His Merit, Her New Beginning

The day we were meant to announce our engagement, my father, the Don, sent Gabriel Falcone on a mission.

He swore he'd marry me if he returned.

For three years, I refused every alliance and waited.

He returned a hero. Scarred. Broken.

He knelt before my father for another woman.

She was pregnant with his child.

So I chose my own husband.

On my wedding day, Gabriel put a gun to my fiancé’s head.

"If you dare marry him, I'll kill him."

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1

My father has seven Capos, his most trusted men, and Gabriel Falcone is his sharpest blade.

He might be my step-brother in name, but he’s the man who’s been carved into my soul since we were children.

My father said that if he had known about us, he would never have sent Gabriel to Chicago.

Among that pack of wolves, Gabriel was a different beast altogether, his skills forged in purgatory.

If he couldn't make it back, sending anyone else would have been a suicide mission.

But now, three years had passed.

“Principessa! It’s Gabriel! Mr. Falcone is back!”

My eyes flew open, and I ran outside barefoot.

But the family's Consigliere stopped me. “Principessa…”

Seeing his hesitation, I knew something was wrong.

“I know.”

Grabbing an umbrella, I stepped out into the rain.

I hurried through the downpour, the hem of my skirt splattering with mud.

The entire foyer was lined with our family's Soldati.

Several Capos stood under the veranda, their expressions a strange mix of joy and resentment as they watched Gabriel.

I couldn't understand the resentment.

“Father.”

Every head turned toward me. The iron in my father's gaze softened the moment he saw me.

“What’s wrong? Why is he kneeling?”

Gabriel glanced at me once, his eyes cold, as if I were a stranger.

He pressed his forehead to the floor. “Don, she and the child are innocent. I won't let them live in shame.”

“I beg you, Don, and the Principessa, to grant us your blessing.”

He pressed his forehead to the stone once more.

In a daze, the pieces began to click into place.

A girl, about my age, crept in from outside.

Beneath her thin white dress, her belly was swollen with child.

She knelt before my father, her voice choked with sobs.

My father toyed with the prayer beads in his hand, saying nothing.

Gabriel clearly hadn't expected this to be so difficult.

After all, our relationship had never been public. No one knew.

But he’d forgotten one thing.

If I hadn't confessed to my father, I would have been married off years ago, a pawn in some new alliance; I certainly wouldn't have been free to wait for him for three years.

Every eye in the room was on me, filled with pity.

I might look refined, but I have a temper that could burn this estate to ashes.

The Consigliere approached, about to offer a comforting word.

I raised a hand, stopping him.

My gaze never left him.

Three years. He looked weathered, harder.

A jagged scar cut across his brow. He had a limp and a missing finger.

He had spent the last three years in hell.

“Gabriel is a hero to the Moretti family. How can we let a hero kneel?”

My father waved his hand, and someone helped him and the woman up.

“Father,” I said, my voice clear. “The third of next month is a good day for a wedding, isn't it? Let them be married then.”

My father, a man who never showed weakness, seemed to choke on his words.

The Capos all lowered their heads in silence.

Only the two of them embraced and wept.

Because the third of next month was originally the date my father had chosen for him and me.

My father had set three dates for us.

This was the last one.

He'd said he was sure to make one of them, that he'd find me waiting when he returned.

I had waited for him.

I had waited for the proposal.

But I wasn't the bride.

Meeting their tear-filled, emotional gazes, my voice cut through the silence like a whip. “Are you all deaf? Greet her!”

The courtyard full of Soldati bowed their heads as one. “Mr. Falcone… Mrs. Falcone.”