The Don's Forgotten Brooklyn Vow

At eighteen, Dante and I were fighting for scraps on the streets of Brooklyn.

I stormed a rival gang’s hideout alone and dragged him out, beaten to within an inch of his life.

We clawed our way out together, and I helped him rise to become the Don of the Falcone family.

Isabella, the Moretti principessa, proposed a marriage alliance to unite our families.

But he defied the entire Moretti family, telling the New York underworld that I was his one and only queen.

From that day on, Dante’s war with the Moretti family began.

They seized his docks; he beat Isabella's right-hand man half to death.

He annexed their territory; she lured him into a trap that nearly cost him his life.

Throughout their bloody feud, he kept me perfectly safe.

Everyone said he loved me more than life itself, willing to make an enemy of the Morettis, one of New York's five great families.

Until Isabella ran my car off the highway.

I was recovering in a private clinic when I stumbled upon a scene in the next room: Dante, his eyes bloodshot, slamming Isabella against the wall.

"You can mess with me all you want," he snarled, "but don't you dare touch her. You know what I'm capable of."

But the woman he had pinned against the wall simply traced circles on his chest, her laughter low and seductive.

"What good is a queen who's nothing but an empty shell, unable to even give you an heir?"

"Only I am worthy of being your queen!"

He didn't object. Instead, he kissed her savagely.

Only then did I realize the bloody war waged in my name was nothing more than a twisted game of cat and mouse between them.

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1

"She can't have children because she saved my life. I can't abandon her."

Ten years ago, when I stormed that enemy hideout to save Dante, I was tortured for three days and nights. My womb was destroyed in the process—and with it, our unborn, three-month-old child.

At the time, Dante was so moved he swore he’d put every last one of our enemies in the ground himself.

I couldn't believe it. The man who would save the last crust of bread for me in Brooklyn, the man who murmured my name in his dreams.

Now, he was debating my worth with another woman.

"I'll give you the territory on the east side. You go and apologize to her."

His words, meant to defend me, were now a bitter joke.

Since when did the people who hurt me get off with a simple apology bought with our family's assets?

It could only mean one thing: he'd fallen for someone else.

I returned to my room, pretending nothing had happened.

A few minutes later, Dante arrived with his men.

"Apologize to my Elena."

Isabella picked up a tray of medical instruments, a mask of obedience on her face, but her words were laced with poison.

"Why didn't I just kill you in that crash?"

"You want me, the Principessa of the Moretti family, to apologize? To a bitch like you? Are you even worthy!"

With a vicious smirk, she feigned a stumble, "accidentally" tipping the entire tray of sharp instruments onto my injured hand.

The next second, Dante kicked the back of Isabella's knee, forcing her to bow her head toward me.

"Are you looking to die?"

But Isabella stubbornly craned her neck to look up at him, tears welling in her eyes.

Blood blurred my vision, but I could still clearly see the flicker of conflict in Dante's eyes.

It felt like a block of ice was lodged in my chest, chilling me to the bone.

But I still clung to a sliver of hope. "Dante," I said, testing the waters. "I want her dead. Can I do that?"

"You said it yourself. Anyone who hurts me has to die."

Back in Brooklyn, a thug had only grazed my cheek, and Dante had stabbed him more than a dozen times.

But now, a conflicted look crossed his face.

"Elena, she's just spoiled. She didn't really mean to hurt you. Let's just let it go this time."

The moment he finished speaking, Isabella tore free from his grasp and ran out sobbing.

She knocked over an IV stand, and it crashed down onto my freshly bandaged hand.

Blood instantly soaked the gauze, but the man who once flew into a rage if I so much as scraped my knee didn't even glance back as he chased after her.

I quietly followed them to the rooftop.

Isabella was perched on the ledge, straddling the railing high above the street.

"I want you to admit that I'm the one you love most!"

"And I never want to be humiliated like that again!"

"If she just died, you could be with me..."

Her tears were tragically beautiful, and they threw him into a panic. He rushed to agree to her every demand.

So this was her plan all along. And he had let her hurt me.

A decade of memories fractured, the pieces no longer fitting the shape of love.

When I looked again, Dante had already lifted her down from the railing and was murmuring to her in a soft voice.

"I don't care, you have to stay with me tonight," Isabella pouted, her voice a coquettish whine.

The wind on the rooftop was too strong. I couldn't hear his reply, but I prayed he would refuse.

I prayed even harder that he would remember today was our anniversary.

But in the next second, my phone buzzed with a text from him.

[Elena, be good. Urgent family business came up. I won't be back tonight.]

A wave of despair so absolute it felt like drowning crashed over me. My heart turned to ash.

I made the call to Marco.

"I heard you've always wanted to tear down the Falcone family. I can sell you all of their front operations."