Mga Maiikling Kuwento at Nobelang Tragic Love Mafia Face Slapping

When I drink the amber-colored poisonous wine, I can hear the joyful melody of a toast song coming from the manor. The wedding between Emanuela Romano and my ex-fiance, Benedetto Martini, is being held there right now. The elderly butler, Vincenzo Romano, puts away the wine glass with a blank expression. The way he speaks is as somber as one sounds when they give a speech at a funeral. "You know the Don's will very well, Ms. Andreotti. Five years are officially up, yet neither Mr. Andreotti, Mr. Martini, nor Dr. Foscari is willing to pledge their loyalty to you via the blood vow. According to the rules, you must take your own life within seven days. "The Don had left the Ashwine to you as a means of protecting… what little pride you have." Scorching pain begins spreading from my throat. I just smile at Vincenzo in return. Pride? Does a bastard spawn of a loose Iernian woman deserve to retain pride of any sort in the cruel Andreotti family? I begin making my way toward the banquet hall, which is brightly lit. As I walk past the shimmering waters of the pond in the family garden, I can tell that the waters are insanely cold. Then again, nothing is as cold as my icy heart right now. After taking a deep breath, I fall face-first into the pond… only to feel an iron-clad grip wrenching me backward. As such, I collapse onto the lawn heavily. My older brother, Alessandro Andreotti, has bits of grass covering his expensive suit. Disgust is written all over his handsome face. "Eva!" he grits out through his teeth, his voice lowered. "Must you spoil the mood on Emanuela's big day?" He then scoots closer to me, his alcohol-tinged breath fanning over my face. "You want to die, huh? Go ahead and do that, but can you die somewhere further? Don't stain the Andreotti land!" Alessandro turns to walk in the direction of the radiant lights, leaving me on the lawn, completely covered in mud. I can feel the countdown of my lifespan burning my insides. Seven days… I only have seven days to live. Meanwhile, my very own brother wants me to die somewhere further away.

The second day after I was transferred back to Los Angeles, I ran into someone I used to know on a street corner. She stepped right in front of me, eyes going wide. “Mia? Mia Rossi? Why would you come back now? Dante's marrying Camille at the cathedral in a week.” Dante was my first love, and also the youngest heir to a mafia dynasty on this side of the Atlantic. He'd made me a promise once: that he'd make the entire Moretti family kneel and welcome me in. We had a deal: the day he officially took over as Don would be the day he married me. But his family had other plans. They arranged a match for him: Camille, a princess from one of Sicily's five great families. Pure bloodline, the genuine article. At first, Dante swore up and down she meant nothing to him. Less than nothing. Then I started noticing how he looked at her. Softer every time. Like he was falling. One night, riding home after a shift at the bar, Camille's car came out of nowhere and took me down. The gas tank caught, and half the block reeked of burning rubber and scorched metal. I was pinned under the wreckage, blood seeping from the back of my skull down my neck, warm at first, then cold. Dante was the first one there. He beat the ambulance. The first thing he did was walk past me. He crouched down, lifted Camille out of the passenger seat, and didn't look at me once, just dropped a few words over his shoulder: “I already called an ambulance. Hang tight. Camille's had too much to drink. I need to get her home.” That was the moment I was done with him. Completely, finally done. While he was gone, I discharged myself. I bought the farthest plane ticket I could find that same night and left without looking back. Five years passed. “Mia, you have no idea.” The woman grabbed my wrist, dropping her voice. “Dante spent years turning half of Europe upside down looking for you. You came back at the right time. He still keeps a seat for you every month on his birthday. Camille's too proud for a lot of things,

Leo Lovera was a capo, and he always thought I was just a housewife who couldn’t survive without him. He brought a woman, Sophia Costa, back to the estate. He dressed her in my silk robes, doused her in my perfume, and then pretended like he was being thoughtful by offering me a bowl of stew with only a few slices of meat. Leo scowled at me and snapped, “Sophia’s kind-hearted. Don’t be ungrateful. If it weren’t for the fact that you have no family, I’d have thrown you into the sea to feed the fish a long time ago.” No family? I laughed. He had no idea I was the daughter of the Orlen Family's Don, a Mafia princess in every sense. To honor a five-year agreement with the Don, I had been living under a hidden identity, keeping all my sharp edges carefully tucked away. He had said that for five years, I had to live as a normal woman and protect the Family’s territory. I couldn't ever truly inherit his empire without doing so. Five years. And today was the last day. Leo had just shattered that agreement with his own hands. In doing so, he freed me. I pulled out the satellite phone and dialed a number. Ten minutes later, the Family’s legal counsel arrived, flanked by men in black suits. They knocked on the door, and Bruce Sinclair bowed to me the moment he stepped inside. “Principessa Anna, the Don has entrusted the estate to you.”

Three years into my arranged marriage with the Valachi family heir, the one that got away came back. He left me for Julia eight times. The ninth time, he left me bleeding on the side of the road with a gunshot wound to go running to Julia, who’d called him because she felt a little dizzy. "She needs me. You get that, right, Leona?" This time, I didn't fight for him. He didn't know about the bet I’d made with Julia. The ninth time he abandoned me, I would be the one to leave for good. So on his birthday, I left a set of signed divorce papers on his desk and got on a plane.

I was eight months pregnant when I slipped in the bathroom. I lay bleeding on the floor, unable to move. My Apple Watch sent a fall alert to my husband, Gabriel, the mafia don. I waited on the cold tiles for forty minutes. He never came. A maid bringing my dinner heard me calling for help. She called the guards, who broke down the door and rushed me to the hospital. When Gabriel arrived, he held my hand. “I’m sorry, Nora. I won’t let this happen to you or our baby again. I promise.” After I came home, he replaced the tiles in every bathroom so I wouldn’t slip again. Everyone said he loved me more than anything. But we both knew where he’d been during those forty minutes. He was at his late brother’s wife Celeste’s house, taking care of her son, Aaron. Before I fell, he’d sent me a text. “Aaron fell. I need to go check on him.” When my alert came through, he tapped to confirm he’d seen it. Then he went back to cleaning his nephew’s scraped knee. He thought I’d forgive him like I always did. A month later, he was about to name Aaron his heir until our son was old enough to take over. He sent the butler to bring us down for the announcement. The butler returned with divorce papers. “Don, I’m afraid Donna has already left for Zurich.”

At 22, as the Santoro heiress, I'm choosing a husband out of the three Guerra brothers to honor the marriage pact between our families. I pass on Aurelio Guerra and choose the eldest brother, Cesare Guerra, the one with the burn scar on his face, leaving everyone in the Mafia reeling. Everyone knows I put aside my pride as a perfumer for Aurelio and shrank myself until I barely exist. For him, I even leaned on the Santoros' muscle to build his power base. In my last life, I married him, just like I'd always wanted. With the Santoros behind him, he became the youngest Don in the Mafia. After he was established, he hooked up with my stepsister, Maeve Santoro. Together, they stole the new perfume I created, "Reverie", locked me in the lab, and set the place ablaze, reducing me to ash. Now that I've been reborn, I decide to drag those two cheaters to hell myself. But then Aurelio comes back too, carrying the memories of our last life.

I gave up on my inheritance right during the time my love for Matteo Rossini ran the deepest. When I was about to leave, Papa looked at me before saying lightly, "I bet that you'll come home in three years." Back then, I didn't take his words to heart. After spending three years overcoming life's hurdles with Matteo, he finally becomes the Don of his family. On the day the inheritance party is to be held, I decide to wear a dress that I've treasured for a very long time but never had the heart to wear. But the moment I walk into the banquet hall, I see Matteo holding hands with a radiant young woman. She's Isabella Ginevra, a popular socialite in the elite society. Isabella flits among the guests charismatically, as though she were the lady of the house. She's capable of engaging in any conversational topic, be it finance strategies or channels to obtain firearms. I try to participate in a conversation, only for Isabella to cut me off with a titter. "I thought you've been spending the past few years being cooped up indoors. It turns out that you know a thing or two about these topics, huh?" Everyone around us falls silent for a brief moment. My expression freezes on my face. Then, I turn to look at Matteo subconsciously. But he doesn't even bother looking my way. Instead, he merely says softly, "We're talking business here, Bianca. You should sit with the other ladies." I clench my fists instantly. But in the end, I opt to not say anything and just walk away. Through the throngs of the guests, I can see Matteo and Isabella chatting animatedly with each other in low tones. For once, Matteo looks relaxed and at ease—an expression that I haven't seen for a long time. Suddenly, I hear a guest remarking, "If someone like Ms. Ginevra were to become the Donna, she'd be of great help to the Don." A chorus of agreements ring out around him. Matteo just smiles in return, though he doesn't deny that remark. In fact, he even toasts to Isabella and drinks to her in front of everyone. That's when I draw to my feet and walk over to snatch the glass out of his hand. "I think so too. In that case, she can have the position as the Donna, then."

My older sister, Jovina Valenti, catches the eye of the cold and ruthless mafia Don, Carlo Laguardia. However, she fears the danger that arises out of his identity and wants to go abroad to pursue a passionate romance. On the day Carlo sends his men to retrieve her, she drugs my drink and sends me to Carlo. After that, she leaves the country and disappears completely. I, Nerissa Valenti, am forced to become Carlo's wife. He treats me as nothing more than a pet. Despite being married, I ignore Carlo's existence and treat him as if he were invisible. He, on the other hand, continues to make me his pet. When he's pleased with me, he shows me affection. But when I upset him, what awaits me is either cold neglect or harsh reproach. After eight years of this, one day, Carlo suddenly orders that I be locked inside the freezing ice house. I tremble from the cold. When I see Jovina at his side, I realize belatedly that she has, for some reason, decided to return to the country. The first thing she does upon her return is seek Carlo out and lie to him that I drugged myself back then to take her place. Consequently, she was heartbroken and decided to go overseas. Jovina stresses that because of my interference, they spent eight long years being apart from each other. From that moment on, there isn't a trace of emotion left in Carlo's eyes when he looks at me. Under the excuse of visiting me, Jovina comes to the ice house and tampers with the settings. She puts the cold air on full blast at the lowest temperature. "Don't blame me for this, Nerissa. As long as you're alive, my lie will be exposed sooner or later," she says ruthlessly. I don't even last half a day before freezing to death miserably. When I open my eyes again, I return to the day Jovina first catches Carlo's attention. This time, I take the initiative to say, "Jovina, go abroad and look for your true love. I'll marry Carlo in your place." This time, the one Carlo loves will be me.

After I gave myself the last dose of painkiller, I stood outside the hotel all afternoon in the vintage couture gown Lucian had chosen for me himself. The black Bentley motorcade that was supposed to come for the bride never arrived. What I heard instead was the chatter of people passing by. "Did you hear? The youngest Don in New York is getting married. He and the bride have been together ten years." That stopped me, because Lucian and I had only been together seven. "They say he bought a blue diamond, the only one of its kind in the world, just to set it in her ring. He's proposing at the church today." The moment I pushed open the church doors, Lucian looked straight at me. "Cassie, I knew you'd come. Ten years ago you lost Elena, the true blood of this Family, and left her to be ground down at the bottom of the world. You had the safety and glory of the Family name while she endured ten years of hell. I let you believe in that engagement for exactly this day. I want you to feel what it's like to be thrown away by everyone." Three people I knew better than anyone sat in the front pew. Marcus spoke first. "You took the life that was supposed to be Elena's. She's back, so it goes back to her. You owe her that." My heart felt like a cold gun barrel was pressed against it. I couldn't get air. Nobody knew that a month ago I had been diagnosed with end-stage neurological failure, and that I had one day left. For my last hours all I had wanted was to hold the hand of the man I loved, with my family around me. I walked out of the church calmly and dropped the keepsake he had given me into a trash can. But now I'd changed my mind. I wasn't going to spend my last day intruding on any of them.

On the third anniversary of my marriage to Leon Castellano, the most powerful mafia boss in Chicago, I waited for him alone all night in a cabin up on the snowy mountain. A blizzard had sealed off the mountain. The ice cream cake on the table melted down to nothing. I kept calling Leon, but his phone went unanswered. In the early hours, he finally called back, his voice rough with drink. "Sorry. Cecilia's back. I went to pick her up from the airport and forgo our anniversaryt." He left me stranded on that mountain all night. I walked down alone the next morning, and a ranger passing by picked me up in his truck. He didn't know that after that night, I took off my wedding ring. He didn't know that the woman who'd stolen my credit for saving his life was tearing our marriage apart, step by step. That day, Leon slammed the divorce papers down in front of me, his words dripping with disgust and scorn. "Who do you think you are, claiming the credit for Cecilia's kindness to me? She is the sole legitimate heir of the Rosse family, and you? You're nothing but a mistress's bastard! If you hadn't deceived me back then, I would never have missed out on all those years with her!" Something in me finally let go. I signed the papers, faked my death, and flew off into the Sicilian night without looking back. Three years later, I met him again as the princess of Europe's Moretti family. And then Leon was the one full of regret.

As the Don of the Renzetti family, Antonio lived by one rule. Time is money. I watched him pull the trigger on one of his own men for showing up thirty seconds late to a meeting. He was just as stingy with his time when it came to me, even though I was his fiancée. I was always the one who accommodated him. I waited four hours for him at the bridal salon, and all I got was a single cold line over the phone. "Elena, sitting through a fitting is a waste of my time. Go on your own." I put a smile on for the salon staff and finished the fitting alone. That day, I was on a job at the underground casino when I saw Antonio—who was supposed to be at a meeting down at the docks—standing in front of the new bartender, Franca Bellini. "The ice for a Long Island iced tea has to be chipped by hand. I'm afraid this will take a while." Franca clumsily shook the cocktail shaker. I waited for Antonio to turn her down flat. Instead, he pulled up a stool and sat down. "That's fine. I have all the time in the world." Half an hour later my phone buzzed in my pocket. [Job done? Too many attacks lately. Go back to the estate. Don't wait for me.] I stared at the cold instructions, then looked down at Antonio. He had willingly spent half an hour waiting for one drink and still had enough patience to laugh with Franca. I laughed at myself. Antonio, I'm done waiting for you.

Christmas Eve was meant to be the culmination of seven years of long-distance longing—the day Lorenzo finally slid an engagement ring onto my finger. Instead, a sudden emergency surgery chained me to the operating table. The patient wasn't just suffering from a premature delivery and catastrophic hemorrhaging; she was riddled with infections, the biological fallout of a reckless, hedonistic lifestyle. The girl on the table spat out orders with a venomous entitlement that made my blood run cold. "My husband is the head of the Corleone family. He’s second to none, and this entire city bows to him. If you can’t save my baby, you’re all dead." My mind went blank. There was only one head of the Corleone family: Lorenzo. "You’ve got the wrong man," I said, my voice wavering despite my frown. "The news said he’s already engaged to a woman from a rival family for a strategic alliance." The girl looked at me as if I’d just told a pathetic joke. She surveyed me with a mocking sneer. "Oh, he’s mentioned that woman. He said she’s like a cold corpse—that even touching her makes him sick to his stomach. She doesn't provide him a fraction of the pleasure I do." She smirked. "He heard something happened to the baby. He’s en route from Sicily right now with his personal detail." She flicked her phone screen open. There it was: a photo of her and Lorenzo, locked in a suffocatingly intimate embrace. I froze. A second later, a notification from Lorenzo vibrated against my palm. “Darlin’, something urgent came up tonight. I’m skipping the engagement dinner. I’ll make it up to you later.” Since they were so utterly in love, I decided to give them exactly what they wanted. I dialed a number that had been silent for three years—the number of the true mastermind of the underworld, Don Sebastian. "Does your proposal from three years ago still stand?"

I hid who I was. The daughter of the Don. The boss of all bosses. In Brooklyn, Killian and I were just a regular couple. Madly in love. The day I showed him the pregnancy test—two pink lines—he loosened his blood-stained collar. His voice was rough. “I’m marrying the New Jersey syndicate’s daughter. In three days. At St. Patrick’s Cathedral.” “The Russos were nobodies ten years ago. Her father has the muscle and the ports I need to win this war. The ink is dry. And… to get the first weapons shipment… we slept together.” He saw me freeze by the bed. His rough fingers touched my cheek. “I’ll buy you a penthouse on Long Island. The most secure one. You and the baby will be safe. For life.” I slapped his hand away, stunned. “So I’m just your secret? Your mistress? Hidden away forever?” Killian looked away, his jaw tight. “She’s a mob daughter. She plays the part. But you get everything else. My money. My life. It’s all for you and the baby. Just not the ring.” My heart seized. So that's what I was to him. His dirty little secret. “What if I told you… my family could help you too?”

Before my grandfather, the Don of the Rinaldi family, dies, he leaves behind a will. The five Principessas of the Rinaldi family are forbidden from using our family name. We must live like ordinary people until one of us gives birth to the first heir. Whoever does so will inherit everything. For three years, I keep my identity hidden. My husband, Oliver Wright, and I live in a cramped apartment to the south of Windmere. Every morning, we squeeze onto the subway to get to work. When we're short on money, we stay up late making plans and racking our brains trying to keep his small company afloat. I never think life is hard because I love him. One day, the doctor hands me my medical test results—I am the first one to become pregnant. Upon learning this, my whole body trembles with excitement. The life that Oliver and I have struggled toward for years suddenly feels within reach. I drive home with a happy smile on my face as I imagine how he will react. But when I push the door open, I see a woman wearing my favorite nightgown. She is sitting with Oliver, sharing the apple I left in the refrigerator with him. He takes a bite from her hand and glances at me casually. "My first love, Maeve Young, is back. Let's get a divorce." My fingers tighten around the pregnancy test report. Then, I smile and say, "Sure." What he doesn't know is that his penniless, patient, obedient, and endlessly forgiving wife has a last name powerful enough to open every door in Windmere. I will keep this child, and the family fortune will still pass to me. As for my husband, Oliver? I'm ready to let him go.

Everyone in the underworld knew Daniel Taylor loved me more than anything. He was a powerful mafia Don. Yet every year, he set aside a whole month to go to the monastery of San Colombano, climb its 102 stone steps one by one, and pray for me and the child we'd lost. And I had always believed I was the happiest woman in the world. Until the day I saw the video my best friend, Talia Marino, posted on Facebook for her son Renzo's fifth birthday. In the video, Renzo kept calling out for his daddy in a singsong voice. A moment later, a pair of hands reached into the frame and picked him up. Gentle, practiced hands. But I recognized the four-leaf clover bracelet on one wrist. I'd searched the whole city to find it for Daniel. I sat in front of a warm fire, but a chill crept through me. Just then, Rosa Santos, our housekeeper, came over. She took the 4D ultrasound printout from my hand. It had already started to yellow. "Donna, are you thinking about your daughter again?" I looked up. I hadn't even noticed the tears on my face. Yes. I was thinking about her again. Today was the anniversary of her death. I closed the video and called the cemetery office at the monastery. "Hello, this is Lucia Capello. I'd like to arrange for my daughter, Emma Taylor, to be reburied..." "Of course. You'll need to submit the paperwork, and the process takes three days." When I hung up, I booked a flight to Malmö for three days later.

The contractions tore through me. I called my husband, Maxim Volkov, the ruthless Don of Chicago. He didn't answer. I dragged myself out of the penthouse, crawling, and begged a stranger to get me to the Volkov family's private hospital. "I'm Maxim's wife. Get me a delivery room! He'll pay." I pleaded with the nurse, my water breaking. She just stared, shocked. "You? The Donna? Nice try. Don Volkov is already upstairs with his wife. She's in labor." Wife? Since when did Maxim have a second wife? Before I could ask, another contraction ripped through me. Everything went black. When I woke in the recovery room, the real betrayal hit. My baby was gone. All I got was a cold, "The baby wasn't breathing. We couldn't save him. I'm sorry." I searched the whole hospital, sobbing, and ended up outside the VIP maternity suite on the top floor. That's when I heard the truth that shattered my soul. "With the kidney from Seraphina's kid… a perfect match… our son is saved. You can rest now, Isla." Maxim's voice. So gentle, from behind the door. His other wife… was my adoptive sister, Isla? Then I heard my so-called mother's voice, cold. "We had no choice. We took Seraphina in for exactly this reason. It's the least she owes us." My newborn son. Sacrificed. Used as medicine to save another child. I stumbled back, ice in my veins. And there was Isla, victory glowing in her eyes. "My baby was never sick," she whispered, sweet and venomous. "I just wanted everything you had. Why should a stray like you get the Don's love?" The tears stopped. They thought I'd just take it. Give up my place as Donna. They were wrong. I picked up my phone and dialed the number I'd refused a hundred times. My voice was calm. "Brother. I'm coming home. I'm ready to take my rightful place as head of the Ricci family. And I will marry Dante Romano."

"Vera, you are accused of conspiring with the Petrov Group to assassinate the family's future Donna, Sylvia. This tribunal is now in session." In the center of the tribunal, a syringe filled with a dark green liquid glinted under the lights. My former fiancé, Rocco, the new Don of the Corleone family, sat on the dais, disgust plain on his face. "Confess. Let everyone see the monster you are behind that mask." Sylvia leaned against his chest, a faint smile on her lips. She thought I would finally break, my reputation in ruins. Shackled to the accused's chair, a smile of faint relief touched my lips. "Rocco, are you sure you want to do this?" "Use that needle, and there's no going back."

On the night of my 18th birthday, Enzo Vitale holds me by the waist as he coaxes me to take off my underwear. "Good girl. You have a beautiful body, Isabella. Let me take a good look at you." But just when I'm about to reach my climax, the spotlight is turned on. The floor-to-ceiling mirror in front of me becomes a see-through one-way mirror. On the other side of the mirror shows the faces of all the guests who are here to attend my birthday party. Soon, the racy video of my lustful side is spread all over Newlyn. My reputation gets flushed down the drain overnight, and yet Enzo's reputation remains unaffected. On the night we break up, he leaves me a message. "Your brother had watched my sister getting kidnapped by others back then. Now, it's your turn to have a taste of what it feels like, Isabella. You owe me this much." My older brother, Marco Rossi, is enraged, to say the least. When he tries to demand an explanation from Enzo, he gets his legs broken by Enzo's bodyguards instead. Marco drags his broken legs home. But on his way home, he gets into a car crash due to severe pain and blood loss, reducing him to a vegetable. In order to afford the daily eight-thousand-dollar ICU bill, I become the most famous stripper in Newlyn. For the next three years, I flit between various nightclubs in Newlyn as well as various men's beds. I've been trading my pride and body in exchange for checks. Three years later, I knock on a hotel room's door as usual. The door opens, revealing a man wearing a custom-ordered dark gray suit. It's Enzo. He's thinner now, and his cheekbones protrude even more. His eyes are as glacial as frozen lakes. I smile brightly at him. "Sir, would you like any special services?"

Ten years ago, I died in a shootout. My men recovered my body. I left behind only one daughter. My husband, Colton Rinaldi, found our daughter selling cigars at the docks. Under the blazing sun, she was drenched in sweat. The wooden crates had rubbed her shoulders raw and bloody. Colton's face fell. He pulled her aside. Then he demanded, beside himself with rage, "Why are you doing hard labor here? Where is your mother? How could she dump you in a place like this? "She's so damn selfish!" Mia Rinaldi had never seen him before. She stared at him, bewildered. "Who are you? Do you want a cigar? They're cheap." Colton lifted the crate off her shoulders. The veins on the backs of his hands bulged. "Even if she's angry with me, she has no right to torment you like this. Come with me. As far as you're concerned, you don't have a mother anymore." With that, he grabbed her hand and tried to lead her away. Panicked, Mia bit his arm and glared up at him. "Don't talk about my mom like that! Who are you? Get away from me! "Let go of me!" Blood streamed down Colton's arm. Colton went livid. "What has Monica Bellini been teaching you? She's angry with me, so she taught you to be this rude? "I'm your father!" My spirit hovered beside Mia. I tried to wipe away her frightened tears. My hand passed straight through her. A bitter smile tugged at my lips. How could Colton not know? I wasn't sulking. I was dead.

In the world of crime family, Don Damian and I were known for two things: him for running wild, me for standing by him. Everyone knew I was crazy about Damian. It started when we were kids. I was born with a congenital heart defect. My parents couldn't afford the surgery and chose to walk away. Back then, Damian was just a street-level errand boy whose father had gambling debts. He had no standing, no money, nothing. But to raise cash for my surgery, he volunteered for the most dangerous work the Coronelli family had, the kind where each job was a gamble with his life and every payday came in blood. He clawed his way up. The Don eventually took him in as an adopted son, and I became his wife, just like I'd always hoped. But ten years into our marriage, Damian stopped coming home. I'd sit alone at a table of cold food, calling him over and over. Sometimes a woman's voice would answer in the background. He had a private lounge at the family's club, and there was never a shortage of company. My best friend Vincent couldn't understand it. "Is it worth it? He doesn't love you anymore." I just smiled. "He gave me my life. I know he still loves me." Then Vincent forwarded me an encrypted video. A girl in a hospital gown sat on a hospital bed. At the edge of the frame, a hand with sharp-knuckled fingers reached into the shot, a hand wearing the family crest watch. Their fingers were intertwined. The caption read: [My hero promised to marry me once I'm better!! yay!!] I stared at the screen for a long time. That watch. I knew it cold. It was the one I'd fastened it onto his wrist myself more times than I could count, and there was no way I was wrong.