"That's the Don's doing, no question. They say Marchetti puts a new watch on his wife's wrist every year, like clockwork."

"Elena Castellano must have saved a saint's life in another world to be claimed by a man like Don Marchetti."

"Don't sell her short. Her blood was no small thing. Her father ran the whole Harbor District before he went."

"A pity he died so young. They say it was rage that put him in the ground. Otherwise the old Don Castellano would still be the name every man in the Harbor District feared."

…

I stopped just outside the door of his study.

Lorenzo's voice carried through the wood, sharp with an anger he rarely let surface.

"I ordered two watches. One standard, one of the limited pieces."

"The standard one has already come. And now you stand there and tell me to wait on the other?"

"Is that how you do business with a man like me?"

"I don't want excuses. If that watch isn't in my hands within the hour, you'll answer for it. And you won't like the form the question takes."

So he had bought two watches.

I stood in the corridor a few minutes longer, then pushed the door open and walked in.

The moment his eyes found me, the cold fell away from his face and a smile rose in its place.

"Elena, you're here."

"Give me a moment, tesoro. Let me finish with these papers and I'm yours."

I told him there was no rush, that we had time enough.

Then I sat on the leather couch, scrolling through my phone, waiting in silence.

Lorenzo was a striking thing when he worked, all focus and unhurried command, the kind of stillness that made grown soldiers wait their turn to speak.

For a hazy moment, I thought I caught something of my father in him.

It wasn't strange, really. Both of them were men born to sit at the head of a table while others held their breath.

Not half an hour later, my phone buzzed with a notification.

I opened it. Vittoria had posted to her feed.

Nine photos, every one of them a close-up of the watch riding her wrist.

"The finest birthday gift I've ever been given."

"They say each new year outshines the last. I say having you outshines everything."

The comments came fast.

"Isn't that the Patek Philippe that only just dropped?"

"Dio, that's the limited diamond-set piece. Worth more than thirty-seven million."

"So jealous."

"No need to guess whose hand gave her that."

"My lips are sealed. I only wish two people in love their happy ending."

I kept scrolling, searching for Lorenzo's name in the comments. It wasn't there.

I glanced up. He was still bent over his work, his phone lying quiet at his elbow.

That was when it settled in me. When Vittoria posted this, she had almost certainly blocked him from ever seeing it.

Something bitter pulled at the corner of my mouth.

As far back as I could remember, today was the first time I had ever seen Lorenzo that furious.

And it had all been over a watch.

At last he finished, and we drove to the Marchetti estate together.

On the way, I closed my eyes and pretended to drift off.

His phone rang.

He turned to study my face, decided I was asleep, and only then answered.

"Lorenzo, thank you for such an expensive watch."

The voice through his earpiece was faint, but I sat close enough to catch every word.

The corner of his mouth lifted.

"It's only a little over thirty million. Hardly expensive."

"As long as it pleases you."

Vittoria sounded touched. "All these years, you've given me so much."

"And every gift more precious than the last."

"It troubles me. If Elena ever found out, she'd be hurt."

"I don't want the two of you set against each other because of me."

He gave a calm, low laugh. "Don't worry yourself. She won't find out."

"And I bought one for her too."

"Not as fine as yours, of course."

Vittoria dropped her voice to a whisper. "Lorenzo, tonight. Could you spend it with me?"

Lorenzo hesitated for a few seconds before answering, his voice full of apology. "I'm sorry, Vittoria. Tonight is the holiday, when every famiglia sits at the same table. I already gave my parents my word I'd bring Elena to spend it with them."

"All right. Buon Natale to you all, then."

There was such a deep loneliness in Vittoria's voice that something in Lorenzo's eyes softened with pain.

"Vittoria," he said gently, "I give you my word. Next year I'll be at your side for your birthday."

"And our daughter will be right there beside you too, by then."

Watching the happiness spread across his face, I felt my eyes sting, and my brow twitched before I could stop it.

Then a cry came through the earpiece, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground.

Lorenzo went tense. "Vittoria, what happened?"

"I slipped in the snow. I'm hurt."

"Is it bad?"

"It's... it's not too bad."

"Tell me where you are. I'm coming right now."

Vittoria made a show of refusing. "There's no need, Lorenzo. I can have one of my men take me to a doctor myself."

"I won't ruin the holiday over something this small."

His brow furrowed, and his voice left no room for argument, the same flat command a Don uses when an order has already been given. "Tell me where you are."

Once he had the answer he wanted, he ended the call, pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road, and woke me.

"Elena, my consigliere just called. There's a sit-down. Urgent."

"Sorry. I have to head back."

"Can you arrange a ride for yourself?"

"Or I can have one of the soldiers come for you."

I lifted my head and looked out the window. Everything beyond the glass was pitch black, snow coming down in thick, heavy flakes.

We were far past the edge of the District, and it was the night of the holiday. Forget a car for hire, there wasn't another set of headlights anywhere on the road.

I didn't want to agree, but I was pushed out of the car anyway.

Lorenzo hit the gas, and the car shot off into the distance.

Quick. Final.

He was so worried about Vittoria he couldn't even be bothered to explain.

I took out my phone and found the signal almost gone. None of the apps would even open.

There was nothing to do but pull my coat tighter, lower my head against the wind and snow, and start walking, one uneven step after another.

More than two hours later, shaking with cold, I finally reached the gates of the Marchetti estate.

Through the iron railings I could see the lights blazing inside, laughter drifting out into the night.

A soldier on the gate spotted me and hurried to open it.

"Signora, why are you so late?"

I didn't explain. I just asked, "Lorenzo. Is he already here?"

"The young Don arrived a long while ago. With Miss Volpe."

The man chose the words carefully.

He knew the old story, from years back. How Marco Rosso had shattered the betrothal-pact between our bloodlines to take Vittoria instead, how the shame of it had driven my father to his grave. The whole Harbor District had whispered of it at the time, soldier to soldier, table to table.

He was afraid of cutting me open again.

A bitter taste rose in me.

Even a soldier on the gate knew enough to tread lightly around it. Lorenzo hadn't spared a single thought for how I felt.

In the front room, Vittoria sat on the sofa pressed close against Lorenzo, the two of them talking and laughing low. The moment they saw me, they pulled apart.

"Elena, you finally made it."

"I was worried sick."

"Why was your phone dead every time the soldier called?"

I said it flatly. "It died."

In cold more than ten below, a phone's battery didn't last long out on an open road.

"I'm sorry, Elena. This is all my fault."

Seeing me covered in snow, Lorenzo put on a guilty face. He smoothed the lapel of his jacket with a single downward stroke, took my hand, and sat me down on the sofa.

Salvatore and Carmela Marchetti came over too, fussing over me, scolding their son. How could he leave his wife alone out on a road like that, on a night like this?

It left Vittoria, off to the side, looking faintly, unmistakably caught out.

I turned to glance at her and saw only a small bruise across her forehead.

I had stood freezing in the snow for over two hours, and half my leg had gone numb.

Dinner was lavish, every dish one of my favorites, the long table set the way the Marchetti matriarch kept it for blood that mattered.

You could tell Salvatore and Carmela had put real thought into welcoming the bride of this house.

At the table, Lorenzo stayed at my side the whole time.

The whole family talked over each other, cheerful, debating what to name the heir who would one day carry the Marchetti name.

I didn't remember how anything tasted. I didn't remember what they decided.

All I remembered was the jealousy clawing in Vittoria's eyes across the table.

After dinner, I rested alone in the guest room while the soldiers settled into their watch beyond the door.

Vittoria shoved the door open and drove her foot hard into my injured leg.

I rolled on the floor in pain while she stood over me, her face twisting.

"Elena, there's something I have to tell you tonight."

"That heir in your belly isn't yours. It's mine and Lorenzo's!"

"So you don't get a say in what we name it!"

"You crippled little nothing. You worthless thing."

"Eight years ago I took the man you loved most right out of your hands!"

"And you didn't dare make a sound."

"Look at you now. Still worthless."

"Marco was mine, and Lorenzo is mine too!"

"You were never anything but a joke."

"Oh, and one more thing."

"Eight years ago, your father didn't have to die."

"After they carried the old Don to the hospital, someone pulled a few strings and swapped out one of the drugs that would have saved him."

The words hit me like a current, and my whole body shook.

"Who was it?"

My father's death was a wound that never closed. Don Vincenzo Castellano, struck down in the years his enemies still spoke his name in low voices.

I dragged myself up to demand the answer, and in that instant Vittoria snatched the fruit knife off the side table and turned it on herself, sinking it into her own shoulder.

I froze, unable to understand why she would cut herself.

Her scream tore through the room, and Lorenzo burst in, the door slamming back against the wall.

Clutching the wound, Vittoria sobbed, "Elena, no, please!"

"Don't hurt me. I never meant to take Marco from you back then."

"Please, just forgive me!"

Blood ran down between her fingers, staining the new watch on her wrist red, a thing worth more than most men in this house would see in a lifetime. Her thumb worried at the inside of her other wrist, her grief holding a half-second too long.

Rage twisted Lorenzo's face a mottled purple, and he swung his hand and slapped me hard.

"Elena, do you have any idea what you're doing?"

"Have you lost your mind?"

"Vittoria saw you weren't well and came to check on you out of kindness."

"And you pull a knife on her over something from years ago?"

The way Salvatore and Carmela looked at me changed too. Across the room, the old Don's cane stilled against the floor, and his wife's fingers found the worn rosary at her belt.

In their wildest dreams they'd never have imagined that I, always so gentle and good, could do something like this.

Vittoria put on her wounded act. "Lorenzo, don't blame Elena."

"If you have to blame someone, blame me. I shouldn't have called you, and I never should have taken that fall."

"It's my fault Elena had to walk all that way through the snow tonight."

"And eight years ago, yes, I'm the one who broke the betrothal that was hers."

"I'm guilty. I deserve this knife."

Lorenzo's eyes filled with tears for her. "No, Vittoria, you did nothing wrong."

"Marco fled the betrothal-pact because he never loved Elena."

"That had nothing to do with you!"

"And tonight, I went to get you because I wanted to."

"You can't be blamed for that either."

I didn't take in a word of it. My eyes burned red, fixed on Vittoria.

All I wanted now was the answer. Who had killed my father.

Safe under Lorenzo's protection, she shot me a taunting look.

I lunged for her like something gone mad, and Salvatore and Carmela held me back with everything they had.

Lorenzo had had enough. He called the soldiers and had me thrown straight out of the estate.

"Elena, if it weren't for the oath that bound us as man and wife, I'd have already handed you to the Feds!"

"Go home and cool off!"

"Do this again, and I'm severing the blood-pact between us!"

The moment the estate gates shut, something in me died to ash, and I turned and walked away without a second's hesitation. My father's signet ring pressed hard into my palm until the crest cut a mark there, the only inheritance they could not take.

My figure vanished completely into the dark of the storm.