe. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His smile vanished. “Don’t be stupid. This isn’t a request.”

Her chest tightened. “Marco, I heard you.”

His eyes narrowed. A flicker of surprise—then annoyance. Then you know, you had better not fight it.

“You would sell me?” Her voice broke. “Your sister?”

He bent near, and the breath of wine was hot. “You are born in this family. Sacrifice is everything we are. Be useful for once.”

The sentences blade deeper than a knife.

As he took a stride away, Elena scrunched down against the wall, her knees hugged to her. And she was aware of the reality, she did not have a family, the first time.

That night, she couldn’t sleep. She sat beside the window, her mind was dashing along. Every sound outside set her on edge.

She recalled her childhood- how she used to run through the vineyards with Marco and how she used to laugh as her father put her on his shoulders. Were those memories lies, too?

Anger tore at her breast, even warmer than the fear.

They thought she was fragile. But Elena Rossi could not c***k like a glass. She would not forget this night, every face, every betrayal and would one day make them regret ever believing that she is weak.

It was a vow to herself as she said it into the night. “You will pay. All of you.”

Her hand shook as she reached the glass of the window. More than that, black cars were driven into the driveway without noise. Car doors opened, men in suits went forth.

The rap came now at her door more fiercely. Low, tired, was the voice of her father, which called her, Elena. “It’s time.”

Her pulse thudded in her ears.

Time for what?

Before she could stir the door opened. Two black clad men entered, half-masked. One reached for her arm.

Elena jerked back. “Don’t touch me!”

The figure of her father was looming at the doorway. His eyes and his lips were drawn up in a grim line. He was the image of a buried man.

“Please, Elena,” he whispered. “Do this… for the family.”

The betrayal broke her heart that remained.

The men grabbed her by the arms, and hauled her out of the room. Her shrieks reverberated along the corridors, her feet flattened as she kicked, and struggled with all the strength which she could bring. Rossi’s portraits of the long-deceased looked down in reproach.

No one came to help her.

Her mother was long gone. The servants were dismissed. Ghosts only watched when Elena was swept down the great staircase like a sacrifice.

At the bottom was Marco smiling like the executioner he was.

“Be brave, sorellina,” he mocked. “It’s just business.”

She so hated that once loving name from his lips now.

The front doors opened. It took in cold night air. Black cars crept at the gates, Headlights.

Elena shook her head, her voice was sore, her tears were hot. “I will never forgive you!”

Marco’s smirk widened. “You won’t have to.”

They threw her into the rear of a vehicle. The leather was colder than her own skin, the doors were closing so like a coffin. Engines roared to life.

Elena saw the figure of her father through the coloured glass one more time. He didn’t wave. He didn’t look. He simply stood there with his shoulders bent, like the devil has taken possession of his soul.

Cars left, and the estate was dwindling behind her.

Elena put her forehead on the glass. She would have screamed till the world broke. Rather she swallowed the noise, and allowed the rage to burn like fire in her veins.

They believed they sold her.

But instead they had made the weapon which would destroy them.

The lights in the city shone on. In the shadow somewhere men were waiting to meet her, to bid, to have.

Elena Rossi shut her eyes, and had to breathe. She would survive this, endure and smile one day when the time to do so came and the blood of her betrayers would be streaming on her hands.

The car bumped as it shifted to a small road. The man beside her drew up his gun.

Elena Rossi, he said with a sadistic smile. “Pretty name. Pretty face. You will be worth your weight in gold to-night.

Her stomach turned to ice.

Tonight.

The car didn’t slow. Elena knew with a keen cutting fear—her nightmare was not coming.

It had already begun.

The car runs to the underground auction; Elena understands that she is a lost cause, not a daughter of the Rossi family anymore, but a good to be sold.