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The Bride Who Never Was
The Bride Who Never Was
Autor: City Scribe

Chapter 1

Autor: City Scribe
Eight years ago, I sent the most dangerous heir of the Medici family in New York to prison. Eight years later, on the Brooklyn Bridge, traffic rushed endlessly.

I stood there in a dark blue convenience store uniform, sweat beading down my face in thin streams.

When the light turned red, a black Cadillac Escalade pulled up beside me. As the tinted window slowly rolled down, a familiar face appeared. It was Elena, my former best friend.

“Christine. Long time no see. You used to be the Medici family’s future Donna. Back then, everyone in the family had to bow to you. The whole city of New York was practically yours. But I heard you’re sick now and reduced to working at a convenience store, struggling every day. Do you regret it?”

She was right in front of me, yet I couldn’t see her face clearly.

Elena continued, “Christine, back when we were waitressing together in that restaurant in Italy, I told you Vincent wasn’t a bad person. Yet, you still sent him to prison for eight years. In those eight years, Vincent asked to see you many times, and every time, you refused. He was released today. We waited for you for a long time, but you never came. It seems like you forgot.

“I don’t understand. Vincent treated you so well back then. He knew your family was poor and that your mother had kidney failure, so he volunteered to be a donor. When you got into that car accident, he stayed by your side day and night, taking care of you. Do you really feel nothing for him at all?”

My fingertips trembled slightly. Still, my voice came out mechanical and cold.

“No. I would never have feelings for a criminal.”

At that moment, a low, cold chuckle came from inside the spacious Cadillac. I looked over in disbelief. Only then did I realize a man was sitting beside Elena. Even in the dim light, I could trace the sharp lines of his face from memory.

Eight years ago, he was my first love, the man I had reported to the FBI while working at that Mexican restaurant, the man I had watched being taken away. Now, he was the Godfather of the Medici family, the ruler of New York’s underground world, Vincent Medici.

Our eyes met. His gaze was ice-cold, and his lips curved into a mocking smile.

“Christine, I really did waste my heart on you eight years ago. You ungrateful woman, you deserve to be alone. You deserve for everyone to leave you.”

Only someone who had truly loved knew exactly where to strike to hurt the most. It felt like an invisible hand had seized my heart, squeezing until I couldn’t breathe.

I opened my mouth, but everything I wanted to say collapsed into a few words.

“You’re right, Mr. Vincent.”

Disappointment flickered across his face before he looked away.

Then, he gave an order to the driver. “Roll up the window. There are five thousand streets in New York. From now on, I don’t want to see Christine on any of them.”

The window slowly rolled up. When the red light turned green, I could only watch as the Cadillac disappeared into the traffic.

Helpless, I crouched down. The diary in my pocket pressed painfully against my side. I pulled it out and opened it to the first page. The same sentence filled it, over and over again.

“Vincent Medici is the most important person in this world. No matter who I forget, I must never forget Vincent Medici.”

The second, third, fourth pages, and beyond were all records of our relationship from eight years ago.

“March 11, 2015. Vincent took me to Rockefeller Center to look at the stars. He said there was a star just for me, named Christine.”

“March 18, 2015. Vincent met my mom today. She liked him very much as a son-in-law.”

As I read, tears filled my eyes. Only then did I truly understand what it meant they said, ‘A moment’s happiness must be repaid a hundredfold in suffering.’

At eight that night, in an old apartment building in Queens, the hallway light had been broken for a long time. In the darkness, with my fading sense of direction, I stumbled again and again. I had walked that path for eight years, yet to me, it felt more unfamiliar with each passing day.

I let out a faint sigh. Then, I looked up, and standing at my door was Vincent Medici, dressed in a sharp suit, his expression cold as ice.
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  • The Bride Who Never Was   Chapter 20

    On April 20th, Vincent went to the Queens Cemetery for the last time. He was wearing the same dark gray coat he had on during his first date with Christine. Eight years had passed, and the coat now looked worn, with the cuffs frayed. He didn’t know why he had never thrown it away. Maybe he forgot, or maybe he simply couldn’t bring himself to.He sat down in front of my gravestone and placed the white chrysanthemums carefully beside it.“The weather is nice today,” he said softly. “Better than yesterday and the day before. I sat in the cathedral for the whole afternoon and then went to the Mexican restaurant for dinner. The owner isn’t there anymore. It’s someone new now. The risotto isn’t as good as yours. I only took two bites before I stopped eating.”From his pocket, he took out a diary. The edges were worn from being turned too many times. He opened it to the first page.“Vincent Medici is the most important person in this world. No matter who I forget, I must never forget Vinc

  • The Bride Who Never Was   Chapter 19

    It was April, and spring had finally sprung in New York. In Queens Cemetery, the grass had begun to turn green again. A few unnamed wildflowers had grown beside my gravestone, as if they had decided to stay where I once was.Vincent came every afternoon. Sometimes, he brought a book; sometimes, he brought nothing at all, but he would sit by the gravestone for hours. John would sometimes follow him, standing far away at the cemetery gate. From there, he watched Vincent’s silhouette. The man who once made New York’s underworld tremble now spent his days sitting in front of a grave, quietly letting an afternoon pass him by. Sometimes, Vincent would speak to the gravestone. Other times, he just sat in silence, like two stones facing each other.One day, after returning from the cemetery, Vincent called John into the study.“John. Do something for me.”“Whatever you need.”“Sort out all my assets. Everything.”Taken aback, John asked, “Everything?”“Everything. Family shares, real es

  • The Bride Who Never Was   Chapter 18

    Today was March 11th, and it had been nearly three months since I jumped from the top of the Empire State Building. Vincent went alone to Rockefeller Center. The observatory telescope was still there. He dropped in a coin but didn’t look through it. Instead, he stood on the viewing platform outside for a long time.Today was the day we first looked at the stars together. Back then, I was twenty-four, working as a waitress in that Mexican restaurant, while he was twenty-five, heir to the Medici family. He made up the name of a star to fool me, yet I believed him with my bright smile. Every March 11th after that, I came here. No matter whether I remembered the way or even remembered the star’s position, I always came.Vincent took my diary out of his pocket and turned to the last page of the day I had come.“March 11th. Rockefeller Center. Today, I didn’t see the star. The clouds in New York were too thick, but it’s okay. I remember what Vincent said. That star is called Christine, an

  • The Bride Who Never Was   Chapter 17

    In mid-January, Vincent received an email from Mount Sinai Hospital. The sender was Dr. Harrison.“Mr. Vincent, while organizing Miss Christine’s records, I found a video she recorded last year. I had suggested she make it at the time to document the progression of her condition. She stored it in the hospital system and instructed me to deliver it to you after her passing. The video file is attached—Harrison.”The attachment was large. It took Vincent a full ten minutes to download. He sat in his study, the curtains drawn tightly shut. The computer screen was the only source of light in the room.The video began. I was sitting in Dr. Harrison’s office. I wore a gray sweater, my hair tied back, revealing a thin, almost fragile face. My gaze was slightly unfocused, but I was trying my best to look into the camera.“Today is… wait. Let me ask. Dr. Harrison, what’s the date today?”Off camera, Dr. Harrison said, “March 11th.”“March 11th,” I repeated and suddenly smiled. “Today is Ma

  • The Bride Who Never Was   Chapter 16

    On December 25, Christmas Day, New York had its first snowfall of the winter. Vincent went alone to the Queens Cemetery. A thin layer of snow had settled on my gravestone. He gently brushed it away and placed a bouquet of white chrysanthemums in front of it.On the stone was engraved that same sentence, “Vincent Medici is the most important person in this world.”He crouched down and traced the carved letters with his fingers.“It’s Christmas today,” he said softly. “You used to love Christmas. Every year, you’d hang lights all over the apartment. I used to say, what’s the point of decorating a two-hundred-square-foot place like that, but you said the bigger, the better. It was so that when I came back, I could see it from far away. Then, I came back, but your lights weren’t on anymore.”The snow grew heavier, falling on his hair and shoulders. He didn’t have an umbrella. He just stayed there, crouched in front of the grave.After a long while, footsteps came from behind him. John

  • The Bride Who Never Was   Chapter 15

    After Elena left, Vincent stayed in the Mexican restaurant for a long time. The owner eventually came over and asked if he wanted anything else. Vincent simply shook his head, left a few bills on the table, and stood up to leave.Outside, New York’s night wind hit him along with flashes of neon light. The streets were crowded, but no one paid attention to the man in the black shirt walking through them. He walked slowly, almost aimlessly, until he found himself at the Brooklyn Bridge. Cars streamed across it nonstop, their headlights shining. On the pedestrian walkway, joggers passed by, and couples stopped occasionally to take photos.Vincent walked to the middle of the bridge, the exact spot where I had once crouched down. He crouched there now, resting his hands on his knees, just like I had done that day. From that angle, the Brooklyn skyline flickered in and out of the night. I had written about this place in my diary.“Today I crouched down on the Brooklyn Bridge for a long ti

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