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Chapter 4

Author: Ivy June
At nine sharp, two women came to do my hair.

They brought the white dress with the long sleeves. Of course they did.

I let them zip me in.

The bandage under the lace pulled at my stitches, and neither woman asked if it hurt.

Three years had passed, and Dante had learned nothing.

He still heard only what he wanted to hear.

I had said no four times, and he had sent a hairdresser.

Two men walked me down to a black sedan and sat on either side of me. Nobody spoke.

We crossed the bridge. I watched the window.

On Hudson Street, a gray SUV idled at the light.

Two blocks later, there was another one, with plates I knew by heart.

A third slid in behind us and stayed three car lengths back.

I was smiling.

I didn't realize it until the man on my left stared at me.

"What's funny?"

"Nothing," I said. "It's a beautiful day."

He was close. My husband was very close.

The Rosetti ballroom glittered.

Chandeliers, white roses, two hundred guests holding champagne.

Dante's men lined every wall.

Dante stood at the front in a black tuxedo.

One hand pressed his breast pocket, where a folded sheet of paper stuck out.

The other held the velvet box.

He saw me and his whole face lit up, like I'd walked in with a gift for him.

"There she is," he said, loud enough for the back row.

He took my good hand and led me to the center of the floor.

Polite applause rippled around us. Then the whispers started.

"Isn't that the girl from last time?"

"The one he threw out?"

My cheeks burned.

From the sheer nerve of him, doing this to me in the same room, in front of the same faces.

"Three years ago, there was a misunderstanding," Dante announced. He smiled at the crowd as if he were being generous. "Tonight, I fix it."

He flipped the box open. The new diamond threw white sparks across my dress.

"Elena. Give me your hand."

I kept it at my side.

"Elena." His voice dropped. A warning. "Two hundred people."

"I know how many," I said. "I counted last time too."

His jaw locked.

He grabbed my left wrist and pinched the plain silver band between two fingers.

"Take this off. Now."

I closed my fist.

He had pulled a ring off my finger once. In this exact kind of light.

I would not hand him a second one.

"Let go of me, Dante."

"You are making a scene!"

I almost laughed. He was the one with a diamond in his hand and a speech in his pocket.

Then the ballroom doors boomed open.

The quartet cut off mid-note. Every head turned.

Black suits poured in, two by two, shoes striking the marble in perfect rhythm.

At the center of them walked a tall man in a dark coat, unhurried, his eyes sweeping the room until they found me.

Lorenzo.

My throat tightened.

Three days of calm, and it nearly broke the moment I saw him.

Dante's lieutenant, standing by the bar, went white.

His glass slipped from his fingers and shattered.

Then he dropped to one knee, then both, head bowed to the floor.

"Don Lorenzo," he said, hoarse.

Dante spun around. "Get up. What the hell are you doing?"

Nobody listened.

The man beside the lieutenant knelt.

Then the next one. Then the whole wall of Dante's soldiers went down like a wave rolling through the room.

The wedding planner dropped her binder and sank to the floor.

The waiters followed.

The quartet laid down their instruments.

The guests in their silk and diamonds knelt in a rustling, frightened mess, champagne spilling across the marble.

Two hundred people. Every one of them on their knees.

Lorenzo walked straight through them.

He never looked at Dante.

He stopped beside me, and his warm hand settled on my back, careful of my arm.

Then the whole room said it together, low and certain.

"Donna."

Dante's head jerked toward me.

"What did they just call you?"

I lifted my chin. The silver band on my finger caught the light.

"I told you," I said, quietly. "Just don't regret it."

"Elena." His voice cracked. "What is this? Who is he?"

He was the only man left standing.

The diamond slipped from his fingers, struck the marble, and rolled until it stopped against the toe of Lorenzo's shoe.
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    I stepped out of the townhouse just after noon, one hand resting lightly over the fresh bandage beneath my sleeve.Two guards waited by the car.They moved aside the second they saw me.Then Dante came up the front steps.He had no jacket on despite the cold.His shirt was creased. His hair looked uncombed. The man who once filled every room without trying now stopped two steps away from me, breathing hard as though he had run here.“Elena.”I kept walking.He dropped to his knees.The sound hit the stone steps sharply.Both guards reached for their weapons, but I raised my hand.Dante looked up at me.His eyes were red.For three years, I had imagined him regretting what he did. I had imagined him looking at me with this exact panic. I thought it would feel satisfying.It did not.It only felt late.“Please,” he said. “Please, just listen to me.”I stopped on the next step, leaving distance between us.“What do you need, Dante?”His throat worked.“My position back.”The words came o

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