The Mafia Don Who Lost His Bride

"You really think so? She doesn't look so happy."

"Of course she's fine. She understands I'm here for Chiara because she's hurt. It's not a big deal." I forced a smile and glanced toward Neve. She stood with her arms at her sides, her jaw tight, her eyes fixed on some middle distance that included neither me nor anyone else. She looked irritated. More than irritated.

Chiara's gaze darted between us, quick and alert beneath those long lashes. Her expression shifted, the brightness dimming into something softer, more concerned. She set down her fork and pressed her good hand to her chest.

"I hope I'm not causing trouble between you two." Her voice was barely above a whisper, threaded with worry. "I wouldn't want Neve to feel like I'm coming between you. After all, she is your betrothed, Dominic. She deserves some attention from you, too."

"No, you're not," I replied quickly. Too quickly. Doubt crept in through the cracks of my certainty like cold air through an old window. I caught Neve's eye across the room, and for one brief second our gazes locked. Then she looked away, sharp and final, as if cutting a thread.

"She knows I'm just helping."

I peeled another crab leg and set the white meat on Chiara's plate. The silence between my words felt heavier than it should have.

"You're such a good Don, Dominic." Chiara tilted her head, studying me with an expression that hovered between admiration and something else I couldn't name. "It's nice to see you take care of your Family."

I shrugged, dismissing the praise. "It's just what I do. You're part of this Family, Chiara. It's my responsibility to make sure everyone is safe."

She smiled again, that same luminous, practiced smile, and leaned close enough that I could smell her perfume. Something floral and expensive.

"Still, you make it look effortless."

I couldn't help but return the smile, but my gaze betrayed me. It drifted across the room to Neve. She had moved away from the bar entirely, retreating to the far wall near the entrance to the foyer. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she watched us with an expression that had gone past irritation into something colder. Something I didn't recognize.

A pang of unease settled beneath my ribs, but I brushed it off. She had to understand. This was simply part of what it meant to lead the Family. The debts we carried were not optional.

When the main course was served, platters of ossobuco and risotto alla Milanese carried in by the household staff on silver trays, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Neve had never been this angry. Not like this. She had always understood the obligations, the weight of my father's promises, the impossible balance I had to maintain. She had never made things difficult.

"Neve, want some prawns?" I called out across the room, trying to break the ice that had formed between us.

She looked up. Her expression was neutral, controlled, the face of a woman who had decided exactly how much of herself she was willing to show.

"No, I'm good. Thanks." Her voice was steady but distant, as if she were speaking to a stranger.

Before I could respond, Ivo leaned forward in his chair and raised his voice with theatrical warmth. "Come on, Neve. You can't just stand over there all night. Join us. Dominic's practically the seafood king over here."

Neve smiled. It was polite, precise, and completely empty.

"Really, I'm fine." She set her untouched glass of wine on the nearest surface. "I think I'm going to head home."

"Already?" I straightened in my chair, genuinely surprised. "It's still early."

"I've got work tomorrow." She smoothed the front of her dress with both hands, a gesture of finality. "Tell Ivo happy birthday for me."

She looked at me then, and her eyes were dark and quiet and stripped of every trace of warmth they used to hold. It was like looking at a photograph of someone I once knew.

"Wait." I stood immediately, my chair scraping against the marble floor. "Let me walk you out."

"There's no need. I'll be fine." Her voice was firm, the kind of firm that left no room for negotiation.

A tightness coiled in my chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome.

"Neve, come on. We barely got to talk tonight. Can't you stay a bit longer?"

"I can't. I really need to go." A thread of frustration pulled taut beneath her words, and then she turned.

Just like that. She walked toward the door without looking back, her heels clicking against the polished stone in a rhythm that sounded like a countdown. I watched her disappear through the arched doorway into the foyer, and my stomach twisted into a knot I couldn't untie.

What was going on with her?

Chiara looked up at me from the table, her lower lip trembling, her eyes glassy with the threat of tears that seemed to materialize whenever the moment required them.

"She seems upset. Are you sure everything's okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine," I replied, but my voice lacked conviction. I was still staring at the empty doorway.

"I can't help but feel like I'm causing problems." Chiara pressed her fingers to her lips, her brow creasing. "I'm sorry about my injury yesterday. I didn't mean to come between you two. I'm sure she was deeply hurt that your wedding got postponed. The blood-bound union. I would feel the same way, too."

"You're not causing anything. Neve knows that." I sat back down, but the chair felt wrong beneath me, like the room itself had shifted. "It's just... she's tired, I guess. I'll text her."

I pulled my phone from the inside pocket of my jacket and typed with both thumbs: Neve, let me know when you get home. We need to talk.

I hit send.

The message failed. A small red icon appeared beside it, mocking and absolute.

I frowned. Tried again. Failed again. I pressed the call button and lifted the phone to my ear. It went straight to voicemail, that automated voice reciting her number back to me as if I didn't already know it by heart.

I lowered the phone and stared at the screen in disbelief.

Neve had blocked me.