Benedict

Veronica was forced to marry a man much older than her. She didn't choose him. She didn't know him. She'd heard nothing of him except the name that hung over her like a threat: Benedict.

Every time Veronica asked about him, the answers were always the same. Silence. Awkward glances. Closed doors.

No one dared speak of Benedict. On her wedding day, Veronica stood before the mirror, dressed in white. The reflection returned an image she didn't recognize. Her hands trembled slightly as she clutched the fabric of her dress.

Her father stood behind her.

"I don't know him..." Veronica whispered, her voice full of suppressed anger. "No one tells me anything. I only know his name. Benedict. That damned mafioso."

Father immediately frowned.

"Don't you dare talk about your future husband like that," he said sternly. "You'll marry him whether you want to or not."

Veronica turned her head, her eyes shining.

"What if I refuse? What if I don't go to this altar?"

The man was silent for a few seconds. Then he spoke in a lower, darker tone.

"If you don't go, Benedict will take matters into his own hands. Believe me, daughter," he continued, avoiding her eyes, "you don't want to provoke a man like Benedict. He's not kind when he's disobeyed... and he doesn't forgive disobedience."