Chapter 2

Matteo's voice came through Rocco's phone. Low and easy. The voice of a man who had never been told no.

"Let her go. She's my Donna. She'll burn off her temper and come home, like always. Send the Bulgari ruby set up to the suite while she cools down."

He was so sure.

Three years had taught him that no matter how far I was pushed, I came back. He thought that was love. It was only that I never let myself go anywhere else.

Rocco chased after me with a few of the men and blocked my path. "Donna. The boss is on his way."

I stopped. I looked at the ring on my finger.

The ruby was obscene. Ten carats. The kind of ruby a man buys when he wants the whole room to know he owns you.

It caught the light, blindingly bright.

Three years ago, Matteo took me up to the harbor terrace. He knelt in front of everyone. He slid this ring on. He said it meant a lifetime.

His eyes were wet when he looked up at me. The only time, before or since, that he let anyone see him that way.

Back then I believed he would always choose me. I learned, slowly, that his heart was never built for one woman.

I took the ring off.

"Donna, think about this." Rocco reached out, almost gentle. "Whatever's wrong, he'll make it right. He always does. There isn't a woman in this city who wouldn't kneel to wear his ring."

Hundreds of eyes were on me. Not pity. Not laughter. Envy.

Some had their phones out, filming the boss's adored Donna. None of them knew they were filming a dead woman.

Three years ago, I gave up my name and my family for Matteo. It bought me this. A wedding I had to cancel myself.

I dropped the ring into the wine glass at his empty seat. It sank to the bottom and settled there, glinting up through the red.

"Jesus—" Rocco snatched the glass up. "Are you out of your mind? He had that stone reset from his grandmother's ring. There's one like it in the world."

My phone buzzed. Matteo. Wait for me, baby. I'll be there soon. I sent the Bulgari ruby set up to your suite. Put it on tonight and forget all this.

I didn't reply. I kept walking.

"Stop her!" The men closed in. I looked up at them. They stopped. They glanced at each other. Then they stepped aside and let me through. They only dared follow behind.

Outside, a line of black armored cars sat along the bottom of the steps. Engines idling. Men in dark suits at every door.

At the center car, a man stood waiting. Sharp suit. Cold face. One hand on the door.

The moment he saw me, he moved toward me.

Rocco shouted. "Who the hell—you think you can cross the Ferraro family—"

Then he saw the man's face. The rest died in his throat. His blood drained. "Don DeLuca."

Three years ago, Salvatore DeLuca turned on the Russos. In under a month, he nearly ended them. Old Man Ferraro went to him on his knees before it stopped. Everyone assumed the two sides had called a truce.

Only I knew why he'd done it. Matteo had taken the woman promised to him.

And only I knew it was me who went to Salvatore behind everyone's back and begged him to stand down.

The man who had wanted me since before I had the right to refuse. Since the day our families promised me to him.

Salvatore didn't look at Rocco. He didn't look at any of them. He walked straight to me. His gaze fell on my gown. He paused.