For seven years, I had been in a secret blood-bound arrangement with my brother’s sworn friend, Dominic Moretti. A Valente daughter and a rival Don, bound in the dark, hidden from every Family that would have torn the peace apart over it.

One night, after the wine had gone down too easy, he looked at me with that lazy, dangerous smirk and said, “Adriana, I’ll find you a better man. Stop clinging to me, okay?”

I replied calmly and obediently, “Alright.”

It was because, in a past life, I had refused his suggestion and insisted on binding myself to him for good. After our pact was sealed, Dominic ignored me, deliberately distanced himself, and made me feel invisible.

Even when I was eight months pregnant and bleeding out after the car had been run off the road, he was sitting in a private box with his heartbroken Bianca, the Falcone girl, listening to her favorite band.

It was only then I realized he was someone else’s salvation, but he was never meant to be mine.

—

When I said “alright,” Dominic froze in place. He hadn’t expected me to agree so readily.

The dim light of the private lounge cast soft shadows over the leather and the low gleam of cut crystal. His handsome face carried an unusual flush, but his eyes stayed clear, showing no sign of the wine at all.

I sat composedly, my posture graceful, a faint smile on my lips as I looked at him.

In that instant the laziness drained out of him. Dominic straightened in his chair, and the gold signet ring on his finger caught the light as his hand went still on it. “Adriana, did you hear what I just said?”

I nodded. “I heard you clearly.”

In the old days, whenever he said something like this, I would pout, act playful, and beg him not to bring it up again.

But now my emotions were as calm as still water, as if I were merely a spectator watching a scene unfold, untouched and unmoved.

“Adriana, you...”

Before he could finish, my brother Lorenzo came back in from the hall. He entered with a teasing grin, the Underboss of the Valente Family wearing it like a man with no enemies in the room. “Guess who I just saw out there?”

Without waiting for an answer, Lorenzo went on, “Your old flame. Drunk off her feet, getting walked into another lounge by some of her people—”

Before he could finish, Dominic shot up from his seat and strode out. A moment later the sound of commotion and shattering glass echoed down the hallway, the kind of noise that, in our world, made the soldiers near the door reach for what sat under their jackets.

I stayed in my seat, unmoved, eating the peeled tangerine slices from the fruit platter.

Dominic liked fruit but hated peeling it. Every time, I would carefully peel it for him and set it in front of him, and only then would he take a few bites.

Lorenzo often teased me about it. “You’re too good to him. Why don’t I ever get treated like that by my own blood? Don’t tell me you’re sweet on him.”

Many times I was tempted to reveal what was between Dominic and me.

But Dominic would always gently pat my head and speak first. “Maybe, in Adriana’s eyes, I’m more of a brother to her than you are. A little sister spoiling her big brother. You have a problem with that, Lorenzo?”

Over time, I understood his intentions. He didn’t want a single soul to know.

So I kept my silence too.

For seven years, not one person knew what tied us together.

Now Lorenzo stood by the door, watching the chaos spill out into the hall, waiting for the right moment to step in. He cracked the knuckles of one hand against his palm, slow, the patience in him beginning to thin.

Glancing back at me, still calmly eating fruit, he teased, “Adriana, your precious Dominic just got himself into a brawl. Aren’t you going to help him?”

I swallowed the last slice of tangerine and shook my head. “My arms are too thin, my legs too weak. I’d only get in the way.”

At that Lorenzo raised an eyebrow, said nothing more, and went out to handle it himself.

I stayed in the lounge a long while, long enough for the noise outside to die down. Only then did I rise and walk out.

The moment I stepped into the hallway, I saw Dominic carefully holding another woman in his arms. His old flame and the Falcone daughter, Bianca.

Bianca was drunk, her body soft as if it had no bones in it, leaning her whole weight against him.

Dominic didn’t push her away. He held her tightly, as if he were afraid she might slip from his hands.

Dominic's deep, dark eyes showed a hint of anger mixed with concern, emotions he himself probably hadn't realized.

Lorenzo strolled over from the bar, raising a brow as he teased, "Adriana, you think those two might end up bound again?"

His voice wasn't particularly loud, but in a room where men measured every word, it was enough to carry to Dominic.

Dominic's head came up sharply at Lorenzo's words. When his gaze found me standing a few feet away, a fleeting trace of guilt crossed his face.

"I never thought about going back to her," he said, the words coming too fast for a man who never hurried. "She was just drunk."

I smiled faintly and shook my head. "Don Moretti, I understand. Bianca's in no state to look after herself. You should see her home."

He frowned slightly, displeased at the title, the formal distance of it. But he didn't refuse what I'd offered.

As he steadied Bianca against him and led her toward the door, he even turned back to instruct Lorenzo, "Don't let her wander the territory this late. See her home early."

Watching their figures disappear down the corridor, a sharp pain pricked my heart. And yet, at the same time, I found it painfully ironic.

In my past life, I had bound myself to Dominic the way I'd always dreamed, the secret pact sealed between us. But I never got the happiness I wanted.

On my birthday, I asked for nothing more than a quiet day with him. Instead he told me, "Celebrating birthdays is a waste of time. I'm busy. I don't have time for that."

Later that same day, I saw photographs on Bianca's social pages of the two of them hiking, camping, laughing in the open air.

When my stomach ulcer flared and I asked him to take me to the doctor for a check, he said, "I'm not a physician. Having me there won't heal you. Don't bother me."

Yet I learned afterward that he'd driven Bianca to the hospital himself, for nothing more than a mild cold.

When I was eight months along and the crash left me bleeding out, the doctor called him in a panic, begging him to come sign the consent for surgery.

His answer was as cold as ice. "Is she dead? If not, don't call me."

As his words came through the phone, I heard Bianca's delighted voice somewhere behind him. "Dominic, this concert was worth every favor you called in. They're finally on stage."

The line went dead. Blood soaked the sheets beneath me, spreading fast until half the blanket had gone red.

The crushing weight of how I died in that other life pressed down on me again, suffocating, as I stood there remembering. I clutched my chest and let out a bitter smile.

Dominic, if you never loved me, then I won't love you anymore either.

That night, Lorenzo brought me home just in time to make the curfew our father had set under the old rules of the house.

The next morning I woke groggy and reached for my phone to check the hour. What greeted me instead was a message from Bianca.

She'd sent a photo of Dominic asleep at her place, with the caption: Dominic stayed the night to keep me company.

Seeing it, I felt nothing. I replied with a single word. Oh.

I ignored her after that, but she wasn't willing to let it lie. Soon another photo came through, this time of breakfast.

This is the breakfast Dominic made for me this morning, she wrote. He even made heart-shaped eggs, my favorite.

Dominic had never once set foot in a kitchen in all our years. He always said the kitchen was a woman's place, that no man of standing belonged there.

So for him, I, a woman who had never cooked a thing in her life, signed up for lessons just to learn. As long as I was around, there was always a warm, home-cooked meal waiting for him.

But seeing the trouble he went to for Bianca, I understood at last how ridiculous I had been.

I glanced at her messages, didn't reply, and calmly set the phone down to finish my own breakfast.

Five minutes later, a message from Dominic appeared.

He said nothing about the night before. Instead: The yam and pork rib soup you made last time was good. Make some today and bring it to me.

And don't add scallions this time.

Seeing the message, my expression darkened slightly.

Dominic had no aversion to scallions. He'd always claimed they deepened the flavor of a soup, the way an old recipe carried the weight of the family that made it.

After a moment's thought, I replied with a simple, [Okay.]

Once I sent the message, I decisively opened a delivery service and ordered some random yam and pork rib soup sent to his office on the top floor of the Moretti hotel, the one that laundered half the family's cash flow.

That evening, I went out to dinner with my brother.

Lorenzo had reserved a private room at one of the old-family restaurants on neutral ground, the kind where the waiters knew not to repeat what they heard. We had just arrived when we saw Dominic and Bianca walking in, arms linked, smiling sweetly.

The moment Dominic spotted us, he instinctively let go of her hand and walked toward us. A man feared across three territories, and still his first reaction was to drop her like evidence.

Bianca's expression faltered for a brief moment. Then her hand drifted to her collarbone, steadying herself a beat too soon, before she composed herself and approached with a smile. "We're late, and there aren't any open tables. Would you mind if we joined yours?"

Without waiting for a reply, Dominic sat down next to me.

Lorenzo's eyes widened in surprise, and he stood quickly, pulling him to switch places. "What are you thinking? How is it appropriate for me to sit next to her?"

Reluctantly, Dominic let himself be nudged into the seat across from me. His eyes carried a hint of displeasure, as if waiting for me to say something.

Avoiding his gaze, I handed the menu to Bianca. "Bianca, why don't you order what you two would like? My brother and I have already decided."

She took the menu with a smile, trying to appear natural. "Adriana, the yam and pork rib soup you make is so delicious. Much better than anything you can buy outside."

Her words confirmed my suspicion. The soup Dominic had asked me to make was for her.

I smiled faintly but said nothing.

Lorenzo, however, seemed impressed. "She had this sudden urge to take cooking lessons a while ago. I was worried she'd burn the estate down, but it turns out she's a natural. I wonder which lucky man will benefit from this someday."

Dominic had been smiling subtly, but at those words, his smile faded. Slowly, he lifted his glass of wine, the dark vintage catching the candlelight, and sipped. "Adriana," he asked calmly, "are you thinking about being courted?"

I looked at him in confusion.

Recalling the words he'd said in that private room, I nodded slightly. "I'm twenty-six this year. It's time. If you know someone suitable, I'd appreciate an introduction."

"You've finally come to your senses!" Lorenzo was more excited than anyone. Laughing, he said, "I've been trying to arrange something for ages, but you kept refusing. Now that you're finally open to it, I'll do my best to find you a man worth your blood!"

After Lorenzo's words, Dominic's thin lips pressed tightly together. His sharp gaze stayed fixed on me, as though trying to read what I would not say. His thumb found the heavy gold signet on his finger, turning it slowly inward.

Bianca noticed the shift in his mood and giggled. "Adriana, you're so lucky to have such a great brother. I'm honestly a little jealous. But you know, I think Dominic is pretty great. What if—"

"Don't say such things. Adriana is my little sister," Dominic cut in with a frown, his tone laced with faint reproach, though his expression held only exasperation.

I nodded in agreement, smiling. "Exactly. I see Dominic as my own brother. Bianca, you shouldn't joke about things like that."

"And honestly, I think you and Dominic are a better match than I'd ever be," I added.

Dominic's face darkened instantly. His eyes glinted with faint anger as he gave a sharp laugh. "Is that so? Then how about I introduce someone to you. Would you make time to meet them?"

"Of course. Thank you in advance, Dominic." I smiled brightly and agreed without hesitation.

For the next few days, I didn't contact Dominic, and he didn't contact me either.

Instead, it was Bianca who showed up at my door.

When she arrived, both Lorenzo and I happened to be home.