Too Late For Regret, Mr. Underboss

I caught the white roses at my best friend’s wedding.

Everyone expected Nero, the Mafia Underboss I’d loved for eight years, to drop to one knee and propose.

Instead, he ripped the bouquet from my hands and gave it to his secretary.

“Next time, Siena,” he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. “Let Valentina have her moment in the spotlight.”

In front of every Capo and soldier in the city, he stripped me of my dignity just to please a girl who played at being a mobster’s muse.

To him, I was merely an entry in a ledger—forever pending, never prioritized.

I quietly sold our penthouse, packed my bags, and walked away.

In seven days, I would no longer be his shadow.

I planned to marry his rival Don.

Chapter 1

I caught the white roses at my best friend’s Mafia wedding.

My fingers had barely closed around the stems when the man I’d loved for eight years snatched the bouquet from my grasp and handed it to his secretary.

I stood frozen in the center of the grand ballroom.

Nero didn't even meet my eyes as he took the flowers.

He was the Underboss of the Cosa Nostra—a man whose influence wasn't an empire, but a web of dock unions, armored trucks, and judges' gavels.

But right now, he was using those powerful hands to offer my bridal bouquet to Valentina.

Valentina took the roses with a shy, practiced innocence.

She was his secretary, a low-level assistant who had spent the last six months blurring professional lines.

The murmurs of the surrounding Capos and soldiers died down, replaced by a silence so heavy I could hear the faint clink of ice settling in a forgotten glass across the room.

They were all waiting for Nero to drop to one knee and ask for my hand. He didn’t.

Instead, Nero casually adjusted his bespoke suit jacket and looked down at me.

“Next time, Siena.”

His voice was calm, softened by a complete lack of guilt.

“Let Valentina have her moment,” he added.

The words didn't hit like a splash of cold water; they felt like a slow-acting paralytic seeping into my veins.

There wouldn't be a next time.

Gia stormed over in her massive white gown, her eyes burning with a fury that seemed to thin the air around her.

She shoved past two armed guards to reach me.

“You let your secretary snatch the catch from her!” Gia shouted, loud enough for the entire Commission to hear. “I aimed that throw for Siena, and you intercepted it for her?”

Nero sighed wearily, treating my best friend like an annoying child.

“It’s just a bouquet, Gia.”

He placed a heavy hand on the small of my back, guiding me away from the scene.

“Don't make a scene,” he whispered to me.

For the rest of the reception, I watched them from the high table.

Nero leaning in close as Valentina whispered something over his phone.

There was an easy intimacy between them, an invisible wall that shut me out.

Gia leaned over and slid her phone toward me.

Her family’s intelligence network had pulled Valentina’s security logs.

“Look at the timestamps,” Gia whispered, her voice shaking with rage. “Valentina entered his private office at 2:00 AM. Three times this week.”

I looked at the screen and said nothing.

On the way back to our fortified penthouse, the silence inside the armored SUV was suffocating.

Nero poured himself a whiskey from the car’s minibar.

“You’re too quiet,” he said.

I watched the city lights blur past the tinted glass.

“Valentina crossed a line tonight,” I said softly.

Nero rolled his eyes and took a sip of his drink. He reached out, squeezing my knee.

“I promise, once I’m made Don, I’ll throw you a wedding that’s bigger and grander than this.”

I turned to look at his handsome, cold face.

“Gia and I made a blood oath when we were kids to be married in the same week,” I reminded him.

Nero let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

“You need to grow up and stop holding onto childish games.”

I remembered him rolling his eyes last month when Gia helped me try on bridesmaid dresses.

He had called the entire process a waste of resources.

The sheer tragedy of eight years of loyalty felt like a headstone—heavy and irrevocable.

The SUV pulled into our secure underground garage.

We took the private elevator to the penthouse in silence.

As we stepped into the dark hallway, Nero reached out, attempting to pull me against his chest.

I took a step back, letting his hands grasp at empty air.