Chapter 2

My grandfather’s smile vanished.

“Emilia, don’t be ridiculous. Come down here.”

Don Antonio Bellini rarely needed to raise his voice.

But I was looking at the lines beside his mouth, remembering how much deeper they would become.

In my last life, after my marriage became the favorite topic at every family gathering in New York, he shut himself in his study and refused to see anyone.

When I finally went in, he was sitting behind his desk with an untouched glass of whiskey.

He looked ten years older.

“Did I make a mistake, sweetheart?”

The Don who had never apologized for a decision looked at me as though he was afraid of my answer.

“Should I have stayed out of it? Let you choose for yourself?”

I hadn’t answered.

In the glass cabinet behind him, I could see my own reflection.

Unwashed hair. A robe I hadn’t changed out of in days. Eyes swollen from another sleepless night.

I hardly recognized myself.

I wasn’t going to become that woman again.

“I’m not joking, Grandpa.”

Beside the platform, Dominic frowned.

“Emilia—”

Then his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, and his expression changed.

Angela.

I knew before he answered.

“What happened?”

He listened for a moment, then turned toward the doors.

“Okay. Just breathe. I’m on my way.”

His voice softened as he passed the guards.

“No, don’t apologize. You did the right thing calling me.”

I waited until he was gone before handing the microphone to a waiter.

My phone vibrated as I stepped down.

Two messages from Dominic.

Whatever you’re trying to pull, stop.

I don’t have time for this tonight.

I stared at the screen.

There was no trick.

This time, I meant it.

“Go home,” Grandfather said tightly. “We’ll discuss this when you’ve had time to think.”

His men watched me cross the room. Nobody offered another congratulation.

Outside, my driver opened the car door.

I stopped beside a trash can near the curb, took the little velvet box from my purse, and dropped it inside.

For months, I had imagined sliding that ring onto Dominic’s finger.

The lid fell shut before I could look at it again.

Back at the penthouse, I started packing.

The apartment belonged to Dominic. I had moved in two years ago, when our first wedding date was still supposed to mean something.

I took our photographs off the shelves. Gathered the blankets I’d bought for evenings together, the mismatched mugs he’d teased me about, the cookbooks full of meals I had wanted to make him.

I packed everything into boxes and asked the housekeeper to arrange a donation pickup in the morning.

Then I packed my things into two suitcases and booked a flight for the next day.

In the snow, Dominic had asked me to let him go. He had died saving me.

I owed him that much.

This life, I could give him back the life he’d wanted.

A life without me.

Dominic returned a little after eleven.

I was curled up on the sofa, my flight confirmation open on my phone.

His gaze moved over the empty shelves, the bare mantel, the boxes stacked beside the wall.

“What’s all this?”

“I’m packing.”

He loosened his tie.

“I can see that. What are you trying to do, Emilia?”

“Calling off the wedding. So you can be with Angela.” I looked at him, "And yes, I am moving out."

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then his expression darkened.

“Can you stop making a scene?”

His voice pulled me into another night.

Another time I had sat in this room, waiting for him to come home.

That was our first wedding anniversary.

I’d made dinner. Set the table. Waited until the candles burned low.

When he finally arrived, he was only there to change his shirt.

Angela had been admitted to the hospital again.

I followed him to the bedroom.

“Please stay tonight.”

He kept unbuttoning his cuffs.

“She’s alone.”

“So am I.”

“Emilia.”

I caught his sleeve.

“I’m your Donna, Dominic. Does anything I want ever matter to you?”

He looked down at my hand until I let go.

“You wanted the wedding. You got it. What else do you want?”

I couldn’t speak.

He took a clean shirt from the closet.

“When Angela was at her sickest, I wasn’t there. Because of you.”

He passed me without looking at my face.

“Now you know what it feels like to be left alone. You owe her that much.”

After that, every anniversary followed the same pattern.

Angela needed him.

I waited.

Sometimes I called. Sometimes I sat beside a dinner neither of us ate. Once, I fell asleep on the sofa holding the card I had spent an hour trying to write.

I stopped telling my grandfather when he didn’t come home.

I couldn’t bear their pity, and I knew what would happen if he called Dominic’s father.

But I still asked Dominic once.

“Why can’t you choose me? Just once?”

His steps faltered at the door.

For one foolish second, I thought he might turn around.

Then he left.

I stood at the window until his taillights disappeared into traffic, wondering what had happened to the man who used to plan my birthday surprises weeks in advance.

The man who had once brushed his thumb over my cheek and promised, “Just wait until we’re married. I’m going to make you happy, I promise.”

I had spent five years looking for him in the man who came home.

Five years believing that if I explained myself clearly enough, waited patiently enough, loved him well enough, he would finally believe me.

Instead, I learned to cry quietly so the staff wouldn’t hear.

“Emilia.”

Dominic was standing in front of me.

Alive. Impatient. Waiting for an answer.

I looked at the hands that had held me in the snow and kept me warm until his last breath.

“Okay, Dominic. ” I said softly. “No more scenes.”