Where Red Roses Wither

The year I turned twenty-eight, my husband, Vincent Falcone, became the Don of the Falcone family.

And I, Elara Falcone, was finally pregnant with the child we had longed for.

Power, family, love—everything was perfect.

But before I could share the news, everything shattered. He was accused of rape by the daughter of our family's Consigliere.

I rushed to the scene, convinced it was a plot by a rival family.

Instead, I found a smug young girl wearing a custom wedding ring identical to mine, grinding the memorial photo of our dead daughter, Lily, under her heel.

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1

Lily's memorial frame lay shattered on the floor, covered in dirty footprints.

In the casino's penthouse suite, several of the family's Capos exchanged nervous glances when they saw me, not daring to breathe.

Yet they all turned to fawn over this young girl named Isabella.

"Who is she?"

The manager hesitated before whispering, "She's Isabella Rossi. Vincent's... new girl."

New girl? Before the words could even register, a hard shove sent me stumbling.

When I looked up, Vincent had already answered my question with his actions.

He slipped off his suit jacket, draping it over Isabella's shoulders with a look of pure adoration.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing out in the cold?"

"I wanted to be with you, Vincent, but... I know today is the anniversary of Lily's death..."

"Okay, okay, my fault. You can hit me, scream at me—whatever you want. Just don't stand here freezing."

When I got the call, I was so worried something had happened to Vincent that I'd rushed over in just a thin evening gown.

The cold winter wind howled through the broken window, slicing to the bone.

I hesitated for a moment, then called his name.

"Vincent."

He froze, just then realizing he’d shouldered me aside.

But the confusion on his face was fleeting, replaced by that same dismissive grin.

"Elara? What are you doing here?"

"She's a kid, she can be impulsive. But you? Why are you playing along?"

His face darkened. "Think about the family's honor."

He spoke, then gave Isabella a playful swat on the ass.

He chuckled softly, "Go back to the room and wait for me."

"You... you should go home too. I'll be back in the morning."

So casual, as if this betrayal meant nothing.

Seeing that I didn't move, Vincent took a hesitant step toward me.

"Be good. She's just a kid. Don't take it so hard."

I don't know if it was the harsh flickering of the lights or the tears blurring my vision.

In a daze, I remembered the year we were fighting for our lives on the streets, when Vincent held my hand and swore an oath amidst the gunfire.

Loyalty for life. No betrayal. The price of betrayal is death.

My head was buzzing. I turned, snatched the crystal ashtray from the table, and smashed it against his head.

Blood sprayed as Isabella screamed.

The world went silent.

She leaped into Vincent's arms like a frightened rabbit, her lips trembling as she soundlessly mouthed the word "scared."

Blood was still streaming from Vincent's forehead, but both of his arms were wrapped tightly around Isabella, shielding her.

"You're insane! You're completely insane!"

"Isabella isn't like you. She's innocent. She's never seen anything like this."

"Stop making such an ugly scene!"

But I laughed, raising the bloody shard of the ashtray in my hand and aiming it at him again.

"What's so ugly about this?"

"When I saved you, I took eighteen blades from the Mancinis for you. Eighteen. I thought I was dead."

"You cried and said if I survived, you'd buy me red roses for the rest of my life. You carried me for blocks, leaving a trail of our blood in the street. That was ugly."

Vincent glanced at the trembling girl in his arms, then covered her ears and scowled at me.

"Don't say these things in front of her."

"I told you, she's not like you. If she gets scared, she won't be able to sleep."