I was with Don Massimo for five years. The whole time, he never hid his favorite: Cara. His driver’s daughter. The man who took a bullet for him.

He called it paying a debt. Like a fool, I bought it.

He gave her jewels. Fast cars. He even bought her an island.

Three days before the wedding, I found out he'd moved the venue. Not to my family's estate in Sicily. But to the island. Her island.

His excuse? Cara was claustrophobic. Couldn't handle a big indoor wedding.

I was done.

Three days later, the wedding happened on that island. But the bride was a no-show.

Massimo was publicly humiliated. He tore the city apart looking for me.

That’s when he found out. He thought he was marrying me. Instead, I married his greatest enemy. Nikolai Volkov. The Godfather of the Russian Bratva.

He ditched Cara. He ran to my family's estate and waited. Seven days and nights. With flowers, a ring, and a whole lot of begging.

Three days before my wedding, the invitation arrived. The location wasn't my family's estate in Sicily. It was on the island my fiancé bought for his little pet, Cara.

My phone lit up. A new post from Cara.

She posted photos of the island wedding setup. A shot of her and Massimo.

She was in a sexy white dress, clinging to his arm.

Massimo, sharp in his suit. His handsome face practically jumped off the screen.

The caption: [Planning a dream wedding. So happy.]

They looked like the happy couple. Ready for the rest of their lives.

My nose burned. Anger coiled hot in my gut.

I fell for Massimo the first time I saw him. Six years ago, at an auction. I chased him for a year. He wouldn’t budge.

Then my father died unexpectedly. I took over the family. Our shipping lanes. Our real business.

Suddenly, he wanted me. The next day, he announced our engagement.

I didn't care.

As long as I could be with him, what did it matter? Even if he only wanted me for what my family was worth.

Life with Massimo wasn't bad. He was classy, handsome, generous. Even in bed, we were electric.

But he was just as generous with Cara. After he bought her that island, I was sure she could ask for the moon and he’d build a rocket to get it for her.

I got jealous. I got disappointed. And I forgave him. Every. Single. Time.

I was an addict. He was my drug.

When he proposed, I had one condition. It was my father's dying wish. To marry at the Rossi family estate in Sicily.

It’s where our family began. It’s where my father is buried.

Now, he'd ruined it.

I couldn't take it. I drove straight to Massimo. I had to know what the hell he was thinking.

I drove straight to his mansion. As I approached his study, I heard his underboss talking.

"Boss, you changed the venue on the invites. Did it behind Miss Rossi's back. You sure she won't fly off the handle?"

Massimo just laughed. A casual, easy sound. "She’s been obsessed with me for years. She can't wait to scream my name all night. Besides, her family's a wreck. She's all that's left. She can't afford to leave me."

My fists clenched. Eyes burning, I pushed the door open. His smile faltered. Just for a second. Then the arrogant mask was back in place.

"You promised me. Sicily," I said.

My voice was flat. He walked over, wrapping an arm around my waist.

"I wanted to surprise you. An island is more romantic, isn't it?"

"Romantic?" My voice started to shake. "You know that was my father's dying wish. Our family tradition..."

"Traditions change." He dropped his arm, and the warmth in his eyes vanished. Those brown eyes I used to love were now cold with impatience. "Cara gets panic attacks. She can't handle enclosed spaces. The island is open-air. It's for her."

Cara. Always that goddamn name.

"She isn't the one marrying you, Massimo. I am."

"But she's my friend." He walked to the bar. "And she's worked hard planning this wedding."

I watched him pour a whiskey. I felt a dull knife twist in my gut. He must have sensed it. He turned around, his tone like he was talking to a child.

"Caterina. The living matter more than the dead. Stop being so dramatic." His eyes held a kind of pity that made my skin crawl. "The invitations are out. It's done. Remember your place, future Mrs. Caruso."

Just then, his phone rang. The special ringtone for Cara.

He answered instantly. "Cara? What's wrong?" His voice turned soft. "What? Another nightmare? Okay, okay. I'm on my way."

He grabbed his coat. He walked right past me without a glance. "Caterina. Make sure your guests know about the change of venue."

The door slammed shut, leaving me alone in the sudden, crushing silence. Just the crackle of the fire.

I turned and saw the boxes stacked in the living room.

They were filled with the sacred icons and altar decorations for the estate.

I’d picked out every single piece.

Each one a piece of my hope for this wedding.

Now they were just junk left behind.

Wait. Something was gone. The candles my grandmother gave me.

I tore through the boxes. They were gone.

Just as I was about to ask the housekeeper if all the boxes were here, Massimo came back. He'd forgotten something.

"Right," he said, grabbing his car keys from the table. He didn't even look at me.

"Those candles. Cara said it would be too windy on the island. I had them tossed."

I stared at his back. My blood turned to ice.

Those were my grandmother's candles. On her deathbed, she held my hand and said, "Caterina, every Rossi daughter walks down the aisle with these candles. They will bless you with happiness."

Now they were rotting in some dump.

Because Cara thought it was "too windy on the island."

"You know what those candles meant to me," I said. My voice was a whisper.

Massimo was already at the door. "Caterina, don't get worked up over things. Cara was being practical."

The door closed again.

I stood there, surrounded by those boxes, feeling completely hollowed out.

The next night was the family dinner.

I wore a black gown. I sat in my traditional seat at the long table, to the right of the head. The seat of the future Mrs. Caruso.

But all eyes were on Cara.

She was in a pink, off-the-shoulder dress.

A jaw-dropping ruby necklace around her neck.

I froze. It was the Rossi Matriarch necklace. My family’s heirloom, passed down for generations. Massimo knew what it meant.

He knew it was meant for me on my wedding day, a symbol of my place as head of the family. And he gave it to her.

"Everyone, look!" Cara held up a tablet, buzzing with excitement. "I redesigned the wedding decor!"

The screen was a sea of pink.

Pink arches, pink flowers, pink tablecloths, pink chair covers. Even the vases were pink. It looked like a Barbie Dreamhouse birthday party.

"Isn't this a bit…" Massimo's uncle, a Capo from the old guard, started to say.

"A bit what?" Massimo put down his wine glass. His eyes were cold. "Cara worked all week on this."

"It's childish," I said. My first words of the night.

The table went silent. Everyone looked at me.

"This is the wedding of a Don. Not a child's birthday party."

Cara’s eyes instantly welled up. "Caterina... I just wanted to make it more vibrant..." She bit her lip, her voice trembling. "If you don't like it, I can redo..."

"No need," Massimo’s voice was ice. "Cara is our wedding consultant. Her taste is impeccable. Maybe you should take a lesson in being young."

He humiliated me. In front of everyone. I felt my face burn.

"Massimo, this is my wedding."

"It's our wedding," he corrected. "And I invited Cara. You will show her some respect."

"No, no..." Cara suddenly stood up, covering her face. "It's all my fault... I shouldn't have gotten involved in Caterina's wedding..."

She started to pant. "I... I can't breathe... I'm sorry..."

And there it was. The performance.

Massimo shot up from his chair to hold her. "Cara, deep breaths. Look at me." He rubbed her back, his eyes filled with a tenderness I’d never seen him show anyone. Not me. Not even when I fell apart at my own father's funeral. He’d just handed me a tissue.

"It's all my fault..." Cara sobbed into his chest. "I'll leave right now..."

"You're not going anywhere." He held her tighter. Then he turned to me, his eyes blazing with anger. "Are you happy now? Is this what you wanted? To give a girl a panic attack over your damn wedding colors?"

I watched Cara's perfect performance in Massimo's arms. I saw the quick glance she shot me, checking my reaction. I saw her fingers digging into his shirt, claiming him.

"I didn't do anything to her. I just stated an opinion about my own wedding."

"Your attitude is the problem!" Massimo roared. "Cara has trauma! You know that. Attacking her like this... you might as well put a knife in her back!"

Everyone else at the table just stared down at their steaks. No one dared to speak. No one took my side. No one even thought this was wrong.

"I'm tired," I said, standing up and putting my napkin down. "Enjoy your dinner."

"Caterina," Massimo's uncle finally spoke. "Sit down. Settle this like an adult."

"No need." I glanced at Cara, perfectly nestled in Massimo's arms. "It seems the house already has a new lady."

I turned and walked out.

As I went up the stairs, I heard Cara's sobs get louder. Followed by Massimo's soft reassurances.

"Shh, baby, don't cry," I heard him murmur. "She's just jealous. It's old news."

A sharp pain shot through my heart.

I closed my bedroom door and dialed an encrypted number.

"You once said you’d marry me. Is the offer still on the table? You have two days. Meet me in Sicily."

I hung up.

Just then, Massimo pushed the door open. His tone wasn't as hard as before.

"Still mad, Caterina? I was a little harsh, I know. But you have to understand. She's the daughter of the man who saved my life."

He came over and held me, trying to kiss me like nothing happened. "I know you were just upset. The wedding will be huge. It will be romantic. You’ve been looking forward to this, right? Look, tomorrow Cara and I are going to taste wedding cakes. Trust me, you won't be disappointed."

I looked at his fake sincerity and just felt sick.

If he was going to put Cara first... then fine.

I would give him a wedding day he would never forget.

The next afternoon, I had my final fitting for my wedding dress.

It was my grandmother's. Ivory French lace, every flower stitched by hand.

Seventy years ago, she wore it to marry my grandfather.

Forty years ago, my mother wore it when she walked into our family home in Sicily.

Now it was my turn.

"Miss Rossi, you look breathtaking," the tailor said, carefully adjusting the train. "This dress was made for you."

I looked at myself in the mirror. She was right. It was beautiful.

This dress held the love of three generations of Rossi women. And I was about to betray everything it stood for.

"The veil is the perfect length," the tailor said, picking up the matching heirloom. My mother had embroidered roses on it herself. Every stitch a prayer for her daughter's happiness.

Just then, the door opened.

Massimo walked in. Cara was right behind him. They were back from the cake tasting. Massimo was holding a box of samples.

"Wow," Cara said, stopping short when she saw me. Her eyes went from awe to jealousy, then she quickly masked it with praise. "Caterina, you're beautiful! That dress... it's so special." Her voice was tight.

Massimo walked to my side. For a second, his eyes were genuinely stunned.

"My bride," he whispered, kissing my cheek. "Perfect."

Cara's smile faltered. She recovered quickly, forcing a bright, brittle smile. "Oh, by the way, Caterina, thank you for letting me be your maid of honor." She pulled out her phone and swiped to a photo. "Massimo got me a dress. I promise I'll be the best maid of honor!"

She turned the screen to me.

I saw a picture of a long white gown. Low-cut, floor-length, covered in delicate beadwork.

It looked almost exactly like a wedding dress, just without a veil.

"A very pretty... maid of honor dress," I said, my eyes cold.

Cara's smile faltered. "Yeah, Massimo said I should dress up for such an important day..."

I put down the headpiece I was holding and looked right at her.

"Tell me, Cara."

"What?"

"Are you the maid of honor? Or are you the understudy?"

The air went still. Cara's face flushed red. Her eyes started to glisten.

"Caterina... I... I just wanted..." Her voice trembled. "I just want your wedding to be perfect... I wanted to look nice for it..."

She turned to Massimo, tears already falling. "Did I do something wrong? I shouldn't wear something so formal?"

Massimo frowned at me. "Caterina, it's just a dress." His voice was sharp. "She's not going to outshine the bride."

I didn't answer. I just stared at him. He shifted, uncomfortable under my gaze.

"Come on, it's just a white dress," he said, annoyed. "It's not a big deal."

Cara started crying harder. "It's all my fault!" she wailed, rushing toward me. "Caterina, I'm so sorry!"

She moved too fast. Her foot caught on something.

"Ah!"

She lost her balance and fell forward. Her hands shot out, grabbing for the first thing she could reach. The veil.

A sickening rip echoed in the silent room.

I looked down.

The rose-embroidered veil my mother made, the one the tailor was just holding, was torn. A long gash right through the antique lace.

"Oh my god!" Cara sat on the floor, tears streaming down her face. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to!" She looked at the piece of lace in her hand and cried even harder. "I really didn't mean to... I'm so clumsy..."

Massimo immediately knelt to help her up. "Cara, are you hurt? Did you fall hard?" His first instinct was to check on her. Not the ruined family heirloom.

"I'm fine... but Caterina's veil..." Cara sobbed. "It's all my fault..."

Massimo finally glanced at the lace on the floor. Then he looked at me. "It was an accident," he said, his voice flat. "We can have it fixed. Or I'll buy you a new one."

Buy a new one.

He said he would buy a new one. This piece of our family history, our legacy, was just another product to him.

"It's fine," I said, my voice shaking. "It's just a veil."

I bent down and picked up the shattered pieces of lace. Every thread was a silent accusation.

"Massimo, my hand hurts," Cara cried out, showing him a small scrape on her palm.

And Massimo, like always, chose her. He scooped her up and carried her toward his study, bellowing for one of his men to get a doctor.

My eyes burned, but the tears wouldn't fall. A second later, my phone vibrated.

A message from an encrypted number.

[All is in place. I am waiting for you, my queen.]