His 500th Letter Came Too Late

It hurt knowing that Dante Everett, the heir to the Ricci Family, the man I gave ten years of my life to, had no intention of marrying me.

I stayed inside Ricci territory for a decade, clinging to his empty promises that I was the woman he'd chosen, that he loved me, that I'd be the lady of his house one day. But all those words meant nothing the moment she arrived.

Camilla Moretti.

She came clutching a letter from her father, begging Dante to shelter her for a time because the Moretti compound had been hit. She wasn't safe. From that day on, Dante's attention shifted entirely to her, as if I no longer existed.

After the family doctor finished with me, I called my parents. I never thought I would still be alive.

"Ma, I agree to marry the man you've chosen for me," I said.

I sighed heavily, the memory of two days ago clawing at my mind.

It had been the Feast of San Gennaro, a celebration Dante and I always shared. But now, with Camilla in the picture, I'd become nothing more than a shadow. I remembered the glass of wine he handed me that night, his expression stripped of the warmth it once held.

"Drink this, Serafina. Don't embarrass me in front of the old men on the Commission," he muttered, pressing the glass into my hands.

The moment I brought it to my nose, I smelled it. Berries. Nightshade. The sickly-sweet scent made my stomach turn.

"Dante, I—"

"Just drink it," he snapped, already turning back to Camilla, whose soft laughter scraped against my ears like a blade on stone.

Nightshade berries. He'd chosen a wine made from the one thing that could kill me, all because she liked it. And because I loved him so much, because I wanted to stand at his side even if it cost me my life, I drank it.

The wine burned my throat immediately. My lips began to swell, my chest tightening as my airways closed. I tried to breathe, but every gasp felt like swallowing glass.

The music played on, the old Sicilian strings and the low drag of an accordion, the music Camilla loved.

Through blurring vision, I stumbled toward Dante. I saw him standing with Camilla, her small arms wrapped around his. They laughed together, looking more like husband and wife than I ever had with him.

"Dante..." I managed to whisper.

He glanced at me briefly, then turned his attention back to her.

"No more wine, Camilla. You're already tipsy," he said gently, his voice full of concern. The way he looked at her was the way he used to look at me.

Pain sliced through me, sharper than the poison coursing through my body.

"Dante, I'm not feeling well," I choked out, the taste of blood pooling in my mouth. My hands clutched at my throat as I struggled to breathe. "Please, take me to the doctor. I—"

"Serafina, what—"

Dante took one step toward me. Then Camilla whimpered.

"My stomach hurts, Dante. It hurts so much," she cried.

His attention snapped to her instantly. Without hesitation, he scooped her into his arms as if she were made of glass.

"Camilla, what's wrong? Tell me," he murmured, his voice tender.

I watched helplessly as he cradled her, his eyes filled with worry. My vision blurred further as tears spilled down my face.

"Dante," I called out, my voice barely a rasp.

The room went quiet, every made man and capo's eyes on me. Dante turned, irritation flashing in his gaze.

"What do you want, Serafina?" he snapped. "Can't you see Camilla needs the doctor? Stop being so jealous. Stop pretending you're dying."

Jealous. Pretending.

The words hit me harder than any fist.

Blood dripped from my lips as my legs buckled beneath me. I swayed, barely able to stand. You would rather let me die than save me, Dante. You said you loved me. But I hate you. I hate you so much.

As the world around me faded to black. Will I die here?