Chapter 3

"Three years," he said. Almost to himself.

I looked up at him. The boy they'd promised me to was a Don now. Still. Certain. Dangerous.

His jaw was tight. His eyes held more than they used to. I looked away.

He seemed to read it. He spoke first. "It's your wedding day. I came early. I was afraid he'd leave you standing here again. Like last time."

His fingers curled. Two years ago I'd stood alone outside the chapel. His voice had come raw down the line. "Alessia. Even after that, you'll still stay with him?"

I held out my hand. "Get me out of here."

His eyes dropped to my fingers. To the bare band of skin where the ring had been an hour ago. Something in his jaw eased.

Salvatore took my hand. "Okay."

The door shut. The noise died. The motorcade pulled away.

Across the city, Matteo was pushing open the door to Serafina's apartment.

The living room was a wreck. A chair overturned. Glass on the floor. A handgun on the table. Serafina on the carpet, hair loose, undone.

He crouched and pulled her up against his chest. She pressed her face into his neck. He let her. One hand cradled the back of her head, careful, like he was holding something he was afraid to lose.

He carried her to the sofa. He held her in his lap until her shaking eased.

There were scratches down his arm. Two buttons gone from his shirt.

"Matteo, I thought they'd come for me tonight." Her breath still shook. "I didn't mean to scratch you. I made you leave her again. I'm sorry."

He pressed his lips to her hair. "No one touches you. I don't blame you."

He owed her his life. That was the whole of it. He'd decided long ago that a debt of blood outranked a woman who never made a sound.

His phone buzzed. "Matteo—a whole DeLuca motorcade just rolled up and took your woman. A convoy of them."

His hand stopped on Serafina's back.

A motorcade. For a second, something cold went through him. Then he shook it off. "It's fine. I texted her. She's just making me chase her this time."

He almost smiled. "She always writes back. Give her ten minutes."

He checked the screen. Nothing. He checked again.

Three years, and she had never once left him on read.

The cold came back. This time it didn't leave.

"Settle the guests," he said, quieter now. "Push it. I'm coming back."

Serafina's hand slid up his collar. He caught her wrist and moved it away. He stood. "I'll send men to stay with you. Don't move. I have to get back."

Driving back, he opened the glove box out of habit. He took out a velvet box.

Every time he left Serafina, he brought Alessia a ruby. The last time was the engagement night. He'd rushed back and found her in the bathroom. Blood on the tiles. A shard of glass in her hand. His hands had shaken so hard he could barely lift her.

He never understood why she did it. He had a necklace sent up the next morning.

He thought that was how you fixed a thing like that.