Chapter 1

Viola POV

On my first day back in Italy, someone stopped me at the airport exit.

Nicholas Valenti. The current Don of the Bellanti family, my former guardian, and the man I had once loved.

He had lost some weight in the three years since I’d last seen him. His black suit still fit perfectly. Several of his men stood behind him, stepping aside as I approached.

“Viola.”

At the sound of my name, I tightened my grip on my suitcase handle. He had always said it that way when I was little.

I wheeled my suitcase past him.

He reached out and caught my wrist.

“The car’s outside. I’ll drive you.”

I looked down at his hand. The platinum wedding band was still on his ring finger.

He and my sister had been married for three years.

“Thank you, Don Valenti.” I looked up. “I’ve already called a car.”

His fingers tightened for a moment.

“It’s been three years,” he said quietly. “You changed your number. Sent back every letter. How much longer are you going to keep avoiding me?”

“I’m here to lay my father to rest.”

“I know. I’m asking you—”

“Please let go.”

He looked at me, then slowly released my wrist.

Once, I would never have asked him to let go.

Nicholas had lost his parents at eight. My grandfather took him into the estate, and he later became my father’s youngest lieutenant.

When I was twelve, I had a high fever that wouldn’t break. Mother was with Camilla while she had her heart checked. Nicholas drove back from North Harbor that night and spent two days at my bedside. I clung to his sleeve, and he stayed.

When I told him I loved him at sixteen, he said he was my guardian.

At eighteen, I asked whether he had ever felt anything for me. Even a little.

“Your father appointed me your guardian,” he said. “That will never change.”

My father died when I was twenty-one.

He had gone to North Harbor to inspect a shipment. A crane support above the warehouse broke, sending a steel beam crashing down. He never made it out.

When I reached the morgue, Mother was holding Camilla, who had just come out of an examination room. My sister was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. Mother tried to calm her breathing while calling for someone to bring her medication.

I stood in the doorway, wanting to call out to Mom, but no sound came.

My father lay inside.

The man who never missed a school performance, who remembered I didn’t eat fennel, was never coming home again.

My grandfather hadn’t approved of me studying art conservation.

“Why should a daughter of the Bellanti family restore old paintings for other people?”

My father placed the application back in front of me and handed me a pen.

“If it’s what you love, do it.”

He watched me sign my name.

“This name can protect you, Viola. But you should have the skills to live the life you want, too.”

Nicholas turned me toward him and pulled me into his arms. Only then did I realize I had been shaking.

“Don’t be scared. I’m here.”

I clutched his suit and finally began to cry.

“Dad’s gone.”

“I know.”

He held me tighter, his voice painfully hoarse.

“I’ll take care of you. I promise. No matter what happens, I’m not going anywhere.”

I believed him.

Seven days after my father was laid in a temporary crypt, my grandfather summoned the district bosses and representatives of several allied families to the estate.

I sat at the long table in a black dress, still overwhelmed by grief.

Nicholas sat at my grandfather’s right.

Camilla sat beside him.

My grandfather had my father’s signet ring placed on the table. Then he raised his glass and made an announcement.

Nicholas would marry Camilla.

As the husband of my father’s eldest daughter, he would take control of the Bellanti family and become its new Don.

I looked at Nicholas.

He didn’t look at me.