The Mafia Don Who Lost His Bride

The girl who smiled so prettily and spoke so softly and always, always found a reason to be near Dominic. The soldiers doted on her. The household staff cooked her favorite meals without being asked. Even the Consigliere spoke of her with a gentleness he reserved for no one else. She had wrapped the entire Valente empire around her delicate finger.

But Nonna, like me, had never trusted her. Not once. Not from the very first day Chiara had been brought through the compound gates as a frightened twelve-year-old, clutching a rosary and weeping for her dead mother.

"That injury is a fake." Nonna's voice was flat, certain, the voice of a woman stating a fact as plain as the weather. "Convenient timing, wouldn't you say?"

My heart hammered against my ribs. It was not just me. I was not paranoid. I was not the jealous, bitter woman the whispers in the hallways made me out to be.

"You think she did this on purpose?"

Nonna scoffed. The sound was quiet, almost elegant, but it carried the weight of absolute contempt.

"Oh, child. Of course she did. She has been playing this game for years, pulling Dominic closer every chance she gets. Every scraped knee. Every tearful confession. Every little crisis that requires the Don's personal attention. You think she is helpless?" Nonna leaned forward, and her dark eyes burned. "I see right through her. I have seen women like Chiara Mancuso my entire life. They are the most dangerous kind. The kind who smile while they slip the knife between your ribs."

I clenched my fists in my lap. My nails bit into my palms.

"Then how come Dominic doesn't see it?"

"Because that boy has been blinded since the day she arrived. His father's dying oath, the debt of honor to Rosaria Mancuso, it clouds everything. He confuses obligation with affection, and Chiara knows exactly how to keep the confusion alive." Nonna's mouth thinned. "But you know the truth. So you must be strong enough to face it."

I nodded. The motion felt mechanical, hollow. My stomach churned. I did not want to be strong. I wanted Dominic to walk through that door, take my face in his hands, and tell me he was sorry. I wanted him to make it right. I wanted him to choose me.

"I'm sure you'll think of something. I know you are strong and wise, Neve." Nonna rose from the chair with a grace that defied her years. She crossed the room and pulled me into a hug. Her arms were thin but firm, and she smelled of rosewater and old lace. "Do not let this Family break you. You are worth more than they know."

She released me, smoothed the front of her dress, and left without another word. The door clicked shut behind her.

Silence filled the room like floodwater.

My phone vibrated against the duvet, and I flinched. I crossed to the bed and picked it up. A message from Ivo Valente, the Underboss. My childhood friend. The man who had grown up beside Dominic and me, who had stood at Dominic's right hand since the day the old Don was buried.

"Neve, I heard the news. Don't be too disappointed. Dominic had to do this. It's his obligation as the head of the Family. He needs to ensure the safety of everyone under his protection."

"Yeah, right!" The words tore out of me, loud and raw in the empty room. I tossed the phone back onto the bed without typing a reply. Ivo and his endless excuses. Ivo, who always found a way to make Dominic's choices sound reasonable, who always smoothed the edges until the blade didn't look like a blade anymore.

Two minutes later, the group chat buzzed again. I picked up the phone against my better judgment. Chiara had posted more photographs. Dominic sitting at her bedside, spooning broth into her mouth as though she were an invalid. Dominic pressing the back of his hand to her forehead to check her temperature. Dominic adjusting the bandage on her ankle with the careful, focused attention of a man tending to something precious and breakable.

As if she were his wife. As if she were the woman he was supposed to marry today.