Erasing the Underboss's Shadow

To project an image of pure-hearted kindness, Lila Monroe, the Principessa of the Monroe crime family, had insisted on calling a girl from the slums like me her best friend.

When I was desperate, my father’s illness leaving me unable to afford my school fees, she dragged me in front of Dante Rossi with a dramatic flourish.

“Our Quinn is trying so hard. If you sponsor her, I’ll agree to be your girlfriend!”

The notoriously proud and aloof heir to the Rossi family looked up, his gaze flicking over me.

He snapped his fingers. “Deal.”

From that moment on, I became their inseparable shadow. Everyone would say:

“Quinn Avery, you’re so lucky to have a friend as kind as Lila.”

And I could only nod.

Even when, in private, she slapped me for wearing the wrong dress, or when I failed to take a drink for her and she shoved me toward a group of leering men.

I was still grateful for what she’d said that day, for changing my crumbling fate.

Riding their coattails, I landed a job at the Rossi family's real estate firm after college, climbing the ladder to an executive position in just three years.

Later, they had a terrible fight. Lila left the country and married someone else in a fit of pique, while Dante, on impulse, asked me to be his girlfriend.

He showered me with material things, and when my stomach ached, he’d rub it gently, his brow furrowed with concern.

But then, news came that Lila Monroe had divorced and was returning home.

Dante was lost in a daze for a long time. The first thing he said to me was, “Quinn, let’s break up.”

There was no surprise on my face. Instead, I breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. “Okay.”

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1

Dante Rossi’s attention was glued to his phone, his gaze locked on the post Lila Monroe had published half an hour ago.

“After three years, I’m back.”

The photo was a selfie taken on the city’s Central Bridge.

In a pristine white dress that highlighted her exquisite features, she looked like a swan princess gracing the mortal world, utterly untouched by it.

A complex, unreadable emotion flashed in Dante’s eyes.

His well-defined fingers tightened on the phone. I could feel the tension coiling in his body.

After all these years, no one knew him better than I did.

Dante Rossi had never gotten over her.

“Quinn.”

Seeing me silently packing my suitcase, Dante finally spoke.

“I was immature back then. Too young, too proud. That’s why Lila and I fought. She left and married someone else out of anger. These past few years… I’ve regretted it.”

His gaze fell on me, cold and distant.

But it was as if he were looking straight through me to someone else.

I nodded. “I know.”

The silence was awkward, so I added, “I don’t think Lila ever got over you, either. That’s why she’s back. I wish you two the best.”

“That’s not what I wanted to say.”

Dante frowned, cutting me off.

“I’m going to tell Lila how I feel—”

“Don’t let her know we dated. She has this thing about… romantic purity. Knowing we dated would bother her.”

As he said this, a flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it vanished as quickly as it came.

I lowered my gaze, forcing a bitter smile.

“I understand.”

Three years ago, Lila Monroe had fought tooth and nail with Dante Rossi over wanting a destination wedding.

Dante had insisted she stay close, where he could keep an eye on her.

Lila, however, felt he was suffocating her, tearfully screaming about breaking up and leaving the country.

Even I, standing beside them trying to mediate, thought it was just another one of their spats.

No one thought they were serious.

Two months after leaving, Lila hastily married a wealthy Chinese-American tycoon.

After hearing the news at a family dinner, Dante drank himself into a stupor.

He drunkenly pinned me against a corner, his lips crashing down on mine.

“Quinn Avery, be my girlfriend.”

His kiss was like whiskey, hot and sharp, setting my body on fire.

I was completely lost in him.

And I had no power to refuse.

But the next morning, a sobered-up Dante looked at me with visceral regret.

“Quinn, I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else last night.”

In that instant, the fragile hope in my heart shattered into ice.

It was obvious who that ‘someone else’ was.

I forced a smile. “I know. You were drunk. We can just pretend it never happened. You don’t have to take responsibility for me…”

But Dante Rossi was terrifyingly stubborn.

I avoided him for an entire week.

A week later, he cornered me downstairs from the office building, his expression grave.

“I’ve thought it over. Be my girlfriend.”

“Lila’s married. I need to move on.”

“And you know… I haven’t disliked you all these years.”

At that moment, I thought my years-long secret crush could finally step into the light, a real relationship I could claim as my own.

But I was wrong.

There’s a chasm between ‘not disliking’ someone and loving them—one I was learning was impossible to cross.