At the Moretti family banquet, Don Cesare Moretti won a two-person package to a private island resort.

The host asked with a teasing grin, "Don Moretti, who are you taking with you?"

Every pair of eyes in the room turned to me.

The crowd began chanting my name, their voices rising with gleeful anticipation.

"Adriana! Adriana!"

My heart hammered against my ribs. I smiled at Cesare, hope blooming warm in my chest.

But Cesare didn't even glance my way. His gaze had drifted past me, settling on his secretary sitting near the front.

His voice was casual, almost indulgent. "Give it to her. The girl's been working late lately. She deserves a break."

His secretary's face went scarlet.

Those soldiers paused for just a beat—then someone shouted, "The Don is so thoughtful," and the laughter swelled again, smoothing over the moment.

My best friend Bianca leaned in, whispering through clenched teeth, "We planned to get married together on the island this year. How could he forget something like that?"

I smiled and forced back the tears. Then I reached over and straightened her collar.

"Don't worry. The plan stays. The wedding happens."

Then I called my father and said yes to the family arrangement.

I would marry the Don of the Romanov family—Cesare's biggest rival.

If Cesare didn't want to marry me, that was fine. I'd just find myself another groom.

Cesare stepped off the stage with that lazy, unhurried grace of his.

Everyone watched him quietly, their eyes trailing his every movement.

When he passed his secretary Clara's seat, he paused.

He handed her the brown envelope. The resort voucher was inside. A half-smoked cigar dangled from the corner of his mouth.

His smile held that lazy, almost indulgent warmth.

"Take it," he said.

Clara's face lit up. Her pretty mouth curved into something surprised and delighted.

She tried to look modest, but her hands were already reaching for the envelope, clutching it to her chest like he'd handed her a crown.

She stood up immediately. Her voice carried through the room, bright and teasing.

"Thank you, Don Moretti! You're always thinking of me—I don't even know how to thank you!"

She gave him an exaggerated, playful bow that made a few people chuckle.

Then she straightened up, paused for effect, and shot him a sly look that seemed innocent on the surface but carried something sharper underneath.

"But I don't really have anyone to go with," she said. "Why don't you come with me?"

The air in the room froze for half a heartbeat, and then a few people laughed in a low, knowing way.

Beside me, Bianca shot to her feet. I grabbed her wrist and yanked her back down into her seat, then forced an easy smile onto my face.

"Easy." I comforted her. "Don't be so impulsive. Cesare won't say yes."

And then I heard Cesare's reply, warm and full of amusement.

"Depends on your work performance," he said.

I froze, wondering if I had heard him correctly.

"Yes, sir!" Clara gave an exaggerated salute, and the room dissolved into laughter.

Even Cesare cracked a genuine smile at that. He patted her shoulder like she was a puppy who had done a cute trick, and then he started walking toward me.

"What the hell!" Bianca hissed, barely managing to stay in her seat. "She's playing innocent because she's younger. Is she really that clueless, or is she doing this on purpose to provoke you?"

Her chest was heaving with anger, and her eyes had already grown wet with frustrated tears.

"The four of us have been together for eight years," she continued, her voice low and furious. "On your eighteenth birthday, we all pinky swore that we would have a four-person wedding together on that island. Enzo and I already set our date. Is Cesare really that oblivious? Did he just forget? And now he's giving the prize to his secretary?"

I put my hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Sit still," I said. "Don't get worked up."

Bianca didn't say anything else, but she refused to look at me. She just stared off to the side with that stubborn sheen of tears still glazing her eyes.

Cesare sat back down beside me, and he must have noticed something was wrong from my expression or Bianca's rigid posture.

He smiled, the one that always made it impossible for me to stay angry at him for long.

He took my hand and ran his thumb slowly over my ring finger.

"The island isn't anything special," he said quietly. "It's full of tourists everywhere. Once the family business settles down at the end of the year, I'll take you to Fiji instead. They say the water there is the most beautiful in the world—clear, warm, and impossibly blue. Believe me, you would love it."

Listening to his promise, I didn't feel particularly excited.

Deep down, what I longed for more than any trip was our wedding—the one we had talked about but never seemed to get any closer to.

Quietly, I pulled my hand back, disappointment washing over me.

"No need," I said flatly. "You have more than enough to keep you busy."

He blinked in surprise, clearly caught off guard by my cold response.

For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. Then he let out a soft, awkward chuckle and slowly withdrew his hand.

On my left, Bianca had her phone out, and her thumbs were flying across the screen. She leaned over to me and spoke in a low voice.

"Enzo is giving a speech in a minute," she said. "I'll have him remind Cesare about the wedding."

I gave her a grateful smile and nodded.

A small spark of hope flickered in my chest. Mayb there was still a chance that Cesare would agree to our wedding.

Bianca, Enzo, Cesare, and I had met at Dartmouth College, and the four of us had become each other's closest friends over the years.

Enzo and Bianca now ran the family casino together, and the early days had been brutal. There had been blood, sweat, and even more blood, but with the Moretti family backing them, the casino had finally found solid ground.

Tonight, the host invited Enzo to speak and asked him about his plans for the rest of the year.

Enzo stroked his chin playfully and paused for dramatic effect. Then he grinned wide enough to split his face.

"Next month," he announced into the microphone, "I'm getting married on an island!"

Cheers erupted from every corner of the ballroom.

He glanced at our table, specifically at Bianca, and his voice softened with genuine emotion.

"I hope to spend the rest of my life with my girlfriend," he said affectionately. "I want to love her forever and be happy forever."

The applause was deafening, and Bianca's eyes turned red with tears.

Then Enzo shifted his gaze to Cesare, and his voice rang out warm and hopeful across the room. "Don, would you like to get married together with us?"

My throat tightened, and all eyes turned to Cesare.

His people had their hands clasped together, ready to applaud, and the band leader had already lifted his baton.

I looked at Cesare, and for one fragile, aching moment, I let myself hope that he might say yes.

But Cesare just waved his hand in a casual, almost joking gesture.

"I don't want to rush into a group wedding," he said. "You two go ahead. Adriana and I still have a few more years of being in love."

His tone was light and easy, as if he were commenting on the weather rather than breaking a promise he had made eight years ago.

Enzo could read the room, so he didn't push the matter. He just laughed a little awkwardly, rubbed his nose, and continued with his speech.

The tide inside me receded completely, leaving nothing behind but silence and the wreckage of something I had held onto for far too long.

Clara was sitting a few tables away, and she turned her head to look at me over her shoulder. Her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile.

I saw triumph in her gaze, and something that might have been pity.

I nodded at her calmly, and my mouth curved into a polite, distant smile.

But deep down, my heart ached. A dull, crushing weight settled in my chest, and no matter how hard I tried to shake it off, it clung to me like a shadow.

For the rest of the night, Bianca refused to look at Cesare. When their eyes accidentally met, she glared at him as if he were the enemy rather than her fiancé's best friend.

Enzo was the one who walked all of us out at the end of the night, and he looked awkward and miserable about the tension between everyone.

Cesare and I came out of the parking garage and saw Clara standing alone outside the hotel.

The night wind had pressed her dress against her legs, and she was hugging herself while looking around as if she were lost.

Cesare's car window rolled down, and Clara's face lit up when she saw him.

"Don Moretti," she said as she hurried over.

"Why are you still here?" he asked.

"No cabs are available," she said in a small, pitiful voice, glancing up at him through her lashes. "It's impossible to find one this late."

Cesare glanced at the back seat, then let his gaze drift slowly to me—almost as an afterthought.

"We'll give you a ride," he said casually.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to impose," Clara said, biting her lip in hesitation. But her feet stayed rooted to the spot. Her eyes flickered toward me briefly, then returned to him. "Your girlfriend is right there," she added softly, as if reminding him of something he might have forgotten.

Cesare didn't even blink. "It's on the way," he said, turning to me. " Adriana, I'll drop you in Brooklyn first, and then I'll take her home."

I nodded because there was nothing else to say.

The whole drive, Clara chattered like a little bird. She told stories about her family, laughed at her own jokes, and shared gossip about people I had never met.

Cesare chuckled beside her from time to time, throwing in the occasional remark that made her giggle even more. Their voices flowed back and forth like a private duet, leaving no room for a third.

I sat silently in the back, listening to the unfamiliar names and easy laughter, and felt so lonely.

When I finally got out of the car, Cesare leaned across the seat without really looking at me. "Go on up," he said, already turning back toward Clara. "I'll be back as soon as I drop her off."

I nodded and walked toward my apartment building. But something made me slow down and look back.

The black car was still running, the low hum of the engine drifting through the quiet street.

Through the windshield, I could see that Clara had moved to the front passenger seat—she was leaning close to Cesare, tugging playfully at his sleeve as she pointed at something ahead.

Cesare turned slightly toward her, his profile soft and relaxed in the shifting light from the dashboard. He was smiling in a way I rarely saw.

Then the car made a smooth U-turn and drove off in the opposite direction, its taillights disappearing into the night.

I stood there for a while, lost in thought, watching the empty street where the car had disappeared. The night air was cool against my skin, but the chill inside me ran deeper.

In the end, a bitter smile tugged at the corner of my lips—and I made up my mind.

I went upstairs to pack. There was no point in staying any longer—that much I knew for sure.

The room felt colder than usual, or maybe that was just me.

There wasn't much to pack. I folded my clothes mechanically, one piece after another, and laid them flat inside. The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric and my own shallow breathing.

When I reached the back of the closet, my fingers brushed against a small velvet box hidden behind a pile of old sweaters. I pulled it out and opened it.

Inside lay a silver bracelet with a single charm: a tiny, imperfect starfish. One of its arms was shorter than the others, and the edges were uneven, as if someone had filed them down by hand.

This was the bracelet that Cesare had given me when he confessed his feelings.

I could still remember him standing in my kitchen, sweating through his shirt, stuttering like a schoolboy who had forgotten how words worked.

He had shoved the box into my hands and mumbled, "Adriana, I don't have much money right now, but I want to give you the ocean."

His voice had cracked on the word "ocean."

His eyes were so earnest, so afraid that I might refuse.

"I promise you," he continued, his voice cracking slightly. "Soon. I'll take you to see the real thing."

My heart fluttered with joy. I could already picture it: the two of us, waves at our feet, the whole world ahead.

In that moment, nothing else mattered—not the cheap velvet box, not the imperfect little charm, not the fact that we had nothing. All I could see was him.

I touched the tarnished starfish, and the metal felt cool against my fingertips.

At the bottom of the drawer, beneath an old scarf and some crumpled receipts, I found a photograph.

It had faded a little around the edges. The picture showed the four of us at St. Patrick's Cathedral eight years ago.

Bianca and Enzo were laughing with their mouths wide open and their eyes crinkled into happy crescents. Cesare had his arm wrapped around my shoulders, and I was leaning into him.

We had been so young and so bright back then.

That day came back to me in fragments: the sunlight streaming through stained glass, splashing across our faces in colored shards of blue, red, and gold. The cold stone floor beneath our feet. The echo of our footsteps bouncing off the high ceilings.

Enzo had thrown his head back and declared, "This cathedral is so holy. This is where I'm getting married."

I had wrinkled my nose and shaken my head. The grandeur felt heavy to me—beautiful, yes, but suffocating.

"It's too dark in here," I had said. "If I ever get married, I want the ceremony to be by the ocean. Blue sky above, white clouds drifting by, and the sound of waves as the soundtrack."

I had spread my arms wide as if to embrace the sea breeze I could already imagine.

Cesare had pinched my cheek and laughed, his eyes warm and teasing. "Okay," he had said. "Deal. The four of us on an island, getting married together. Me and you, and Enzo and Bianca."

"Pinky swear!" I had stuck out my little finger.

"Pinky swear," he had replied, wrapping his own around mine.

We had made that promise together, the four of us, standing in that cathedral like it meant something eternal.

It was almost funny to think about now.

I had imagined the ocean so many times over the years—the salt spray, the endless horizon, the way the light would catch in his hair. But I had never actually gone to see it.

I had been stubborn about it. I wanted to see the sea for the first time with him, in my white dress, walking into the next chapter of our lives.

But now he had said that the island was crowded and nothing special.

His words hit me like a cold wave. All those years of waiting, of dreaming, of saving that perfect moment—and he had just brushed it off with some careless words.

I felt foolish. Had he even remembered our pinky swear? Or had that promise slowly faded from his mind while it stayed carved into mine?

The apartment door suddenly opened, cutting through my thoughts, and Cesare was back.

I wiped my eyes quickly and shoved the bracelet and the photo back into their hiding places. Then I went to the living room and sat down on the couch, flipping through the wedding dress catalog that I had left on the coffee table.

I flipped through the pages without really seeing them. The white gowns blurred together into one soft, shapeless cloud.

Cesare came in and kicked off his shoes with an easy expression on his face.

"I had a reason for giving Clara the travel voucher," he said, lowering himself into the armchair. "There was an ambush this afternoon—one of the rival families set up inside a church. She happened to be with me, and she nearly got killed. On top of that, her family is dealing with something right now. So I gave her the voucher. Consider it compensation."

His explanation was reasonable and flawless, so I nodded calmly. "I understand," I said.

Cesare's shoulders relaxed at my words. He seemed satisfied, then headed off to the bathroom. The moment the door closed behind him, a heavy silence filled the room.

A little while later, my phone buzzed on the coffee table. I glanced at the screen. The bridal shop.

"Is this Miss Vitale?" the shop assistant said. "The wedding dresses you liked have arrived in your size. When would you like to come in for a fitting?"

She paused for a moment. "Will the Don be joining you to look at suits?"