His Heart Was Never Mine

I called the international number. The director of the program answered, "Grace Sterling? Your application to our private residential arts program has been approved. You can begin as soon as you arrive, and it includes a path to permanent residency. Are you sure this is what you want?"

I looked at the two of them laughing together in the restaurant and quietly said yes.

I hung up. Damian came out under an umbrella.

I thought he had seen me standing there soaked through, and I opened my mouth to speak. Instead, he turned and held the umbrella over Cecilia Bellini.

New York in high summer was sweltering. I was cold all the way through.

For two hours I walked home in the downpour.

My wrist was screaming, and I forced it down and carried a heavy box of files into the house, dripping everywhere.

I had barely set it down when I heard steady footsteps in the entryway.

Damian's eyes moved over my tangled hair and my soaked clothes, and his brows drew together.

"With rain coming down this hard, why didn't you get under cover? Did you really have to come home looking like this?"

Not one word about my hand, not one word about how I had gotten home. All he saw was that I had failed to look dignified as the Donna.

My hand hurt so much it had gone numb. I had nothing left in me to argue with him.

Damian was silent for two seconds. He tossed me a towel, then handed me a cup of coffee. "I just had one of my men pick it up. It's the right temperature. Try it."

I took the cup, and a trace of warmth stirred in my chest. In all the time I had known him, he had never shown me this kind of concern.

As I sat down on the sofa with the coffee, I accidentally knocked Damian's phone off the armrest.

A message from his pinned contact, Cece, lit up the screen at exactly that moment.

Don Moretti was worried the cafe might not be clean, so he made this himself for me. It's so good.

In the photo, she was sitting where I was sitting now, holding a small custom cup in both hands.

Every senior member of the Family had liked the post. No one commented. They all understood.

I understood in an instant.

Before Cecilia joined the organization, she brought gifts for everyone. Mine was a broken cup. Her mouth said sorry; her eyes gloated.

Cecilia's coffee had been served in one of the custom cups. Mine had been a thoughtless pickup from a cafe.

I took a sip. It was cloyingly sweet, and I choked into a fit of coughing. A bolt of pain shot through my body.

I stood up and poured the whole cup down the drain.

"If you didn't want it, say so. You dump it out without a word, so what are you sulking about now?" Damian's face darkened, but his tone eased again almost at once, and he tried to sound concerned. "Are you just tired today? Is that it?"

I did not defend myself. I held the phone up in front of his face.

He read the post. For a moment, he looked caught off guard, but his face quickly smoothed over. He sounded completely certain of himself. "It's one casual Instagram post. You have to twist it into something ugly and make a scene?"

My voice shook, and I could not suppress the chill spreading through me. "Damian, you have never once let me ride in your car. Why is she allowed?"

There was not a trace of guilt in him. "She's delicate. She shouldn't be out in the rain. You've been at my side for years. You should be more understanding.

"Besides, she's the daughter of one of our allies. Of course I look after her. You're the Donna. Are you really going to keep score with a girl her age? Doesn't that embarrass you?"

I stood there looking at this man who was so familiar and so completely a stranger.

Years ago, at a society party, a group of them shoved me in front of Damian Moretti as a cruel joke. He was already one of New York's rising powers.

They said that if Damian said he liked me, they would let me go.

Everyone was waiting for me to humiliate myself. While I stood there mortified and helpless, he was the one who reached out a hand. "I like you."

That tiny spark of light from my youth became an obsession I carried for years, the reason I was willing to give him everything.

Later, when he needed a marriage to shore up the Family, he came to me for help. I thought it was happiness arriving late. I thought that loving someone enough could change anything.

Only then did I finally see the truth. Everyone said Damian Moretti, Don of the Family, was ruthless, that no one alive could ever warm his heart.

Only then did I believe them. It was not that his heart was cold. It was never mine.

I swallowed all of it down and spoke calmly. "You're right about everything."