Vera Amore
“The dress was not mine.”
That was the first thought that came to my mind when I got zipped into a wedding dress.
It was 5:47 a.m. The debt collectors were arriving at six. I got zipped into a white dress meant for my sister as a replacement for her wedding.
My father stole €2 million from the De Luca family, the most feared Cosa Nostra in Palermo, and the price for his life? One daughter.
But the night before the wedding, I found a note she had left, saying, “Forgive me. No.” With that, she was nowhere to be found.
At 6 a.m. on the wedding day, Lorenzo De Luca, a cold-looking, handsome man with a terrifying aura, came for his bride. I was presented in my sister's place. He knew in five seconds that I was the wrong sister, but he still took me anyway.
With that, I became a donna who couldn't leave the palazzo.
“You will sleep in my bed every night, Topolina. But I won't touch you till you beg,” he whispered on the night of our wedding.
I should hate him. I tried to.
I was called Dottoressa. Signora. Mrs. De Luca.
Only to realize that the debt was a lie. My father didn't steal money from them. He stole part of my inheritance.
I was never a Maretti at all. I'm a De Luca by blood, the lost heir, and the true donna his family has been waiting for.
He thought he was buying a wife to clear the debt.
No idea he was crowning a queen.
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