My wedding to Don Lorenzo Corsica was always 'almost.'

Five years engaged. Thirty-two weddings. Every single one crashed and burned.

Then came number thirty-three. Halfway through, the chapel wall caved in. I landed in the ICU.

Skull fracture. Major concussion. A dozen critical alerts.

Two months stuck between life and death. Then I clawed my way back.

On discharge day, I caught him talking to his right-hand guy.

"Don, if you're really into that scholarship girl, just dump Ms. Mortoro," the guy said. "Corsicas can kill gossip. No need for staged accidents... She nearly died."

Lorenzo went quiet. Then finally, "I owed her parents. They died for me. Marrying her was the only way to repay that. But I love Sofia. She's the one I want."

I looked down at my stitched-up body and cried without a sound.

So it wasn't fate that wrecked me. It was him.

If he couldn't choose, I'd do it for him.

"You're ending the engagement?!"

Lorenzo's mother—Elisa—looked like I'd slapped her.

She knew better than anyone how hard I'd loved Lorenzo.

"Chiara, think this through. Once you're married, you'll be the Corsica matriarch. No one would dare touch you."

I just smiled, bitter and tired, then hit play on my phone.

Lorenzo's voice filled the room. Elisa went stiff, color draining from her face.

"Five years. Thirty-three failed weddings. Every 'accident'—his plan. All of it just to get me to walk away."

I slid a stack of hospital files across the table.

"He thinks marriage is a cage. I'm not dragging him in. Cutting ties is cleaner for both of us."

Elisa was shaking, pissed and heartbroken. She remembered every near-death hit I took just trying to say "I do."

First time—snipers hit our motorcade. I got shot four times, bled out on the chapel steps.

Second—some rogue truck crushed my car. Snapped my hand to pieces.

Third—our hotel exploded. I was trapped in that fire for three brutal hours.

She reached out, fingers grazing the wreckage on my arm. Then she gave this slow, heavy nod.

"Your parents trusted us with you when they died... And this is how Lorenzo repays them. We didn't just fail you—we failed everything your family stood for."

My nose burned. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

As I stepped through the gates of the Corsica estate, a sleek black Maybach rolled up.

Window down. Lorenzo, looking irritated as hell.

"Back to snitch again? If you're that desperate, let's just hit the chapel and sign the vows."

I didn't answer. Just glanced at the passenger seat.

Sofia Camorra. Red-eyed, like she was the victim. When he said "sign the vows," she flinched.

Lorenzo jumped out, blocking my view of her.

"I've caught feelings for Sofia, fine," he said, brows tight. "But relax—I'll still HANDLE MY RESPONSIBILITIES to you. The engagement stands."

'Responsibilities.'

That word stabbed me straight in the heart.

I laughed under my breath. "Got plans. Maybe next time. I mean, what's a few more days after five years?"

He blinked—thrown off. I used to beg to get to that chapel.

Didn't wait for his reaction. I turned to go.

Then Sofia stepped out and grabbed my arm.

"Lorenzo's a man of his word," she said, voice all shaky and sweet. "He's done so much for me. I just hope you treat him right once you're married."

Her eyes screamed jealousy. Her nails sank into my skin.

I yanked free, flinching. She staggered back—then slapped herself. Hard.

From Lorenzo's angle, it looked like I'd hit her.

He pulled her in, checking her cheek like she was made of glass. Then shot me a look full of fire.

"No rush, huh? So you take it out on someone who did nothing?"

He turned and left with Sofia. Right before getting in, he looked back—ice-cold.

"If your dead parents saw what you've turned into, they'd be ashamed."

The words lodged in my throat. I swallowed them whole.

I just stood there, the dust from their car clouding everything.

Then my phone buzzed.

[Ms. Mortoro, your second enhanced brain CT results are in. The prognosis isn't good. Please come to the hospital as soon as possible.]

I walked out of the doctor's office, clutching the diagnosis.

Brain cancer. Mid-to-late stage.

The doctor's words kept replaying—"If we get you into surgery and start targeted therapy now, there's still a slim chance."

Ten years ago, my parents died shielding a teenage Lorenzo during a hit on the Corsica Don.

The Mortoro Family fell apart right after—business gone, bankrupt overnight.

Elisa took me in, honoring the mafia code: blood for blood and always return a favor.

Now, everything I'd saved barely scratched the cost of surgery and treatment.

After a long, hard think, I headed to Lorenzo's office.

The office door was wide open. Sofia was inside, rearranging purple irises on his desk. Lorenzo watched her like she hung the stars.

I froze.

He hated flowers. Always had. But if they came from Sofia? Suddenly, he could love anything.

He looked up. His smile disappeared fast.

"What are you doing here?"

"I need a loan. I'll pay you back." No games. I still wanted to live.

Sofia jumped in, all attitude. "I heard you've been mooching off Lorenzo's family ever since your parents died. Food, clothes, a roof—all free. And now you want cash too? Was marrying him not enough—you after his wallet now?"

I didn't even blink. Just stared at Lorenzo.

He looked away, voice like ice. "She's right. Handle it on your own. Once we're married, your parents' debt is done."

My fists unclenched. His words cut straight through me.

Under the desk, his fingers were laced with Sofia's.

And on his hand—my father's signet ring. The one he left behind before he died.

My voice cracked. "No need to wait for the wedding."

Lorenzo looked thrown for a second. Then it sank in.

"That again?" he snapped. "So your parents saved me. That doesn't mean I owe you for life."

He waved the guards over. Told them to throw me out.

Right as they dragged me away, he told his assistant to buy Sofia an eighty-million-dollar yacht.

Eighty million—more than enough to save me.

Tears blurred everything. I still smiled.

Fine. Now Lorenzo and I were finally free.

Lorenzo ghosted me for a month.

Guess Sofia had his full attention now.

His dead Facebook account? Suddenly blowing up with couple pics.

Opera nights, island getaways—everything he used to call "pointless."

The latest post? Him in a custom tux, Sofia in a wedding dress.

Caption: [Wanted to see the woman I love in a wedding gown.]

I laughed—cold and hollow.

Then I liked the post.

And shut off my phone.

The next day, Lorenzo called—sounded pissed.

"Chiara, bring your ID. Chapel. One hour."

Click.

Five years, and not once had he brought up the chapel.

I was ready to text back no—then I remembered.

Dad's signet ring was still with him.

I wasn't leaving without it.

I headed to the old Corsica chapel—same road I'd walked a million times.

For once, nothing went wrong.

Waited under the bullet-riddled columns for an hour before he showed.

Eyes sunken, reeking of smoke.

He only lit up when he was falling apart.

A whole month since we'd seen each other.

He froze when he saw me.

"What happened to you?"

Chemo had wrecked me. I was all bones and shadows.

He didn't have to say it. I knew I looked like hell.

When I didn't answer, his jaw clenched.

"This is the day we sign. You really wanna look like that in the photos?"

I kept my cool, held out my hand.

"I'm not here to vow anything. I came for my dad's signet ring."

His eyes went wide, like I was being dramatic for no reason.

Then he scoffed, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me inside.

"This is pathetic," he muttered. "Still playing hard to get? You think I'll cave just 'cause of some old family debt? Fine. You win. Let's do the ceremony now. We'll figure out the wedding date later."

The priest acted like it was just another day, already setting up the papers and ceremonial stuff.

"Please show your ID and sign the marriage form."

Lorenzo pulled out the Corsica signet ring. As he handed it over, his sleeve slipped—

Fresh ink on his wrist.

Sofia's initials, wrapped in a red rose.

The priest, totally clueless, smiled.

"How sweet! A tattoo! You two must be head over heels."

Lorenzo flinched, yanked his sleeve down.

He shot me a quick look—awkward, almost guilty.

I stayed stone-faced.

Then his tone turned sharp.

"What, forgot your ID again? Scared something might've stopped you this time too?"

I took a breath.

"I said—I'm not here to get married. Just give me the ring—"

His satellite phone blared.

He picked up.

A panicked voice shouted through the line:

"Don! It's bad! Ms. Camorra OD'd—sleeping pills. We don't think she'll make it. And... there's a note. She wrote that it was Ms. Mortoro who pushed her to it!"