There were many nights when I found myself sitting alone on the rooftop of the tenement, staring down at the street far below, wondering what it would feel like to just let go.

More than once, I stood there, on the edge, thinking about jumping.

And then there was Dante.

He would sit beside me, quietly, without saying much at first. Sometimes he brought pastries from the bakery on Mulberry Street, sometimes just his presence. We would listen to music together, and he would let me pour out everything I had been holding inside.

He knew about my financial struggles, about how I worked double shifts at the restaurant just to survive. Without making a big deal out of it, he stayed by my side, walking with me through those difficult days.

When he found out I was being targeted by the neighborhood girls who resented any outsider near the Moretti orbit, he didn't care about the looks or whispers. He took my hand in front of everyone at the social club, making it clear that I wasn't alone.

I still remember that one gathering vividly.

A girl who had always liked Dante deliberately targeted me, putting me on the spot. She dared me to kiss him in front of everyone, her tone full of mockery.

I was so flustered that I didn't know what to do. The laughter and jeers around me only made my heart race faster, my insecurity swelling until it felt suffocating.

But Dante simply smiled, calm and unbothered. He waved at me gently and said, "It's okay. Go ahead. Kiss me. I like you too."

At that moment, the breeze lifted the strands of hair from his forehead. He looked so unreal, almost like someone out of reach.

Without knowing why, as if guided by something beyond me, I stepped forward and took his hand tightly.

In the countless nights that followed, I would often think back to that moment. It felt like I had reached out and grasped the hand of a god, someone who had pulled me out of darkness.

Eventually, we truly became a couple.

But even then, no one believed in us. People either envied or mocked me, whispering that someone like Dante being with me was like a beautiful flower growing out of a pile of dirt. The Moretti women looked through me. The associates' wives smiled to my face and cut me apart the moment I turned my back.

His admirers never took me seriously. To them, I was just a passing amusement, someone he would eventually discard.

Because of that, I was always anxious. I lived in constant fear that someone else would take him away, or that one day, he would simply leave me behind.

So I did everything I could for him. I poured all my effort, my time, my emotions into the relationship, like a devout believer offering everything at the feet of their faith.

In return, he gave me affection, attention, and a sense of security that I clung to desperately.

But everything began to change the moment Valentina returned from overseas.

Dante's attitude toward me gradually became colder, more dismissive. At the same time, his closeness with Valentina grew more and more excessive, crossing lines that should never have been crossed. She had old blood ties to the allied families, a father who had served the Morettis for decades. She belonged in a way I never would.

What they had was no longer something that could be explained as simple friendship.

Even so, I refused to give up. I stayed by his side willingly, convincing myself again and again that things would get better.

I was even afraid to imagine a life without him. The thought alone felt unbearable. Outside his protection, I had no name, no standing, no safety.

I kept telling myself that people weren't made of stone. That if I kept trying, kept loving him, one day he would respond, one day he would come back to me.

But now, standing here, I felt nothing but cold.

I couldn't warm him anymore, and more importantly, I no longer wanted to try.

My thumb found the edge of the St. Christopher medal at my throat. For once, I didn't rub it. I just held it there, feeling its weight, and then let my hand fall.

"Maybe," I murmured softly, going along with Elena's earlier words.

Then, without hesitation, I turned and walked out of the room.

Outside, the atmosphere was even more lively. Dante had his arm wrapped around Valentina, holding her close as the capos and their wives cheered and laughed around them. Crystal clinked. Someone was telling a story about the old days. No one looked at the doorway.

When Valentina saw me step out, she immediately lowered her head shyly, snuggling even deeper into his embrace, as if trying to provoke me in the most subtle way.

Dante's expression darkened the moment he noticed me.

"Who told you to come out?" he snapped, his tone sharp and displeased.

He scolded me without hesitation, while I stood there quietly, not reacting, not moving.

Even now, he still believed he had done nothing wrong.

I looked at him calmly, my gaze distant and indifferent.

"If you feel wronged," I said lightly, "we can choose another day to get married."

The moment the words left my mouth, his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist tightly, his grip strong enough to hurt. Two soldiers flanking the corridor entrance shifted their weight but didn't move. They knew better than to intervene when the heir's temper surfaced.

"You don't want to marry me, is that it?" he demanded, his voice low and tense. "If you don't want to get married, just say it. Who are you trying to show this attitude to?"

His eyes locked onto mine, filled with anger and accusation.

Even at this moment, he still believed that everything was my fault.

I didn't back down. I met his gaze and said coldly, "Hasn't it always been your decision whether we get married or not?"

"You…"

Dante was clearly caught off guard. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. It was as if he hadn't expected me to speak to him like this, not here, not today, not with half the Family's capos still milling through the cathedral vestibule beyond the heavy oak doors.

Dante had always cared deeply about his image. In front of so many people, especially on an occasion like this, reputation meant everything to him. Among the Families, a man's composure was his currency. The fact that he hadn't stormed off after everything that had just happened was already unusual.

For a moment, I thought he wouldn't be able to take it anymore, that he would lose control and call off the ceremony on the spot.

But instead, he suddenly spoke, his tone firm and resolute.

"Of course we're getting married!"

I was briefly stunned, a flicker of something uncertain passing through my mind.

But before that thought could settle, he shattered it completely with his next sentence.

"But I want Valentina with me."

As he said it, his hand had already reached out to take Valentina's, their fingers interlocking naturally, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His thumb smoothed once across the face of his watch before he let it drop, the gesture so habitual I doubted he even noticed it anymore.

Valentina's face lit up instantly. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and a faint blush crept across her cheeks as she quickly nodded, clearly delighted by his words. I caught the briefest flash of her tongue pressing against her canine before her smile widened, sweet and triumphant.

Anyone who didn't know the situation would have easily mistaken them for the real couple getting married today.

They walked ahead together, side by side, leaving me a few steps behind. And just like before, every gaze in the room followed me. Capos' wives, consiglieri, associates with stakes in the Moretti name. Every one of them reading the distance between me and the heir like a line in a ledger.

This time, there was no need to guess what they were thinking. The disdain, the mockery, the barely concealed amusement — it was all painfully clear.

I let out a soft, cold laugh. "What? Should I throw a tantrum right here and give you exactly the show you're all waiting for?"

My voice was light, but my smile carried a sharp edge. Then I simply lifted my chin and followed behind them without another word.

When we reached the car — a black armored sedan idling at the cathedral steps, driver standing at attention — I instinctively reached for the handle of the lead vehicle. Just as my fingers brushed against it, Valentina suddenly leaned out from inside.

She tilted her head slightly, her smile full of provocation.

"Adriana, Dante wants me by his side for the most important moments of his life. That's okay with you, right?"

Her tone was soft, but every word was a deliberate challenge.

"You two getting married?" I almost said it aloud, the words rising to my lips.

But just as I was about to respond, I caught sight of Dante's expression. His face was calm, almost indifferent, as if he didn't think there was anything worth explaining.

I swallowed the words back down.

Instead, I opened the passenger door without hesitation.

"If the groom doesn't even care," I said lightly, "why should I? Am I supposed to humiliate myself on purpose?"

With that, I smiled faintly and handed the bouquet in my hands over to Valentina.

Through the rearview mirror, I saw Dante staring at me. His brows were tightly furrowed, his gaze sharp and probing. I knew he was angry, though I couldn't tell whether it was because of my words or my attitude. The soldier in the driver's seat kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, jaw tight, the way men did when they heard everything and pretended to hear nothing.

But I didn't respond. I simply leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes, as if none of it mattered. My thumb drifted toward the edge of the St. Christopher medal at my throat, then stopped. I let my hand fall to my lap instead.

The car remained unusually quiet for most of the ride. No one spoke, the air heavy with tension. The only sound was the low hum of the engine and the faint crackle of a radio the driver had turned almost all the way down.

It wasn't until we were almost at the estate that Dante finally broke the silence.

"Adriana, what exactly is your problem?" he demanded, his tone edged with irritation.

I opened my eyes slowly, genuinely confused. "What do you mean?"

Without warning, he snatched the bouquet out of Valentina's hands and threw it onto the back seat. The fresh petals scattered everywhere, filling the car with a faint fragrance that felt strangely out of place against the leather interior and the faint residue of his cologne.

"I really don't understand what game you're playing," he said, his voice growing colder. "Who are you trying to impress with this act?"

"I've already made it clear. Valentina is just a friend. I'm marrying you. What more do you want?"

Before I could respond, Valentina chimed in, her tone soft but pointed.

"Adriana, I don't mean to offend you, but as a woman, you really should be more generous," she said with a faint smile. "Yes, I like Dante, but you're the one he's marrying. What exactly are you worried about?"

"An alliance wedding is supposed to be a happy occasion for everyone, isn't it?" she continued, tilting her head slightly. "A little teasing during the reception is completely normal. And later, during the reception games, there might be more intimate moments, like kissing. You're not going to stop us, are you?"

I raised my eyelids and looked at her, a knowing expression flickering in my eyes.

"Of course," I replied calmly. "When it's time for the reception games, I'll leave with everyone else. You can do whatever you want."

There was no hesitation in my tone, no trace of sarcasm. Just simple acceptance.

It was obvious what Valentina was trying to do. She wanted to take Dante away from me, openly and without shame. The daughter of an allied capo, raised inside the Moretti circle since childhood, she had always treated that proximity as entitlement.

That was why she kept provoking me again and again. She wanted me to lose control, to get angry, so she could play the victim afterward.

And every time, she succeeded.

Because Dante's heart had always been on her side.

Whenever I reacted, he would accuse me of being jealous, petty, unreasonable. He would defend her without question, the way a man defends someone whose family name carries weight at every sit-down.

Thinking about it now, I couldn't help but find my past self ridiculous. All those arguments, all those tears. It felt like I had been fighting in some absurd war of attrition, competing for something that was never truly mine.

Valentina clearly didn't get the reaction she wanted from me this time. Her expression stiffened for a brief moment before she let out a cold, sarcastic laugh. Her tongue pressed once against her canine before her smile returned, sweet and practiced.

"Your mind is as filthy as ever," she said lightly. "Dante and I are completely innocent. Why do you always imagine things like that?"

"It's your wedding with him," she added, her tone turning sharper. "Do you really have to humiliate him like this?"

I let out a quiet laugh, my gaze turning cold.

"Who's humiliating who?" I shot back. "Does someone who knowingly plays the third wheel even have the right to speak?"

My voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear and sharp.

It wasn't about jealousy anymore. I wasn't fighting over Dante.

I just didn't want to keep lowering myself, didn't want to keep being trampled on like before.

Dante immediately seized on my words, as if finally finding proof of what he had been waiting for.

He let out a sigh, his expression filled with exaggerated frustration.

"Adriana, how long are you going to keep acting this childish?" he said. "If I didn't love you, would I have married you?"

In the past, I would have argued back without hesitation. I would have told him that marriage didn't equal love, that Valentina was manipulative, that he was blind to it all.

But now, I didn't feel like arguing anymore.

I simply turned my gaze forward, looking out at the road ahead. The convoy rolled through streets the Moretti name owned in everything but deed, and I let his words pass over me without response.

My silence seemed to irritate him even more than any argument ever had.

Finally, he lost his temper completely.

"Adriana!" he snapped, his voice rising. "What does your silence mean? Do you think I'm the one who's wrong?"

His thumb smoothed once across the face of his watch, a quick, controlled motion. The driver's eyes stayed fixed on the road, carefully seeing nothing.

I let out a soft, cold laugh and decided to play along with him.

"How could you possibly be wrong?" I said lightly. "It's me who judged you unfairly."

The words were the same as always, the familiar response I had repeated countless times before. But this time, my tone carried something different, something loose and almost mocking, as if I were speaking from a distance rather than from within the situation.