Chapter 2

Dante drove me to my apartment in the city.

Before I got out, he was still holding my hand, his thumb brushing over my ring finger as if by accident.

"Tomorrow, I want to see you at your most dazzling."

He looked at me, kissed the back of my hand one last time, and reluctantly let me go.

I leaned in, brushed my fingers over his cheek, and lifted his chin with one finger.

"You're the one who has to win me over. If I don't like the proposal, I can change my mind anytime."

Dante narrowed his eyes and cupped my hand in his. His Adam's apple bobbed, and his voice came out a little rough.

"My darling fiancée, I can't take much more of your teasing..."

I snorted, pulled my hand back, and went upstairs.

Once I reached my apartment window, Dante honked to acknowledge me before driving away with his convoy.

Nico's things were still in the apartment.

His slippers sat by the door. The bar cabinet still held the liquor he liked. Every gift he'd ever given me was arranged in a display case.

I leaned against the window, lit a slim cigarette, and stared blankly at the display case.

Five years ago, my father hadn't thought much of him. He said Nico was too young and too hotheaded.

Nico had just turned 22. He took a knife straight through the shoulder while saving me, blood soaking his shirt.

He collapsed in my arms, his face frighteningly pale, but he still smiled.

"Camila, you owe me your life. You'd better be nice to me from now on."

My father called him a reckless kid playing hero. He said Nico would never amount to anything.

But over the next two years, that reckless kid took the two toughest pieces of territory in Brooklyn for my father and became his youngest right-hand man.

We dated for two years, but my father still refused to approve our marriage. He said Nico wasn't good enough for the Moretti name.

Nico didn't argue. He volunteered to go undercover in Mexico and swore he wouldn't return until he had seized that drug route.

The night before he left, he asked me to meet him and slid the ring onto my finger himself.

"Camila, wait for me."

No one knew whether Nico would make it back alive, but I stubbornly waited three years for him anyway.

More than 1,000 days and nights passed. I lost count of how often I woke from nightmares and longed for his triumphant return.

And what did I get for all that waiting? Him standing in front of the whole Moretti family, holding another woman's hand, saying he wanted out of our engagement.

I blew out the last of the smoke and waved away memories that didn't matter anymore.

Women in the Moretti family don't wallow in the past.

I had someone bring boxes, and I threw out all his things.

The display case was empty. I was wondering what to put in it when my phone started ringing nonstop.

Nico's name was on the screen. I stared at it for two seconds, then hit decline.

As soon as the call ended, the texts started popping up.

"Camila, baby, I'm begging you. Tell me where you are.

"Baby, don't let him touch you... You know I can't stand other men near you. Dante's a bastard!"

They just kept coming. Annoyed, I put my phone on silent.

The next afternoon, I had just finished getting ready and was admiring my reflection when Dante knocked on my door with a huge bouquet of red roses.

When I opened it, he was looking at the boxes by the door, and he couldn't hide his grin.

I leaned against the doorframe and glanced at the roses.

"That's it? Where's the effort?"

Dante waved a hand, and his guards fanned out behind him.

Every one of them was carrying several beautifully wrapped gifts.

"This is just the appetizer, my fiancée."

He looked at me, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Might I have the honor of taking you to dinner?"

I gave him a small smile and took his hand.

The convoy followed the river for half an hour or so before stopping outside a brilliantly lit private club.

I knew this place well.

The Vitale family had taken it from us a few years ago. It was the most luxurious club in town.

Before that, my father used to entertain guests here all the time.

I let out a soft laugh and tilted my head toward Dante.

"Hmm? You brought me to admire your trophies?"

Dante leaned in and breathed in the scent of my hair. "Get out and see for yourself," he murmured.

A bright red velvet carpet ran up the stairs to the second floor, and roses and ribbons filled every corner.

With my arm linked through Dante's, I slowly climbed the stairs. At the top, I spotted a familiar figure seated in the place of honor.

My father was sipping his drink, and for once, he didn't look angry.

Before I could say anything, Dante leaned closer.

"I told you I'd show you I meant it.

"This private club and the two clubs behind it are all yours."