Ten Years for His Sicilian Lie

The night before the family gala, Dante Moretti pulled me into his penthouse apartment overlooking Manhattan.

He traced the family tattoo on my back. His touch was undeniably possessive, and my very soul trembled with a decade of unspoken longing.

I had loved Dante for ten years. In that moment, it seemed my silent prayers were finally about to be answered.

Then, as we were tangled in the silk sheets, he whispered promises of a future where I would be the queen of his empire.

He would make me the one and only Principessa of the Moretti family.

I believed him.

The next morning, I was curled against his firm chest as he chatted casually with my stepbrother, Marco Rossi.

My cheeks were flushed, my heart racing, still lost in the sweetness of the night before.

Then, they slipped into Sicilian.

Marco leaned against the doorframe, a smirk playing on his lips. "Well done, future Don. Didn't think you'd ever tame that little wildcat. So, tell me, how was my dear stepsister?"

Dante let out a lazy chuckle.

"Plays the innocent in public, but in private? A total animal. Who would've guessed?"

A low, knowing laugh erupted in the room.

Marco raised an eyebrow.

"So, should I keep calling her 'sister,' or is it 'future sister-in-law' now?"

Dante's tone darkened, and his arm tightened around my waist. Then he sighed.

"She's nothing. Just... practice," he whispered, his voice dropping.

"I'm about to get engaged to Sofia Bianchi, and I can't have her thinking I'm inexperienced. Isabella Rossi was just a warm-up."

He paused.

"But don't tell Sofia. I don't want her thinking I'm some kind of player."

They didn't know I'd been secretly studying Sicilian for months, hoping to one day fit seamlessly into Dante's world.

I understood every single word.

Later that day, I quietly withdrew my early admission application to the University of Southern California and applied to Columbia University instead.

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1

Marco Rossi smirked, leaning back lazily.

"So, future Don, how was my stepsister?"

Dante Moretti let out a low chuckle, his tone dismissive. "She puts on a good act, but behind closed doors? She’s a fucking wildcat."

Marco's eyes glinted. "So, should I call her sister, or future sister-in-law?"

Dante frowned and shook his head. "Sister-in-law? Don't be ridiculous. She was just practice. I'm getting engaged to Sofia Bianchi, and I can't have her thinking I'm some novice in bed. Isabella Rossi was just a warm-up."

The words struck me like a physical blow, and I froze on the spot. My heart twisted in agony.

Marco froze too, just for a second, then burst out laughing. "Classic Dante. Even your warm-ups are another man's fantasy. That’s just your style."

He moved closer, lowering his voice. "If Isabella's admirers knew about this, they'd lose their minds."

Dante scoffed. "Isabella? Please. She's devoted to me. I could get her into my bed with zero effort."

Marco grinned and threw his head back with a laugh. "Well, her body's not bad. But let's be real, her tits don't hold a candle to the Bianchi family's connections."

Dante shot him a sharp look. "What? You interested in Isabella now? Or maybe you've got your eye on Sofia?"

Marco quickly threw up his hands and took a step back. "Me? No way. Isabella is my stepsister. That's a no-go zone. And Sofia? I wouldn't dare touch your woman."

He snickered. "Still, who knew quiet little Isabella would be so easy?"

Dante just smirked. "She's been chasing me for ten years. I figured I'd give her a little taste of what she wants before things get official with Sofia. At least I'm sending her off with something to remember me by."

The words hit me like a physical blow, my head ringing. I lowered my gaze, trying to hide the devastation on my face.

They had no idea I'd secretly studied Sicilian, all so I could one day be the perfect partner for Dante. I understood every single cruel word.

Dante's arm was still draped around me, his lips brushing against my cheek as if he actually cared. If I didn't know the truth, I might have believed he genuinely loved me.

Before my emotions could completely unravel, I shot up from the bed, muttered something about the restroom, and stumbled out of the room.

I locked myself in a stall, clamping a hand over my mouth as the sound of the flushing toilet drowned out my sobs.

Dante's words echoed in my mind, again and again.

I could still feel his breath on my ear from the night before, how he'd held me close and whispered promises of our future.

My phone buzzed, pulling me back to the harsh reality. It was a text from Dante.

"Where'd you run off to? Got something important at the family charity gala tonight, so I can't be your date. These things are a bore anyway. You can just stay home. And grab the morning-after pill. Got carried away last night. Can't have any accidents."

My stomach churned. I remembered how he’d held me close afterward, whispering that I was finally his. I had been so lost in the warmth of that moment that I hadn't paid it any mind.

Now, every word in that text felt like a slap across the face.