It took me ten years to become the right hand to Damian Costello, the Consigliere of the Costello crime family.

From a nobody to the woman wearing his engagement ring.

But two weeks before the wedding, I decided to throw that ring away.

Everyone in the family knew how hard I had fought all these years just to stand by Damian's side.

I gave up the chance to become a top trader on Wall Street, willingly becoming Damian's assistant, his shadow.

This man was infamous for his coldness and exacting nature, keeping everyone at arm's length.

So I hid my sharp edges, spending a decade wearing down his icy exterior with gentleness.

I cleansed the blood from every dollar he made. I became a necessity to him, as essential as the air he breathed.

I thought that after ten years, I had finally made my presence indispensable.

And finally earned what looked, to outsiders, like a glimmer of his affection.

The family's notoriously aloof genius actually remembered my birthday. He even made an exception, letting me spend the night in his private study when I was unwell.

He didn't even push me away when, emboldened by wine, I pressed a kiss to the side of his neck.

If the Don's daughter, Isabella, hadn't returned from Italy, I might have kept playing my part, clinging to that false dream forever.

But sadly, there are no ‘ifs’. I am going to give up everything here and leave you.

It took me ten years to become the right hand to Damian Costello, the Consigliere of the Costello crime family.

From a nobody to the woman wearing his engagement ring.

But two weeks before the wedding, I decided to throw that ring away.

Everyone in the family knew how hard I had fought all these years just to stand by Damian's side.

I gave up the chance to become a top trader on Wall Street, willingly becoming Damian's assistant, his shadow.

This man was infamous for his coldness and exacting nature, keeping everyone at arm's length.

So I hid my sharp edges, spending a decade wearing down his icy exterior with gentleness.

I cleansed the blood from every dollar he made. I became a necessity to him, as essential as the air he breathed.

I thought that after ten years, I had finally made my presence indispensable.

And finally earned what looked, to outsiders, like a glimmer of his affection.

The family's notoriously aloof genius actually remembered my birthday. He even made an exception, letting me spend the night in his private study when I was unwell.

He didn't even push me away when, emboldened by wine, I pressed a kiss to the side of his neck.

If the Don's daughter, Isabella, hadn't returned from Italy, I might have kept playing my part, clinging to that false dream forever.

But sadly, there are no ‘ifs’. I am going to give up everything here and leave you.

...

"Boss, my transfer request. I want to go to the Oasis Casino in Nevada."

I pushed the signed, encrypted file across the black walnut desk, my voice perfectly level.

The Underboss, sitting across from me, took the cigar from his mouth and stared at me in shock.

"Ava? Have you lost your mind? Aren't you and Damian getting married next month?"

"We're all waiting for Damian to make the official announcement. And you want to go waste away in the desert at a time like this?"

I suppressed the sharp pain in my chest and cut him off. "Boss, my mind is made up. Just sign it."

No one knew that Damian's proposal had nothing to do with love. It was born from a bloody firefight with the Russian mob two months ago.

Damian was ambushed that day, and I was the one who charged into that abandoned warehouse alone.

To cover his retreat, I drew their fire.

A bullet tore through my shoulder, staining the concrete floor with my blood. I bit down, refusing to make a sound. The brutes, enraged, smashed a rifle butt against the back of my head.

I bought Damian enough time for reinforcements to arrive, but I nearly bled out. I almost didn't make it.

I lay in the ICU for three days. When I woke up, the man who was usually so distant was sitting by my bed, his eyes bloodshot.

He held my cold hand, his voice hoarse.

"Ava, let's get married next month."

After all our years together, I could clearly read the guilt in his eyes.

He just wanted to use marriage to settle the debt he felt he owed me for my life.

But I was shameless enough to accept this emotional blackmail, just to secure my place by his side forever.

As I walked out of the headquarters, a live broadcast of a charity gala was playing on the giant LED screen in Manhattan.

A few new recruits who had just joined the family were gathered under the screen, whistling.

"Whoa, look! It's Mr. Costello and Miss Isabella!"

"The prince and princess of the mob. Damn, they look good together."

"I heard Mr. Costello never lets any woman get close. Looks like Miss Isabella is the exception."

Their chatter was like needles stabbing at my ears. I fought off a wave of dizziness and looked up at the screen.

In the close-up shot, Isabella was leaning in to whisper something in Damian's ear, and he was bent slightly to listen.

They were so close, yet he showed no sign of discomfort.

The same man who required me to maintain a ten-foot distance while giving a report was now letting another woman's breath ghost against his ear.

Isabella was practically plastered to his side, but he didn't pull away. A hint of an indulgent smile even touched the corners of his eyes.

My heart clenched violently.

Because I had once believed that no one could ever break through the walls he had built.

But Isabella's return had shown me a completely different Damian.

I remembered the first time I heard Damian say the name "Isabella."

He had been staring at a mess of chaotic data, but a faint, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips.

"Isabella messed up the order of the accounts again."

There was no blame in his tone, only a sort of fond indulgence.

Isabella was the apple of the Don's eye, the brightest sun in the entire family, radiant and bold.

She could barge into Damian's heavily guarded office and use his classified documents as drawing paper.

She could snatch the whiskey from Damian's hand, down it in one go, and then laugh with abandon on the very desk he would break a man's fingers for even touching.

I once saw it with my own eyes. In his office, Isabella's fingers traced the tattoo on the side of his neck, the one that symbolized the family's honor.

And Damian, the same man who would flinch if my own fingertips accidentally brushed against him, just froze for a second. The tips of his ears turned a faint red, and he made no move to push her away.

I finally understood that this man wasn't born cold.

It’s just that his flustered, boyish awakening to love was never meant for me.

I returned to the luxury penthouse in Manhattan.

This was meant to be our home, decorated with the utmost extravagance, yet the times Damian had actually stayed here could be counted on one hand.

I calmly opened the closet and took down, one by one, the subdued dresses I had bought just to suit his tastes.

The scenes I had once imagined, of us having dinner together before these floor-to-ceiling windows, now felt like a silent slap in the face.

I found some cardboard boxes and packed up all my personal belongings, not leaving so much as a toothbrush holder behind.

I hired a discreet moving service and had them clear my things out immediately.

Just as I finished, my phone buzzed.

It was an encrypted message from the Underboss: [Transfer approved. The Oasis is a mess. Good luck.]

Almost simultaneously, a message from Damian popped up:

[Private jet N481DC. Landing at Teterboro, 8 PM tomorrow. Pick me up.]

I stared at the message for a long time, until the screen's light hurt my eyes.

Then, I hit reply and typed the first refusal I had given him in ten years.

[No time.]

I moved quickly.

It took less than four hours to erase every trace of myself from the penthouse.

This was the most sought-after piece of real estate in Manhattan, our marital home in name only.

But when the real estate agent brought potential buyers for a showing, they could barely tell anyone had ever lived here.

Just like me. After all these years, I had failed to leave any mark on Damian's life.

"Miss Moretti, an anonymous, quick sale means the price will take a major hit. This is Park Avenue, after all."

"Sell it." I pressed my fingerprint onto the digital agreement, not even bothering to look up. "Close the deal today."

I had bought this place with the commission from my first money-laundering job, naively thinking it would one day be a home.

Now, it just seemed like an expensive joke.

Due to the family's internal transfer procedures, I had to stay in New York for another week.

The day Damian returned, a storm was raging over New York, and visibility at Teterboro Airport was near zero.

I was organizing data when my phone screen lit up with a message from Damian:

[Landed.]

Before, no matter what I was doing, even if I was in the middle of a delicate dance with federal agents, seeing that word would have sent me speeding to the tarmac.

I remember one time, running a high fever, I forced myself to wait in the pouring rain for two hours just to confirm his route was secure.

I ended up passing out in the car on the way back, nearly causing a pile-up.

Afterward, Damian had only frowned and adjusted his cufflinks. "If you're not well," he'd said, "don't force it."

No concern, just a statement of fact.

But I had agonized over those three words for a long time, feeling like I had messed up, pushing myself even harder to prove my worth.

Looking back on it now, I was so pathetic.

I turned off the screen, tossed the phone aside, and went back to checking the data.

That evening, the family held a small welcome dinner for the triumphant return of Damian and Isabella.

I didn't want to go, but as the family's Chief Advisor, my absence would have been an open act of defiance.

I arrived late and chose a seat in a quiet corner.

The atmosphere at dinner was loud and phony. The stars of the show were, of course, Damian at the head of the table and Isabella, who was glued to his side.

She wore a vibrant red backless gown and was animatedly recounting tales from Milan Fashion Week.

Damian swirled the whiskey in his glass, listening with his head tilted, showing no signs of impatience.

When Isabella would get excited and grab his arm, he would only frown slightly but never pull away.

"Oh, by the way, speaking of coming back..."

Isabella's voice suddenly rose, her gaze sweeping over to my corner.

"Ava, what was that about? Damian and I were left freezing on the tarmac."

"Weren't you always the one who handled pickups?"

Instantly, all eyes at the table turned to me, filled with probing curiosity.

Damian finally looked up.

Across the long table, his gaze was deep and indifferent, as if he were looking at any other subordinate who had made a mistake.

I leisurely cut into the rare steak on my plate, dabbed my lips with a napkin, and met Isabella's deceptively innocent gaze.

"His personal travel arrangements are not part of my job description."

The fake smile on Isabella's face froze.

A collective gasp went through the room.

Damian's brow furrowed, a flicker of genuine surprise in his eyes.

Of course. He was probably used to it.

Used to me handling all his trivial matters like some high-end nanny, used to me being at his beck and call.

A sudden refusal, like a trusted gun jamming, displeased him.

The dinner ended under a strange, heavy cloud.

As everyone was leaving, Damian stopped me at the end of the hallway.

"What's this tantrum about?"

He stood behind me, his voice low. His custom cologne, mingled with the scent of tobacco, was the very fragrance I once adored.

I stopped and looked at him.

The hallway light cast shadows across his chiseled features. There was a time I thought being able to gaze at him like this for a lifetime was a blessing.

"I don't know what you mean, Consigliere."

"Isabella is spoiled. She means no harm."

Damian paused, as if trying to find the right words.

"She was a real help in Europe, fending off some unnecessary social obligations. It's not like you to humiliate her in front of the Don over something so trivial."

I knew it. He thought I was throwing a fit over Isabella, that it was why I had publicly embarrassed her.

Looking at his entitled expression, my patience for pretense had run out.

"Damian Costello."

It was the first time I had ever said his full name. My voice wasn't loud, but it cut him off cold.

It was enough to make the hand adjusting his cufflink freeze mid-motion.

He looked up at me, a genuine flicker of confusion finally dawning in his eyes.

"I'm not throwing a tantrum."

"And it's not about who you attended some charity gala with."

I looked him in the eye. My heart felt as if it were being squeezed by an invisible hand, only to be slowly released.

Ten years. It was time for it to end.

I took a deep breath, the words that had been circling in my mind for an eternity finally finding their voice.

"Let's call off the engagement."

Damian's brow tightened. "What did you say?"

Just as he was about to press me, Isabella came running frantically from the direction of the dining hall. "Damian! Something's happened! Our offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands have been frozen!"

The color drained from Damian's face. That account was one of the family's lifelines.

Isabella grabbed his arm, her face etched with panic. "That's the account Dad cares about most. If the FBI is onto it…"

Damian glanced at me, his demeanor instantly all business. "The accounts are an emergency. We'll talk after this is handled."

Without another word, he turned and strode down the corridor with Isabella, not even giving me a second glance.

I stood in the cold wind of the rose garden, watching them leave.

I wasn't surprised.

In his world, I would never be more important than the family's interests.

And that "we'll talk later" would most likely never happen.

Just like our wedding, a wedding no one truly cared about.

I had handled all the preparations myself anyway. All he had to do was sign the checks and show up.

Now that I had informed him, my part was done.

The penthouse was consigned to an agent for an anonymous sale, and my previous apartment was long empty. I suddenly realized I had nowhere to go.

I moved into a safe house the family provided for its senior members.

It was an unassuming brownstone in Brooklyn. While not as luxurious as the penthouse, it offered a welcome quiet.

The next few days were calm. I was busy finalizing the last of the handover procedures for my move to Nevada.

Suddenly, my office door was pushed open and Damian strode in.

He acted completely normal, as if our last tense conversation had never happened. He didn't mention my recent distance or my move.

He stopped in front of my desk, his tone as entitled as ever. "Family dinner tonight. We're going together."

The atmosphere at dinner was lively, with the conversation naturally circling around a recent financial breakthrough.

Isabella was seated next to Damian, animatedly talking about the charity gala.

The Don, his face glowing, trimmed the end of a cigar. His gaze shifted between Damian and Isabella, a knowing smile on his face.

"Damian, you and Isabella worked well together in Europe. The two of you, one is my head, the other my heart."

The Don set down his cigar and looked around the table.

"You're not getting any younger. You can't just bury yourself in family business forever. As for our Isabella, she can be a bit willful at times, but her heart is in the right place…"

The implication was clear.

The mood at the long table instantly froze. A few of the old-timers who knew the situation shot me furtive glances, their eyes a mix of pity and morbid curiosity.

Isabella's cheeks flushed. She let out a shy "Dad," then looked at Damian with eyes full of expectation.

I kept my gaze lowered, staring at the deep red wine in my glass, my fingertips digging into my palm under the table.

Damian was silent for a few seconds before setting down his glass. His tone was as calm as ever. "Don, thank you for the high praise. But my focus is on expanding our territory. I have no plans for marriage at the moment."

The blush on Isabella's face vanished, leaving her skin stark white.

She stared at Damian in disbelief, her eyes quickly welling up. She shot to her feet, a hand flying to her mouth, and fled the dining room.

"Bella!" the Don said, frowning.

Damian's gaze followed the direction Isabella had fled. He sighed and rose to his feet.

"My apologies, Don. I'll go check on her."

The room was left in dead silence.

The Underboss, sitting next to me, leaned in and said in a low, teasing voice,

"Ava, what's this all about? Damian didn't even mention your engagement."

"You want me to say something to the Don?"

I shook my head and took a sip of wine. "There's no need."

A relationship that neither party was willing to acknowledge would only become a joke if brought up by a third person.

My stomach churned. I stood up and walked out to the terrace for some air.

The terrace had a perfect view of the private garden below.

In the dim light, I saw two figures beneath the old oak tree.

Isabella was sobbing in Damian's arms, her words coming out in broken fragments.

"Why not? Damian, I love you… I know I'm not mature enough, not as capable as Ava…"

"But I can learn! I can do everything she does for you!"

Damian wasn't holding her, but he wasn't pushing her away either. He just let her tears soak his shirt.

That tolerance alone said enough.

I thought of all the times over the past ten years I had tried to get close to him in moments of vulnerability.

Every single time, the slightest brush of a fingertip was met with an instinctive stiffening, a retreat.

Just then, as if sensing something, Damian's head snapped up toward the terrace.

My face was a blank mask. I met his gaze calmly, as if watching a drama that had nothing to do with me.

Only my hand, hanging by my side, had lost all its warmth.

Damian's pupils seemed to contract, or maybe it was just a trick of the light.

Isabella, still lost in her sorrow, didn't notice.

"I know you better than she does, I know how to make you happy…"

I turned and walked away, not sparing them another glance.

Back in the private room, I excused myself, claiming I wasn't feeling well.

The Underboss looked at me with concern, but ultimately said nothing.

I walked back to the safe house alone, feeling hollow, the last embers in my heart turning to ash.

I had just finished washing up and was about to go to bed when there was a knock on the door.

I pulled it open to find Damian standing in the dim hallway light.