The Consigliere Who Chose Everyone but Me
I'm a mafia princess with crippling social anxiety. My fiancé, Rocco Falcone, is our family's consigliere.
He’s the exact opposite of me—extroverted, effortlessly charming, a master at reading and bending people. He's supposed to be my protector. My only link to the outside world.
Tonight was the charity gala for my late mother. I was hiding in the darkest corner, a mask covering my face.
Rocco was supposed to give the speech. My speech. He never showed.
[Emergency. Sorry. Skip the speech, I know you hate the attention. Driver will take you home after the auction. Don't wait up.]
Then I saw Livia’s new post.
It was a picture of Rocco, draping his suit jacket over her shoulders. He was looking down at her, his eyes full of a tenderness he never showed me.
The caption was a gut punch:
[No prom date, so my big bro saved the day! Couldn't have done it without him! ]
The cold hit me. Bone deep.
He ditched a memorial for my dead mother... to take his stepsister to a university dance?
The guests began whispering and sneering that I, the famously awkward, socially crippled princess, couldn’t even force a word out.
I stared at the whiskey I’d ordered for him. The ice in my glass was melting. Just like the hope in my heart.
When I got back to our empty penthouse, my screen was lit up with missed calls and texts from Rocco.
The last one came in thirty minutes ago:
[Aurelia, trouble at Livia's prom. You know how she gets. Couldn't leave her. Your mother's gala means everything. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Next time will be perfect. Trust me.]
I didn't reply.
An engagement held together by "next time." Was a promise like that even worth keeping?