My Childhood Sweetheart Gave My Wedding Dress to Mistress, Now I'm the Don's Wife

"That's right. I'm giving all of Serafina's inheritance to you. The jewelry, the heirlooms, everything. She owes you that much."

I watched the three of them standing close together and swallowed every grievance, every word I'd been about to say.

Speaking or staying silent made no difference now. No one would listen. No one would believe me.

I forced myself to my feet through the pain.

My disheveled, soaking state drew open stares from the soldiers and household staff lining the courtyard walls. Men who had once bowed their heads when I passed now watched me the way they'd watch a stray dog that had wandered onto the compound grounds.

Enzo noticed the hostile looks and pulled off his overcoat, starting toward me.

He'd barely taken a few steps when Gianna let out a soft sigh behind him.

He turned back at once and draped the coat over her shoulders instead.

"You're delicate, Gianna. Watch you don't catch cold."

"Right. Someone go pour her a drink. Something warm. Don't let Gianna be frightened by all this filth."

Two men who once treasured me like I was the most precious thing in the world now called me filth.

And at their cue, every person in the compound shrank from me as though I carried a plague.

I laughed bitterly, alone, and went back to my room to change out of my drenched clothes.

A long time passed before Enzo walked in carrying a glass of brandy, already gone cold.

"Serafina, I know we've been promised to each other since we were children. But with a temperament like yours, you're not fit to be the wife of a Castellani."

"Out of respect for what we once had, I can keep you by my side. But you'll have to learn to show Gianna proper respect."

I looked at him.

And all at once, the vow he'd made — one life, one love, only each other — struck me as the cruelest joke.

A subordinate marriage was a leash dressed in silk. The woman who entered one was property, to be traded or discarded at will.

I was the trueborn daughter of Don Valente. Old blood. Sicilian blood.

I had been willing to become Dominic Ravenna's the contract bride to keep the Valente family safe, to repay the family that raised me.

But Enzo Castellani was nothing more than my father's ally. Be his kept woman? On what grounds?

On the grounds of a childhood sweetheart love that had already turned to ash?

I swallowed the humiliation burning in my chest and pointed at the door. Told him to get out.

Enzo didn't move. But Gianna came strolling in with a smile on her face.

"Are you still angry, Sister? The boys only lashed out because they were standing up for me. We're all family. Why hold such a petty grudge?"

"Here, let me help you with this. Wouldn't want you catching cold."

Then she reached for my spoon without warning.

I pulled back, and a few drops of ginger broth splashed onto her hand.

Instantly her eyes went red and glassy, fixed on me. Her left hand drifted to her collarbone, fingers splayed like a woman catching her breath from the shock of it.

"Sister, do you really hate me that much? I know I'm just the daughter of a low-ranking associate. Too lowborn to deserve being part of the Valente family."

"But I'm leaving soon. I won't affect your place in our brothers' hearts. So why do you have to be this cruel?"

"Serafina, when is enough enough? Gianna's suffered plenty already. Why won't you just leave her alone?"

Enzo shoved me away.

I stumbled, lost my footing, and fell hard. My hand drove deep into the shattered porcelain on the floor.

He didn't even glance at me.

He and Marcello helped Gianna out of the room to treat a burn that didn't exist.

I pressed my bleeding hand against myself, blood dripping steadily between my fingers.

When I looked up, my mother was standing a few paces away, her face dark as a storm. She was turning the wedding band on her left hand, slow and continuous, the way she always did before she passed judgment.

Every injustice I'd swallowed finally broke loose. I blinked back tears and cried out: "Mother…"

"Silence! I have no daughter like you!"

She snapped at the maid who'd rushed to help me up, stopping her in her tracks.

Then she walked toward me, eyes cold as ice, and flung the espresso in her hand straight into my face.

"Gianna is alone in this world with no one to rely on, and this is how you treat her? If word gets out, what will the other families say about us? Is this how you repay everything I've done to raise you?"

Blood from my palm kept dripping onto the floor.

And with it drained the last trace of attachment I had to this family.

I lowered my gaze to the roses crushed underfoot on the ground.

My father had planted them for me. A rare climbing variety he'd had shipped from Sicily, blooming through every season without fail.