My Moon, My Broken Vows

Quincy skipped our wedding for his old flame.

As compensation, he sent over a troupe of male models from a top East Coast club and made me play the part of a lonely bride in his estate, night after night.

After three months in that gilded cage, I told Quincy I wanted out.

"Is this your latest trick to get my attention, Lena?"

Quincy’s gaze finally lifted from his documents, his obsidian eyes glinting with cold amusement.

"If you're bored, I can send for more models. There's no need for a tantrum."

His encrypted phone rang. Quincy glanced at it and strode toward the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"I don't have time for your games. Valentina is here."

A cold wave of absurdity washed over me as I stared at the man who, just four months ago, had promised me his life.

"Quincy, I'm not joking."

"I'm done with you."

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1

Quincy let out a low chuckle.

"Don't look so glum, my little painter." He murmured, "It's not a good look on you."

He ruffled my hair, an intimate gesture completely betrayed by his ice-cold eyes.

"Alright, knock it off. I'm busy today."

"If you insist on making a scene, wait until my business with the Romanos is finished. I'll take you to Sicily for a week, just the two of us. How does that sound?"

Before I could answer, Quincy turned to his Underboss. "The arrangements?"

The Underboss stepped forward, his posture deferential.

"Don Branca, the armored car is ready. We've fitted it with the velvet interior Donna Valentina prefers, per your instructions."

"We hotboxed it with Cuban cigars last night, so the scent will be just right by the time she gets in."

"The jewelry and weapons you personally selected, and that bottle of '82 Pétrus, have also been placed inside."

Quincy listened, then tapped his knuckles on the desk, rattling off more details.

"Valentina's migraines are acting up. Put a portable massager in the car."

"Notify our restaurant in Italy to clear the premises. I want it completely private. Tell them to start prepping the moment we leave the docks, so the meal is ready upon arrival."

"Remind the head chef: filet mignon, medium rare, with a crisp sear."

"The cream for the dessert must be Valrhona. No substitutes."

...

Quincy continued issuing orders for a full ten minutes.

He was so meticulous that he even specified the napkins couldn't have lace trim.

Only then did he seem to relax.

"You still remember all that?"

Valentina had been gone from the East Coast for five years, yet Quincy remembered every one of her preferences.

Quincy finally spared me another glance.

"Hmm? Why are you still here?"

"Oh, right. Your gift."

"We have an arrangement, Lena. I handle the ugly side of this family, and you enjoy all the privileges of being Mrs. Branca."

Quincy glanced at the expensive gifts for Valentina laid out on the table.

Next to them was a pile of complimentary luxury goods, also worth a fortune.

His gaze fell on them, and he sighed with theatrical annoyance.

"The complimentary items alone cost over a hundred thousand."

Finally, he took a velvet box from the safe and tossed it to me.

Inside was a necklace encrusted with diamonds.

"Bought at auction in Antwerp last month. Go put it on."

"I can't be bothered to pick out something special for you."

When I didn't move, Quincy raised an eyebrow.

"What, not big enough for you?"

I shook my head, my voice quiet but firm. "You still remember everything she likes?"

Quincy let out a soft, dismissive laugh. "It's not about remembering."

"I looked after Valentina for so long, it's just muscle memory now."

I wasn't surprised by his answer.

But a sharp pain, like my heart was being squeezed in a vise, radiated through my chest.

Seeing my silence, Quincy sighed.

"Alright, hurry back to your art studio."

"Valentina will be upset if she smells your paint on me."

As he spoke, he opened an encrypted message on his phone.

Valentina's lazy, thorny voice filled the quiet office.

"Quincy, don't let me see your little pet. Next time, I won't be sending roses—I'll be sending her fingers."

"The entire East Coast knows you're my man, Quincy Branca. Valentina's man. The fact that she even dared to touch you is pathetic."

Her tone was proprietary, as if she were the true Donna of the Branca family.

And I was just a shameless plaything.

Quincy switched off his phone and gently caressed my cheek.

"Come on. You know how she gets."

"Just be a good girl and stay in your cage."

"Once this deal is done, she'll be useless to me."