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The Don's Forgotten Brooklyn Vow Novel Cover

The Don's Forgotten Brooklyn Vow

I bled to help Dante rise as the Falcone family's Don, surviving Brooklyn's brutal streets by his side. When he rejected a Moretti marriage alliance to declare me his only queen, it sparked a savage underworld war. He swore to protect me from the fallout, but after a targeted car crash lands me in the hospital, the illusion shatters. I discover Dante in a passionate embrace with his supposed enemy, Isabella. Their deadly feud was never about protecting me—it was a twisted game of mutual desire.
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Chapter 2

That night, the underworld was buzzing with rumors.

One minute, Dante was spending a fortune at auction on a priceless jewel for Isabella.

The next, the Falcone and Moretti families were forging a powerful alliance.

Everyone on the street was betting their wedding was just around the corner and that I, the powerless "queen," was about to be cast aside.

Dante himself had told me he detested Isabella's arrogance, her madness.

But since when had that disgust been tainted by a flicker of something real?

It was late when Dante finally returned, carrying the scent of another woman's perfume.

I held up my phone, my gaze demanding an explanation.

He looked at the intimate photos of him and Isabella, a shadow crossing his face.

"You know how it is. Those vultures are always twisting things. Be good, don't believe their lies."

"This alliance with the Morettis will strengthen our family. It's how I guarantee you a secure life."

I didn't know if he was thinking of our blood oath or of Isabella when he said that.

"Alright, don't overthink it. Today is our anniversary."

"Look what I got for you."

He produced a velvet box as if from thin air.

So he did remember. My heart skipped a beat, a faint warmth spreading through me.

But it turned to ice the moment I opened the box.

Lifting the massive diamond ring, my mind flashed to the news report of the exorbitant jewelry set he'd bought for Isabella.

At the banquet, the main stone on her necklace had been a hundred times more brilliant than this one.

A bitter smile touched my lips. This lesser stone was a perfect symbol of his fickle heart—cheap and worthless.

Sensing my shift in mood, Dante's voice grew hesitant.

"What's wrong? Don't you like it?"

I met his gaze, searching for a hint of guilt.

"You got the wrong one, Dante."

"This cut of diamond is Isabella's favorite, not mine."

"If you've fallen in love with her, I can step aside."

My casual question threw him. First came panic, then impatience.

"Are you still upset about what happened at the clinic?"

"I told you, it's just business. For the family. Don't you ever talk about stepping aside again."

He reached out to stroke my hair, just as he had countless times before.

For years, this had been our silent ritual of reconciliation.

The next second, his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, and his expression instantly softened, a world away from the irritation of a moment ago.

"You get some rest. I'll come see you tomorrow."

Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating a photo of us.

It was our first picture together.

He'd saved for weeks just to have it taken.

The eighteen-year-old Dante awkwardly held the eighteen-year-old Elena in his arms, vowing to never betray her.

I pressed the yellowed photo to my chest, tears streaming down my face.

In truth, the signs of his feelings for Isabella had been there all along.

He would reject her advances by day, only to be found tangled up with her in some dark corner of a bar at night.

He’d cripple the hand of a rival who crossed Isabella, only to turn around and pay for that same man to be treated by the world's best doctors—a sheer display of power.

He even ventured into businesses the Falcone family never touched, just for more plausible reasons to interact with her.

All those details I had deliberately ignored now threaded together, tightening around my heart until it ached.

What looked like a life-or-death struggle to outsiders was, in reality, a thrilling game they both secretly enjoyed.

I tried not to think about it, but the whispers always found their way to my ears, into my heart.

They kept me awake at night.

The next morning, the nurse who came to change my dressing was accompanied by a furious-looking Dante.

He shoved his phone in my face.

"Why do you have to target her like this?"

On the screen was a photo of fresh graffiti scrawled across Moretti territory: "THE MORETTI PRINCIPESSA IS A WHORE."

I shook my head instinctively. "It wasn't me."

"You've always been jealous of her. If not you, then who?"

"Don't you know she's pregnant? What you did has humiliated the Moretti family. The shock almost made her miscarry!"

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