On the Thirty-Third Try
Chapter 3
Lorenzo ghosted me for a month.
Guess Sofia had his full attention now.
His dead Facebook account? Suddenly blowing up with couple pics.
Opera nights, island getaways—everything he used to call "pointless."
The latest post? Him in a custom tux, Sofia in a wedding dress.
Caption: [Wanted to see the woman I love in a wedding gown.]
I laughed—cold and hollow.
Then I liked the post.
And shut off my phone.
The next day, Lorenzo called—sounded pissed.
"Chiara, bring your ID. Chapel. One hour."
Click.
Five years, and not once had he brought up the chapel.
I was ready to text back no—then I remembered.
Dad's signet ring was still with him.
I wasn't leaving without it.
I headed to the old Corsica chapel—same road I'd walked a million times.
For once, nothing went wrong.
Waited under the bullet-riddled columns for an hour before he showed.
Eyes sunken, reeking of smoke.
He only lit up when he was falling apart.
A whole month since we'd seen each other.
He froze when he saw me.
"What happened to you?"
Chemo had wrecked me. I was all bones and shadows.
He didn't have to say it. I knew I looked like hell.
When I didn't answer, his jaw clenched.
"This is the day we sign. You really wanna look like that in the photos?"
I kept my cool, held out my hand.
"I'm not here to vow anything. I came for my dad's signet ring."
His eyes went wide, like I was being dramatic for no reason.
Then he scoffed, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me inside.
"This is pathetic," he muttered. "Still playing hard to get? You think I'll cave just 'cause of some old family debt? Fine. You win. Let's do the ceremony now. We'll figure out the wedding date later."
The priest acted like it was just another day, already setting up the papers and ceremonial stuff.
"Please show your ID and sign the marriage form."
Lorenzo pulled out the Corsica signet ring. As he handed it over, his sleeve slipped—
Fresh ink on his wrist.
Sofia's initials, wrapped in a red rose.
The priest, totally clueless, smiled.
"How sweet! A tattoo! You two must be head over heels."
Lorenzo flinched, yanked his sleeve down.
He shot me a quick look—awkward, almost guilty.
I stayed stone-faced.
Then his tone turned sharp.
"What, forgot your ID again? Scared something might've stopped you this time too?"
I took a breath.
"I said—I'm not here to get married. Just give me the ring—"
His satellite phone blared.
He picked up.
A panicked voice shouted through the line:
"Don! It's bad! Ms. Camorra OD'd—sleeping pills. We don't think she'll make it. And... there's a note. She wrote that it was Ms. Mortoro who pushed her to it!"
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