Chapter 2

Bianca, Enzo, Cesare, and I had met at Dartmouth College, and the four of us had become each other's closest friends over the years.

Enzo and Bianca now ran the family casino together, and the early days had been brutal. There had been blood, sweat, and even more blood, but with the Moretti family backing them, the casino had finally found solid ground.

Tonight, the host invited Enzo to speak and asked him about his plans for the rest of the year.

Enzo stroked his chin playfully and paused for dramatic effect. Then he grinned wide enough to split his face.

"Next month," he announced into the microphone, "I'm getting married on an island!"

Cheers erupted from every corner of the ballroom.

He glanced at our table, specifically at Bianca, and his voice softened with genuine emotion.

"I hope to spend the rest of my life with my girlfriend," he said affectionately. "I want to love her forever and be happy forever."

The applause was deafening, and Bianca's eyes turned red with tears.

Then Enzo shifted his gaze to Cesare, and his voice rang out warm and hopeful across the room. "Don, would you like to get married together with us?"

My throat tightened, and all eyes turned to Cesare.

His people had their hands clasped together, ready to applaud, and the band leader had already lifted his baton.

I looked at Cesare, and for one fragile, aching moment, I let myself hope that he might say yes.

But Cesare just waved his hand in a casual, almost joking gesture.

"I don't want to rush into a group wedding," he said. "You two go ahead. Adriana and I still have a few more years of being in love."

His tone was light and easy, as if he were commenting on the weather rather than breaking a promise he had made eight years ago.

Enzo could read the room, so he didn't push the matter. He just laughed a little awkwardly, rubbed his nose, and continued with his speech.

The tide inside me receded completely, leaving nothing behind but silence and the wreckage of something I had held onto for far too long.

Clara was sitting a few tables away, and she turned her head to look at me over her shoulder. Her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile.

I saw triumph in her gaze, and something that might have been pity.

I nodded at her calmly, and my mouth curved into a polite, distant smile.

But deep down, my heart ached. A dull, crushing weight settled in my chest, and no matter how hard I tried to shake it off, it clung to me like a shadow.

For the rest of the night, Bianca refused to look at Cesare. When their eyes accidentally met, she glared at him as if he were the enemy rather than her fiancé's best friend.

Enzo was the one who walked all of us out at the end of the night, and he looked awkward and miserable about the tension between everyone.

Cesare and I came out of the parking garage and saw Clara standing alone outside the hotel.

The night wind had pressed her dress against her legs, and she was hugging herself while looking around as if she were lost.

Cesare's car window rolled down, and Clara's face lit up when she saw him.

"Don Moretti," she said as she hurried over.

"Why are you still here?" he asked.

"No cabs are available," she said in a small, pitiful voice, glancing up at him through her lashes. "It's impossible to find one this late."

Cesare glanced at the back seat, then let his gaze drift slowly to me—almost as an afterthought.

"We'll give you a ride," he said casually.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to impose," Clara said, biting her lip in hesitation. But her feet stayed rooted to the spot. Her eyes flickered toward me briefly, then returned to him. "Your girlfriend is right there," she added softly, as if reminding him of something he might have forgotten.

Cesare didn't even blink. "It's on the way," he said, turning to me. " Adriana, I'll drop you in Brooklyn first, and then I'll take her home."

I nodded because there was nothing else to say.

The whole drive, Clara chattered like a little bird. She told stories about her family, laughed at her own jokes, and shared gossip about people I had never met.

Cesare chuckled beside her from time to time, throwing in the occasional remark that made her giggle even more. Their voices flowed back and forth like a private duet, leaving no room for a third.

I sat silently in the back, listening to the unfamiliar names and easy laughter, and felt so lonely.

When I finally got out of the car, Cesare leaned across the seat without really looking at me. "Go on up," he said, already turning back toward Clara. "I'll be back as soon as I drop her off."

I nodded and walked toward my apartment building. But something made me slow down and look back.

The black car was still running, the low hum of the engine drifting through the quiet street.

Through the windshield, I could see that Clara had moved to the front passenger seat—she was leaning close to Cesare, tugging playfully at his sleeve as she pointed at something ahead.

Cesare turned slightly toward her, his profile soft and relaxed in the shifting light from the dashboard. He was smiling in a way I rarely saw.

Then the car made a smooth U-turn and drove off in the opposite direction, its taillights disappearing into the night.

I stood there for a while, lost in thought, watching the empty street where the car had disappeared. The night air was cool against my skin, but the chill inside me ran deeper.

In the end, a bitter smile tugged at the corner of my lips—and I made up my mind.