Five Minutes Cost the Don His Bride

My twin sister, Sofia, nearly died of leukemia. After that, my family decided her happiness mattered more than anything else. She published my private journals. Filmed my panic attacks. Turned my deepest fears into cruel little games. Each time, I told myself she was only being playful. Even when she used a fake address to strand me in the middle of nowhere, I made the same excuse. Then Sofia forgot to hang up. “She’ll call you for help. Dante, will you go get her?” “Yes.” “Don’t go right away. Wait five minutes. I want to see how long she lasts.” “All right. Five minutes.” In that moment, I finally understood. Dante Moretti—the powerful Don who had once been the only person willing to protect me—had become part of her game. So I never called him. Instead, I accepted a ten-year transfer to our Milan headquarters. Two days later, at our engagement gala, they planned to entertain their guests with footage of me at my most vulnerable. But when the screen lit up, it wasn’t my humiliation they saw. It was my announcement ending the engagement.