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.]