You Were My Goodbye

I ran into my ex-boyfriend at a friend's birthday party. He was now the Godfather of the Barzan family.

He looked handsome and polished, and he'd arrived with his gorgeous fiancée on his arm.

She smiled at me and said, "If you hadn't broken up with him back then, you'd be the lady of the Barzan house—the Godfather's wife."

Across the table, his arm around her, Nico wore a cold expression. "Why bring up the past? We ended things ages ago. You're my fiancée, the future matriarch of the family."

Under the crowd's watchful stares, I quietly covered the scar on my wrist and forced a tight smile. "Right… it's been such a long time."

"Didn't Valentina dump him first?"

That was the whispered question going around the table while Nico's fiancée was in the bathroom.

My name is Valentina. I hadn't planned to be here. A friend swore Nico wouldn't show up, so I came. But there he was.

Nico Barzan—the youngest don on the East Coast. He ran every dock and casino in Boston. In his tailored suit, he was almost too handsome to look at. Even the family ring on his finger was worth a fortune. Everyone wanted his favor.

Me? I was nobody.

"She did break up with him," Nico said flatly, answering the question no one dared ask aloud.

Let them fill in the blanks. I was proud. Blind. Stupid.

"Valentina, I heard your family went under, right?"

"Oh my God, did you come here to ask for money?"

"Or find some rich guy to pay off your debts? Ha."

Nico just watched me from across the table, his dark eyes unreadable. He didn't say a word in my defense. So I smiled—an ugly, tight thing—and stayed quiet.

Then the bathroom door opened. His fiancée came back, felt the tension right away, and smiled anyway. Two perfect dimples.

"What did I miss?"

Nico took her hand. "Nothing. Old news."

She sat down, her eyes landing on me. "Nico told me about you. You know, if you hadn't broken up with him back then, you'd be the Barzan lady today."

A few guests smirked. I used to be somebody. My family had power, and I was always the center of attention. People don't forget that kind of envy—they just wait for you to fall.

Nico cut in, his voice cold and final. "That's in the past."

No one argued. When the don closes a subject, you close it.

His fiancée raised her glass to me. "Thank you for letting him go. Otherwise I never would have met him. You have to come to the wedding."

I pulled my sleeve over the scar on my wrist and said, "Congratulations."