After She Walked Away, The Mafia Boss Regretted It

I went upstairs to pack. There was no point in staying any longer—that much I knew for sure.

The room felt colder than usual, or maybe that was just me.

There wasn't much to pack. I folded my clothes mechanically, one piece after another, and laid them flat inside. The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric and my own shallow breathing.

When I reached the back of the closet, my fingers brushed against a small velvet box hidden behind a pile of old sweaters. I pulled it out and opened it.

Inside lay a silver bracelet with a single charm: a tiny, imperfect starfish. One of its arms was shorter than the others, and the edges were uneven, as if someone had filed them down by hand.

This was the bracelet that Cesare had given me when he confessed his feelings.

I could still remember him standing in my kitchen, sweating through his shirt, stuttering like a schoolboy who had forgotten how words worked.

He had shoved the box into my hands and mumbled, "Adriana, I don't have much money right now, but I want to give you the ocean."

His voice had cracked on the word "ocean."

His eyes were so earnest, so afraid that I might refuse.

"I promise you," he continued, his voice cracking slightly. "Soon. I'll take you to see the real thing."

My heart fluttered with joy. I could already picture it: the two of us, waves at our feet, the whole world ahead.

In that moment, nothing else mattered—not the cheap velvet box, not the imperfect little charm, not the fact that we had nothing. All I could see was him.

I touched the tarnished starfish, and the metal felt cool against my fingertips.

At the bottom of the drawer, beneath an old scarf and some crumpled receipts, I found a photograph.

It had faded a little around the edges. The picture showed the four of us at St. Patrick's Cathedral eight years ago.

Bianca and Enzo were laughing with their mouths wide open and their eyes crinkled into happy crescents. Cesare had his arm wrapped around my shoulders, and I was leaning into him.

We had been so young and so bright back then.

That day came back to me in fragments: the sunlight streaming through stained glass, splashing across our faces in colored shards of blue, red, and gold. The cold stone floor beneath our feet. The echo of our footsteps bouncing off the high ceilings.

Enzo had thrown his head back and declared, "This cathedral is so holy. This is where I'm getting married."

I had wrinkled my nose and shaken my head. The grandeur felt heavy to me—beautiful, yes, but suffocating.

"It's too dark in here," I had said. "If I ever get married, I want the ceremony to be by the ocean. Blue sky above, white clouds drifting by, and the sound of waves as the soundtrack."

I had spread my arms wide as if to embrace the sea breeze I could already imagine.

Cesare had pinched my cheek and laughed, his eyes warm and teasing. "Okay," he had said. "Deal. The four of us on an island, getting married together. Me and you, and Enzo and Bianca."

"Pinky swear!" I had stuck out my little finger.

"Pinky swear," he had replied, wrapping his own around mine.

We had made that promise together, the four of us, standing in that cathedral like it meant something eternal.

It was almost funny to think about now.

I had imagined the ocean so many times over the years—the salt spray, the endless horizon, the way the light would catch in his hair. But I had never actually gone to see it.

I had been stubborn about it. I wanted to see the sea for the first time with him, in my white dress, walking into the next chapter of our lives.

But now he had said that the island was crowded and nothing special.

His words hit me like a cold wave. All those years of waiting, of dreaming, of saving that perfect moment—and he had just brushed it off with some careless words.

I felt foolish. Had he even remembered our pinky swear? Or had that promise slowly faded from his mind while it stayed carved into mine?

The apartment door suddenly opened, cutting through my thoughts, and Cesare was back.

I wiped my eyes quickly and shoved the bracelet and the photo back into their hiding places. Then I went to the living room and sat down on the couch, flipping through the wedding dress catalog that I had left on the coffee table.

I flipped through the pages without really seeing them. The white gowns blurred together into one soft, shapeless cloud.

Cesare came in and kicked off his shoes with an easy expression on his face.

"I had a reason for giving Clara the travel voucher," he said, lowering himself into the armchair. "There was an ambush this afternoon—one of the rival families set up inside a church. She happened to be with me, and she nearly got killed. On top of that, her family is dealing with something right now. So I gave her the voucher. Consider it compensation."

His explanation was reasonable and flawless, so I nodded calmly. "I understand," I said.

Cesare's shoulders relaxed at my words. He seemed satisfied, then headed off to the bathroom. The moment the door closed behind him, a heavy silence filled the room.

A little while later, my phone buzzed on the coffee table. I glanced at the screen. The bridal shop.

"Is this Miss Vitale?" the shop assistant said. "The wedding dresses you liked have arrived in your size. When would you like to come in for a fitting?"

She paused for a moment. "Will the Don be joining you to look at suits?"