At the sit-down of the old associates, someone asked my husband, "Who was the one you couldn't stop thinking about, back before you took the oath?"

Lorenzo Moretti let his eyes drift to me for half a breath, then turned to the ruined beauty seated at his elbow. "Bianca."

Bianca Falcone's eyes went wide with shock.

"Then why did you never answer the letter I sent you?"

Lorenzo froze.

"I thought you belonged to Salvatore Greco."

One question pulled another loose, and piece by piece, the misunderstanding from all those years ago came apart on the white tablecloth between them.

Bianca's letter had ended up in the wrong hands.

That single mistake had kept them apart.

Bianca's eyes turned red in an instant, and Lorenzo's face filled with stunned regret.

The men and women around the table began trading their quiet, knife-edged remarks.

"Come now, how is that so tragic? A letter that just happened to slip into the wrong hands? You don't suppose... someone switched it on purpose?"

The air went dead.

Every pair of eyes at the table turned to me. Even the enforcer by the door went still, one hand drifting toward his lapel out of habit, before he read the room and let it fall.

Most of these old associates had no idea that Lorenzo and I had been bound by blood for five years.

All they remembered was that I was the ugly, nothing girl who'd shamelessly chased after Lorenzo Moretti when we were young and no one had any name at all.

I turned to look at him.

I wanted him to say something. Anything.

Even just one sentence. That he was the one who'd come after me.

But he said nothing. Just like the rest of them, he stared at me with an unreadable expression, that old signet ring of his father's held motionless between his fingers.

In that moment, I slipped the ring of the blood oath off my finger, the one I'd worn for five years, and told myself it was over.

——

A few more rounds of wine went around the table.

Bianca crossed to Lorenzo's side, tears streaming down her face like rain on cherry blossoms, and the two of them poured their hearts out to each other.

"I can't believe it was all just a misunderstanding."

"If only I'd written your name at the top of that letter. Then you wouldn't have thought... that the one I wanted was someone else."

Lorenzo's gaze was heavy, full of regret.

"No one could have seen it coming."

"That it would end up like this."

Bianca grew more unsteady, drinking far more than a woman should among men who never forget anything.

Lorenzo stayed at her side the whole while, gently patting her back, even setting a glass before her to settle the wine.

From start to finish, he never once looked at me.

The murmuring around the table swelled, warm and pleased with itself.

"Who would've guessed? A flame that died out years ago, catching again eight years on."

"So the gutter-born Moretti boy who clawed his way to the head of his own table really did carry a torch for the Falcone beauty."

"If they'd come together back then, their child would be old enough to kiss the ring by now."

Then another voice cut in, dripping with old venom.

"Exactly. If certain people hadn't thrown themselves at Lorenzo so shamelessly, maybe those two wouldn't have lost all these years."

Their eyes drifted toward me, one by one, never quite direct, impossible to miss.

I clenched my fists, pressed my lips together, and said nothing.

The whispers kept coming.

Then one of the bolder ones slid into the chair beside me, leaning in close, wine sweet on her breath.

"Adriana Valente. Was it you?"

"Tell the truth. Did you switch that letter on purpose, so those two would miss their moment?"

My expression turned cold. I opened my mouth to say it wasn't me.

But the table erupted before I could get the words out.

"I'd stake tribute on it."

"Everyone used to say Lorenzo and Bianca were meant for each other. Anyone could see they wanted the same thing."

"The only one who didn't get the message was Adriana, pining away, watching Lorenzo every chance she got."

"We all saw it. The moment the last of us cleared out at night, she'd pull him off to some quiet corner. Who knows what else she got up to."

"Switching a letter? That's nothing for a woman like her. Obviously she did it. Do we even need to ask?"

Not one of them knew that Lorenzo and I were bound to each other. Eight years together. Five of them as husband and wife, sealed in blood.

They only remembered that I used to shadow Lorenzo through those years.

They assumed I was the one chasing him. A nobody with no name and no rank, reaching for a man far above her station, desperate to bind herself to the golden son of the table.

But they didn't know the truth.

From the very beginning, Lorenzo was the one who pursued me.

He was reserved by nature, never one for a public claim. He'd never once let the other families see us together, never breathed a word of me across any table. Every step forward between us had been his doing, his initiative. Yet somehow, he always came out looking like the innocent party.

He was the prodigy of the whole network, the gutter-born boy who'd clawed his way toward the head of a rising Family, turning heads in every room he entered, impossible to ignore. And me? In everyone's eyes, I was never worthy of a man like him.

But that was no reason for me to be mocked. To be dishonored before witnesses.

I turned to face the family son who'd spoken, my expression flat.

"If your tongue's that useless, you could always cut it out."

The words landed without an ounce of mercy. A man two seats down slammed his fist on the table and pointed at me, voice dripping with contempt.

"Seriously, Adriana? What do you have to be so arrogant about?"

"If you actually had what it takes, you wouldn't have chased Lorenzo for eight straight years with nothing to show for it."

"Do you even know how the whole network laughs at you behind your back?"

"A delusional ugly duckling who actually thought she could land a man like him."

Snickers rippled around the table, hushed but deliberate, the way men laugh when they're certain no one at the head chair will stop them.

Heat stung my eyes. My face burned.

I turned to look at Lorenzo.

He glanced at me once, then deliberately looked away.

In that moment, the ring of the blood oath on my finger felt like a weight pressing down on my chest.

Aside from Lorenzo's underboss, Marco Rizzo, not a single made man at that table knew.

Lorenzo and I were already bound. Blood to blood, oath to oath.

Tonight wasn't just a sit-down of the old associates. It was the fifth anniversary of our union.

I'd never had the stomach for crowded rooms full of men measuring each other's rank. The only reason I'd come tonight was because Lorenzo had asked me, over and over.

"Adriana, it's been so many years since you've shown your face at one of these. People will talk. Men notice absence."

"Besides, they're all old associates. We should sit, break bread, remind them who we are."

I hadn't said anything.

Lorenzo wasn't the type to crave a room full of company either. The real reason he'd pushed so hard was simple. He'd heard that Bianca Falcone would be there. The ruined beauty of a fading family, the one they'd all once crowned the most desirable girl in the circle.

When I stayed silent, Lorenzo drew me into his arms, his voice low and coaxing.

"Adriana, you're always saying I never acknowledge you, never let the other families see what you are to me."

"I promise. Tonight, at the sit-down, I'll tell them. All of them. About us."

I couldn't hold out against his relentless persuasion, so I agreed.

And now, with all these old associates laughing at me for being a delusional fool who'd chased Lorenzo for eight years with nothing to show for it, Lorenzo sat there in silence. Not a single word from the man who could silence any room by lifting one finger.

The room plunged into a dead, awkward quiet. A glass touched the linen too carefully somewhere down the table.

I set down my knife and fork and let a cold smile curl across my lips.

"Who said I never caught him?"

The men exchanged glances, some leaning forward with barely contained hunger for the story.

"Wait, are they actually bound?"

The only one who knew the truth was Marco. He knew I'd been Lorenzo's woman for eight years and was now his blood-bound wife.

But Marco had never liked me. He'd always gone out of his way to test me, convinced I was some shameless climber who'd worked her way into a rising Don's bed for the tribute his name could bring.

Hearing what the others were saying, he let out a scoff and drained his glass in one go.

He muttered under his breath.

"Some people just can't see themselves clearly. Don't know their own weight."

"Pure shamelessness."

His voice was low enough that no one else caught it. His thumb knuckle cracked once, slow, the only motion in a man who never fidgeted.

I narrowed my eyes and looked at Lorenzo.

The instant my words landed, his hand froze mid-air, his entire body going rigid.

His gaze swept over me, cold and dismissive. His eyes said it all: Don't you dare.

A moment later, my phone buzzed twice against the white linen.

A message from Lorenzo.

"Adriana, don't breathe a word about the union."

"Now isn't the right time."

I almost laughed.

Not the right time? The only reason was that he and Bianca had finally buried the old misunderstanding between them, the one that had festered for years. He believed there was a real chance to rekindle whatever had once burned there.

But why should I step aside and play the selfless fool, so the two of them could ride off into the sunset while every made man at the table watched?

I rose slowly to my feet. Around the room, a few conversations thinned, the way they always did when someone stood without being told to sit.

"Lorenzo, weren't you going to tell everyone the truth?"

Lorenzo shot up from his seat, every muscle in his body going rigid.

He stared at me for a long, hard moment. His hand settled flat against the table, and it went utterly still there. Then he turned stiffly toward the gathering.

"Yes."

"Adriana and I were together once."

"But that's in the past."

"We're finished."

My head snapped up. I stared at him, disbelief written across my face, my nails digging into my palms hard enough to break skin.

Bianca tilted her chin up, her face lighting with barely contained delight as she looked at Lorenzo.

"Really? So you're a free man now?"

The words had barely left her mouth before the room erupted, all the old associates and family sons leaning in like men who'd smelled fresh blood.

"Dio, I am rooting for these two so hard right now."

"This is what fate looks like. They went their separate ways, but the right one always circles back around."

"I'd bleed for a bottle of the good vintage just to see these two together."

Amid the noise and the appetite, Marco, the same man who'd called me shameless earlier, glanced my way. Something like pity flickered in his eyes. He cracked the knuckle of his thumb once, slowly.

He passed by me, let out a sigh, and shook his head.

"You asked for it."

I sank back into my chair, boneless.

Never, not once, had I imagined Lorenzo would dishonor me like this before every witness in the room. That he'd look me in the eye and deny it all with his own mouth, in front of the whole network of families.

The mocking voices around me only grew louder.

"Oh, so that's who she is. Just an ex who couldn't make the cut."

"The way she was carrying on, I half expected her to claim she was the great Don Moretti's wife."

"Please. Has she looked in a mirror? As if she'd ever be good enough for a man at the head of that table."

I lowered my gaze to the ring of the blood oath on my left hand, and I began to twist it slowly with my thumb.

What a joke I am.

Bianca must have noticed how pale I'd gone. She shot me a look dripping with triumph, then picked up her glass and sauntered over on her heels, unhurried, like a woman who already owned the room.

"Adriana, I know the old wound must still sting."

"But love is like that, isn't it? When it's real, not even God Himself can stand in the way."

"Lorenzo just admitted it. He was with you."

"But you two weren't cut for each other. Otherwise, why would it have ended? Don't you think?"

She clinked her glass lightly against mine, her smile radiant.

"I'll drain mine for you. You drink as much or as little as you'd like."

Then she tipped her head back and swallowed every drop.

I sat there. Motionless.

The only time Lorenzo came near me was when he made the rounds, paying his respects to every man in the room the way custom demanded. When he reached my table, he paused.

He looked at me for a long, quiet moment. Then, under the pretense of touching his glass to mine, he leaned in close and dropped his voice so low it never left the space between us.

"Adriana, be smart about this."

"Don't make things awkward for Bianca."

I stared back at him, my gaze ice-cold. But Lorenzo had already looked away, drifting back to Bianca's side.

The two of them talked and laughed together. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen Lorenzo's eyes crinkle like that, his smile so easy, so unguarded, the mask of the Don set down for a woman who wasn't me.

It didn't take long.

The old associates started egging them on for a lovers' toast.

Everyone at the table who had no notion that Lorenzo and I were blood-bound was cheering the pair on like it was the event of the season.

"Come on, drink. This toast is long overdue for you two."

"You're both free anyway. What's the holdup?"

"And hey, if either of you gets a little too deep in the wine later, Lorenzo can always see Bianca home. You're grown. Even if you end up behind a locked door somewhere, who here is going to judge?"