The Mafia’s Red Rose Chose the Third Man

Given a second chance at life, I decided I was finished competing with Bianca.

When I opened my eyes, my father, Vittorio Moretti, was sitting behind the long walnut table in his study, his fingertips resting on a photograph.

The man in the photograph wore a black suit and sat on the terrace of a seaside restaurant. His expression was cool, his right hand rested on a cane, and his right leg looked noticeably stiffer than his left.

"Niccolo Vitale." My father watched me as though he expected me to flip the table over. "The Vitale family's only son. If you don't want to meet him, I'll turn them down right now."

I looked down at the photograph and said nothing for a while.

As I lay dying in my last life, Matteo knelt in the rain, holding me, his hands covered in my blood. Our baby was already gone, and I was down to my last breath. He kept saying he'd been wrong to have me investigated, to keep me at the estate, and, worst of all, to call any of it protection.

All I felt then was disgust.

After he'd hurt me so badly, I no longer cared whether he loved me.

This time I had no intention of giving him another chance.

I lifted my head. "When can I meet Niccolo?"

My father was taken aback.

I heard the clink of a cup and saucer in the hall. My stepmother, Giulia Moretti, came in with the coffee. She'd clearly heard everything. She set the cup beside my father's hand and slipped a gold-embossed invitation out from under the tray.

"I almost forgot."

She pushed it across to me with a meaningful little smile.

"From the Bellini family. Next Saturday. Bianca and Luca are getting married."

The two names were printed side by side.

Luca Bellini.

Bianca Rossi.

I looked at the names for a few seconds. They still brought a faint ache to my chest.

When my mother was alive, she talked as though my future with Luca were already settled. The Bellini family had money, territory, and respect, she said. The elders of several families had thought highly of him since he was a boy. Whatever Bianca wanted, I had to get it first.

Because Luca liked long hair, I grew mine to my waist. He said he liked quiet, well-mannered women, so I learned to hide my temper. He admired a good shot, so I practiced until the skin between my thumb and forefinger split, then put on gloves and went back to the range the next day.

And he married Bianca anyway.

In my last life I tore this invitation to pieces where I stood.

This time I closed it and pushed it back onto the table.

Giulia blinked. "You're not going?"

"No."

"Luca is getting married."

"I saw that."

"To Bianca."

"The names are printed very clearly."

Giulia's smile slowly froze. My father frowned too, looking more wary than relieved.

"Sera, what exactly are you thinking?"

"Meeting Niccolo."

"I'm asking why you suddenly agreed to meet him."

I looked at my father.

He didn't treat me badly. He simply never understood me. When my mother was alive, he thought we were both far too competitive. After she died, he left me in the care of the housekeeper, the lawyers, and the bodyguards. As long as I stayed out of serious trouble, he thought he'd done his job as a father.

So what worried him now wasn't who I wanted to marry. It was whether I was using a marriage to get at Bianca again.

And there it was. "You're not planning to—"

"Marriage will shape the rest of my life. I'm not using it to spite anyone."

It was the first time I had ever cut him off that calmly.

The study went quiet.

It took dying to understand that I had turned all of it into a contest. What I studied, what I wore, who I loved, who I married. Every time I beat Bianca, my mother was a little happier. Win enough times and maybe she would actually love me.

She died without ever once holding me.

"If Niccolo is willing to meet me, I'm willing to get to know him properly." I sat back in the chair.

Giulia couldn't help herself. "But the Vitale family, these last few years—"

"I'll think about the family's situation after I've met him."

"And Bianca?"

I smiled.

"She's getting married. What does that have to do with me?"

My father looked at me for a long moment, then slowly put the photograph away.

"The day after tomorrow, in the afternoon."

I nodded. "Fine."

Back in my room I pushed the wedding invitation to the bottom of a drawer.

Before I shut it, I stopped, picked up my phone, and texted my father's assistant.

"Tell the Vitale family I'll be there at three in the afternoon the day after tomorrow. On time."