I Married the Don Instead of His Nephew

The old patriarch of the Falcone bloodline was convinced I was the one bringing good fortune to Marco.

Strangely enough, the Family seemed to take to me more with each passing day. They treated me as one of their own, as though my blood ran the same as theirs. Despite Marco's cold indifference, I honestly thought I was happy. That was until I found the photos.

One afternoon, my mother came into my room with word that changed everything.

"Lorenzo, Marco's younger uncle, is returning from Sicily in five days," she said, smoothing a wrinkle from her dress that wasn't there.

I froze, caught off guard.

Lorenzo had never taken a wife in my past life, and I certainly hadn't expected our blood-alliance pact to move so quickly.

I remembered Lorenzo only in fragments. One thing was clear, though. He had always been a good man, almost like an older brother to me. Binding myself to him now felt like it would bring me more peace than any other name the Families could have set against mine.

I wasn't sure why, but the thought of him felt… right.

The next morning, I was up early in my atelier, the legitimate front where Family money came in clean and my own work earned me what little standing a woman could claim. I'd been sketching my dream wedding dress since I studied couture, building the design line by line.

But every gown I'd drawn back then had to suit Marco's taste. He'd never let me use a single element I loved. Everything had to be for him.

But now?

Now, I was free.

Free to design the gown I loved, the one I'd actually want to wear, while binding myself to another man.

A few days later, I set the final stitch and decided to step away for a coffee.

That was when I saw Carla's post.

In the photo, she was wearing my wedding dress. But it wasn't the gown I had envisioned. The gown had been cut in half and butchered into a scrap of a skirt. Worse still, she was grinding against Marco, their bodies pressed close as they danced.

[Marco knew I needed something to wear, so he had this sent over just for me. Dio, I feel so spoiled.]

I could hardly believe my eyes. My heart pounded in my chest as anger shot through me. Without a second thought, I went straight toward the fifth-floor ballroom, furious and ready to come apart.

There they were. Carla and Marco, dancing like the world had vanished around them. Their bodies were pressed tight, swaying with an intensity that made it seem they were the only two souls left alive.

"This is my wedding dress!" I shouted, unable to keep my fury in check. "How dare you give it to her? And ruin it like this?"

Carla launched into her act at once, the helpless innocent. Her eyes flicked once to Marco, the only man in the room who could shield her, before the fake tears welled and her voice began to quiver.

"Marco, did I do something wrong? Why is she so angry?" she whimpered, all soft and fragile.

Marco, of course, stepped in front of her, blocking me from her like I was a threat to be answered. "Adriana, it's just a dress." His hand went up to smooth back his hair, and he laughed, a beat too quick. "Besides, you're still going to wear it for me at the wedding. So what's the problem? If it means that much to you, make another one."

My blood boiled. "Who says I'm wearing it for you?" I shot back, my voice colder than I meant it to be. "This is the dress I'm wearing for my wedding."

Marco scoffed and shook his head like I was some naive child. "Come on, Adriana, don't pretend. Your wedding is our wedding. I already agreed to take you. There's no need to keep up this act."

That was it. I was done.

I caught sight of the scissors on the nearby table, took them up, and walked straight toward Carla's dress. Without hesitation, I sliced the hem near her leg.

"Marco," I said, my voice cold and sharp, every word carrying its own weight, "since you're so sure of yourself, watch closely. I won't settle for anything dirty. And I won't keep the dress stained."

My thumb traced the bare inside of my ring finger, the ghost of a vow I would never repeat.

Marco froze, his eyes wide. In the past, no matter how I'd behaved, playful or bratty, he'd never seen me like this. Never seen me so serious, so set on it.

His instinct kicked in, and he reached for me, but before he could move, Carla's high voice cut through the tension.

"Marco, my leg. I think I'm bleeding. It really hurts, but don't worry about me. Go to her. This is all my fault…"

Marco hesitated, torn between me and her. His gaze moved from my retreating back to her, then back to me. After a long, suffocating pause, he sneered, contempt dripping from every word.

"Don't trouble yourself over her. An insecure woman like her needs to be taught her place. Maybe this will give her something to reflect on."

I couldn't answer. My body went numb, and my heart felt as if it had dropped into a void. I just stood there, watching as my wedding dress, the one I'd poured myself into, came apart in my hands. The delicate fabric unraveled, like everything else in my life.

I wiped my eyes quietly, trying to hold myself together, but the weight of all I'd lost hit me like a freight train. All that work, all that hope… ruined in an instant.