He Thought I Was an Orphan, Until I Went Home
On the night of my engagement party, Luca Moretti walked his childhood sweetheart over to me.
"Clara accidentally stained her dress," he said. "Let her borrow yours for a while."
He added, "Everyone knows you're the main character tonight. It doesn't matter what you wear."
I didn't bother objecting. The gown was already on her.
I stood behind the half-closed back door in a borrowed black dress while his men laughed over their whiskey.
"Luca, is your real fiancee going to lose it?" someone asked.
Luca barely looked up from his glass. "Anna is going to be a Donna. She needs to learn grace."
Another man snorted. "Besides, she's an orphan. Where's she gonna go without you?"
Luca smiled. "She can't leave me."
They didn't know I had never been an orphan. I had buried the Valenti name for five years because I wanted Luca to love me as Anna, not as the Valenti daughter. My father is the Mafia Chairman, the man every family answered to when the highest table met.
That night, I took off the Moretti emerald ring, left it beside the guest book, and called home.
"Papa, I’m not marrying Luca. Don't come to Chicago."