Chapter 1

Two days before the official wedding.

It was also our anniversary.

I went to the church.

I wanted to pray for our marriage.

Then I heard voices from the main altar.

I stopped.

Nicolo's voice carried from the altar.

"With this ring, I, Nicolo, grant you the honor of being the Donna of the De Santis family. Gianna, you are the wife I recognize."

I froze.

I hid behind a stone pillar.

I looked.

My husband, Nicolo, the Godfather of the Chicago Outfit, was holding my sister's hand.

Gianna was wearing my custom wedding dress.

Nicolo slid the Donna's ring onto her finger.

The priest closed his Bible.

He pronounced them husband and wife.

Applause.

Then I saw the crowd.

My own parents.

My brother, Marco.

Several of our family's Capos.

They were all there.

Their faces were a mix of pity and relief.

My mother’s eyes were red.

She clapped while wiping away tears.

My father walked up to Nicolo.

He clapped him on the shoulder.

My father said to him, "Thank you, Nicolo. You gave Gianna her dying wish."

Gianna leaned weakly against Nicolo.

Her eyes were pitiful.

Gianna said weakly, "Don't say that, Papa. This wedding, this man... It's only temporary. When I'm gone, Alessia gets everything back..."

My brother Marco cut in, "Don't be stupid, Gianna,"

"Alessia has enough. You have less than three months. For you, everything else can wait."

Wait.

So that’s what it was.

To my family, my wedding was something to be loaned out.

My chest ached.

I couldn't even breathe.

My whole life.

Everything I had, the frail Gianna got to enjoy first.

Toys.

Clothes.

The family business.

Now she had terminal leukemia.

Three months left.

So my man, my wedding, the ring I’d waited fifteen years for... all hers.

It didn't matter that we'd secretly gotten married at city hall a month ago.

It didn't matter that he was supposed to announce me as his Donna in two days.

Fifteen years together.

A fucking joke.

I stepped back into the shadows.

I pulled out my phone.

I called Marco.

He rejected it.

A second later, a text came through.

[Trouble at the south docks.

I'm handling it.

Don't make a mess.]

I stared at the lie.

My fingers went cold.

Next, I dialed Nicolo.

It rang.

And rang.

Inside the church, Nicolo frowned.

He whispered something to Gianna.

He walked to a stained-glass window and answered.

"Alessia." His voice was low.

A hint of hesitation.

I asked, "Where are you?"

He said, "Something came up at the docks. I'm dealing with it. What's wrong?"

The same lie as Marco.

Word for word.

I almost laughed.

My eyes burned instead.

I took a deep breath.

Kept my voice steady.

"Did you forget? You promised to have dinner with me tonight."

Our anniversary.

I had reservations at his favorite restaurant.

I was going to give him the pregnancy test as a gift.

Silence on the other end.

He forgot.

I could picture him, phone in hand, not knowing what to say.

Just then, Gianna walked over, dragging the train of my dress.

Her eyes were red.

Her voice choked.

"Is that Alessia? I knew this was a mistake. I made her angry again. Nicolo, let me talk to her. I'll go back and explain..."

The same victim act.

For fifteen years, I paid the price for every tear she shed.

I heard a soft sigh through the phone.

Nicolo giving in to her.

His voice came back on.

"Alessia, you don't need to check up on me like this."

"You know I love you. Gianna is a dying woman. My future wife will only be you."

I gripped my phone.

My knuckles were white.

And now?

I didn't ask.

He didn't have to answer.

He sighed.

"We were supposed to be trying for a baby, remember? Be good. Get some rest. Don't overthink things."

"Something came up tonight. I really forgot. I'll make it up to you when I get home."

He hung up before I could reply.

The dial tone was abrupt.

But my heart was calmer than I expected.

I put my phone away.

I walked towards the church doors.

My legs were numb.

But my steps were steady.

I pushed the door open.

The cold evening wind hit my face.

I opened my purse.

I took out the pregnancy test.

Two red lines.

They glared at me in the dim light.

We had picked out names.

Argued over the color of the crib.

Debated a nightlight by the window.

Now he'd written someone else's name on the answer.

I thought this little life would be the proof of our love.

Now the baby was here.

But he'd pushed our happiness away with his own hands.

His bride wasn't me anymore.

So my child's father didn't have to be him.