My Mafia Fiancé’s Regret Came Too Late

When Dante returned thirty minutes before the ceremony, my body was still lying beside the half-collapsed cake.

Frosting coated my hair and shoulders, thickest over my left eye.

Tessa leaned against the vanity, touching up her lipstick.

“Dante, your bride has quite a temper. I already apologized, and she still won’t get up.”

Marco, one of the Valdieri family’s capos, nudged my heel with his shoe.

“Isabella, Dante’s here. You’ve made your point.”

I rushed over to stop him, but my hands passed straight through his body.

Dante wasn’t smiling. He crouched beside me and straightened the twisted hem of my gown.

“Didn’t I tell you not to wear these today?”

He muttered the complaint as his fingers deftly unfastened the strap around my ankle.

Then he took out the soft-soled wedding shoes he’d brought that morning.

A month ago, the heels I wore to my dress fitting had rubbed my feet raw. I’d mentioned, in passing, that they hurt.

That same day, he called the designer and had my stilettos replaced with low heels.

I’d laughed at him for making such a fuss.

“Your wedding should make you happy,” he’d said. “You’re not supposed to suffer through it.”

But now I was lying at his feet, dead.

And he had no idea.

He slipped off my heels and eased the softer shoes onto my feet. Then he took off his jacket, draped it over me, and wiped some frosting from my chin.

His fingers paused against my skin.

“Why are you so cold?”

I threw myself in front of him.

Check my pulse, Dante.

Tessa scoffed.

“The AC’s blasting. She’s been lying on the floor for ages. Of course she’s cold.”

Dante frowned again and reached down to help me up.

My body slumped into his arms.

He cradled my head, afraid I might hit the corner of the table.

“Isabella.”

His voice hardened.

“That’s enough.”

With my body resting against his shoulder, I suddenly found it all so absurd.

Once, I would have taken that tenderness as proof that he loved me. Now he was holding my dead body and telling me to stop sulking.

He settled me on the sofa and patiently wiped the frosting from my hand.

The ring on my finger had twisted sideways.

He lowered his head and turned it back into place.

“You chose this ring. You spent three months getting this dress exactly right.”

“There are more than three hundred guests outside.”

“Are you really going to ruin your own wedding over one joke from Tessa?”

I stared at him. Tessa had killed me, and somehow, I was the one ruining the wedding.

There were so many little ways he made me feel loved. The same man whose word carried so much weight in the family would cook me breakfast and warm my cold feet between his hands.

But whenever Tessa was involved, I was always the one expected to be understanding.

When I first met her five years ago, she slipped an arm around Dante’s neck and called him “my Don-Don.”

Dante spent the whole evening explaining.

“We grew up together. She’s like a little sister to me. She’s always been this affectionate with everyone, even our capos.”

Later, Tessa drank from his cup, wore his jackets, and called him at two in the morning to pick her up from club.

I’d argued with him more times than I could count.

Every time, he held me and said:

“Isabella, let it go. You know how she is.”

I gave in once.

Then again.

Until today, when I had nothing left to give.

Tessa suddenly leaned closer.

“What’s that under Isabella’s eye?”

She reached out to wipe it away.

Dante blocked her hand.

“Don’t touch her.”

Tessa froze.

He took a wet wipe, frowning.

“Her skin’s sensitive. You’re too rough.”

For a moment, I thought he was finally going to notice the wound beneath the frosting.

But he only wiped a little frosting from my cheek.

The wipe came away stained dark red.

Tessa glanced at it.

“Raspberry filling, probably. That layer was red.”

Outside, the wedding coordinator called through the door.

“Mr. Valdieri, twenty minutes until the ceremony. We need you outside to greet the guests.”

He stood and pulled his jacket more securely around my shoulders.

“I’ll give you ten minutes. Come out when you’ve calmed down. I’ll be waiting by the door.”

The door closed.

Tessa’s smile faded.

She looked down at me and clicked her tongue.

“Even after all this, he still worries about you getting cold.”

Then she picked up my phone and smiled.

“You want to make a scene? Let’s make it bigger.”