The warehouse explosion left me with partial amnesia.

When I woke up, my world had been reduced to a single fact: I was preparing to marry Vincenzo, the Don of the Chicago Outfit.

The ninety-ninth time his childhood friend, Isabella, sabotaged a piece of my trousseau—this time, by slashing the silk dressing gown I’d designed myself—I finally snapped and threw a glass of red wine in her face.

"Are you doing this on purpose? No grown woman can be this clumsy."

But Isabella didn't even flinch. Instead, a slow, knowing smile spread across her face.

She leaned in close, toying with a strand of my hair, and whispered,

"The thing is, you're the real fool in this story."

"What do you mean?"

"A year ago, the warehouse explosion at the docks. Two charred bodies, impaled by ten steel bars."

"Aurora, have you really forgotten? The two people who burned to death... they were your parents."

As the color drained from my face, her lips twisted into a cruel smirk.

"Why do you think Vince is marrying you? You're a loose end. And for a loose end like you, the only safe place is his bed."

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1

The red wine dripped from her long hair, staining the floorboards.

An icy dread coiled in my gut with her every word.

She closed the distance between us, picked up her own glass, and emptied the dregs over my head.

"Aurora, do you really think Vince doesn't know what I've been doing?"

"Why else do you think he put me in charge of your wedding? It's his silent approval."

"If he really loved you, if he couldn't wait to marry you, why would he let me sabotage everything ninety-nine times? The explosion might have taken your memory, but did it take your common sense, too?"

The cold liquid sent a violent shiver through me.

My nails dug into my palms so hard that beads of blood welled up and dropped to the floor.

But I couldn't feel the pain.

The past year flashed through my mind.

From the moment I woke up and he told me we were getting married, Vincenzo had handed all the wedding preparations to his so-called childhood friend.

First, she'd deliberately botched the measurements, making the wedding dress look like a funeral shroud.

We had no choice but to postpone the wedding, again and again.

And today, at the final rehearsal, she'd taken a knife to the silk robe.

The ninety-ninth time.

I had raged. I had pleaded.

But every time I confronted him about Isabella's sabotage, Vincenzo would adopt that pained, helpless expression.

"She's just inexperienced, cara. Let her take her time. Besides, we're not in a rush. We'll have a lifetime together."

"Isn't it nice to extend the honeymoon phase? Or are you that eager for us to be an old married couple?"

Whenever I showed real anger, he would turn cold and impatient.

"Isabella is my oldest friend. What, you think something's going on between us? They were accidents. Instead of picking fights, maybe you should go to church and pray it doesn't happen again!"

All our arguments would eventually fizzle out, leading nowhere.

It never occurred to me that he didn't want to marry me at all.

Sensing my turmoil, Isabella's smile grew more predatory.

"If it weren't for you, I would be the one marrying Vince."

"You stole everything that was mine, and you expect me to plan your wedding? In your dreams."

A cold sweat trickled down my back.

I clenched my fists, my voice trembling as I asked, "Why? Why did my parents die? They were just managers at the docks!"

Isabella looked at me as if I'd just told the world's most pathetic joke, her eyes brimming with scorn.

"The Costellos are the Outfit. It was business. What else?"

"A rival family's territory was too valuable. This was the only way to take it."

"You can only blame your parents for their bad luck. They stayed behind in the warehouse to inspect cargo, so they were right there when it blew. You were farther away and only got your head bashed in. Call it fate."

As the color drained from my face, her lips twisted into that cruel smirk again.

"If I remember correctly, your parents were worrying about you getting married right before they died. If they knew you were about to marry their murderer, wouldn't they turn in their graves?"

"Do you think Vince really loves you?"

"While you were out on dates, he was texting me. When you were in his bed, he was complaining to me about having to sleep with a woman he didn't love. Every moment you two spent together, he felt nothing but disgust for you, his fiancée."

"Aurora, your only purpose is to keep this secret buried forever."

In that instant, the world dissolved around me, my mind wiped clean by the shock.

Suddenly, steady, heavy footsteps approached from behind.

It was Vincenzo.

"What are you two doing?"

My eyes were bloodshot as I snapped my head up.

I opened my mouth to demand an explanation.

But in the next second, long, manicured nails dug into my waist from behind.

"If I were you, I wouldn't make a scene," Isabella hissed. "The Costello family has a million ways to silence you forever."

When I looked up again, I had masked my turmoil with a familiar calm.

Isabella ran to Vincenzo, sobbing, and began her performance.

"I accidentally got the measurements wrong, and Aurora accused me of doing it on purpose! She even threw wine on me."

"Vince, it was an accident. You know me..."

At the accusation that I'd bullied his precious childhood friend, a flash of disgust crossed Vincenzo's eyes.

But when his gaze met mine, his features softened into that familiar, hollow tenderness.

He strode over, sighing as if I was a burden he had to bear, and pulled me into his arms.

"Still a child's temper, even after a year."

"Isabella is immature, but you're going to be her sister-in-law. You should be more understanding."

"Forget it. We've had so many setbacks, what's one more? She's never planned a wedding before, so we'll let her learn. I'll take you home."

Before we left, he put his arm around my shoulders. As we passed Isabella, his tone was a warning, but his words were laced with indulgence.

"If you make Aurora angry again, I'll have to punish you."

"No more problems before the wedding."

Back in the car, he still ushered me into the passenger seat—my seat.

This seat, he'd once told me gently, had always been and would always be mine.

I had been lost in the beautiful, fragile dream he had woven, thinking I'd found the man I could lean on for the rest of my life.

But now...

I glanced at the man's cold, chiseled profile.

I searched my mind, trying to grasp a single memory of us meeting, of us falling in love.

But nothing came. Not a single fragment.

The explosion had erased five years of my life.

Vincenzo told me those were the years we were in love.

One was my beloved fiancé, the Don. The other, his childhood friend who was "like a sister" to him.

Who was I supposed to believe?

My thoughts were a maelstrom.

Whenever I tried to force a memory of the past, a splitting pain shot through my skull.

"Ah!"

I clutched my head, my face contorting in agony.

Vincenzo slammed on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt. He turned to me, his hands hovering anxiously.

"What's wrong? Is your head hurting again?"

"The doctor said you aren't fully recovered. Nerve damage takes time to heal."

"Take your medicine. I'll have the doctor meet us at the house."

The tenderness in his eyes seemed so genuine. It was as if the disgust I’d seen moments before had been a figment of my imagination.

At the estate, the family's private doctor gave me a thorough check-up.

Vincenzo stayed by my side, hanging on the doctor’s every word.

"Doctor, how is she? It's been a year. Why is she still in so much pain?"

"Change her medication. Money is no object. I'll pay any price to ease her pain."

Dr. Moretti wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead and smiled placatingly at me.

"Donna, the Don is so devoted to you. It's just a minor side effect, nothing to fuss over."

Who would have thought this placating comment would only enrage Vincenzo.

He lunged forward, grabbing the doctor's arm.

"A minor side effect? This much pain isn't minor! Are you even a real doctor? Get out!"

Without waiting for a reply, he immediately dialed his consigliere.

"Get me the best neurosurgeon in the country. Now. Bring him to me, I don't care what it costs."

"If Aurora isn't perfect by the wedding, you're all gone."

The placating smile vanished from Dr. Moretti's face, his expression so terrified he looked like he might drop to his knees.

"Donna, please, say something to the Don! I can't lose this job! My daughter is studying abroad, my whole family depends on me!"

"I've reviewed your charts a hundred times. There's really nothing wrong."

I took a deep breath and forced a smile, placing a hand on Vincenzo's arm.

"Don't worry, I'm fine now. See? Perfectly fine."

"Dr. Moretti has always handled my case. A new person wouldn't know my history. Let's just forget it."

Vincenzo's eyes were red with anguish as he leaned in to kiss my forehead.

"I'd trade my own life to see you well again."

"Why... why wasn't it me who had to suffer all this..."

After Dr. Moretti left, the housekeeper, Maria, looked at me with open envy.

"Donna, the Don truly adores you. We've worked for the Costello family our whole lives, and we've never seen him care for any woman this way."

Isabella's words echoed in my mind. I asked, "Vincenzo told me I was his first love. So why would you say that? Has he brought other women here before?"

Maria's expression faltered, clearly not expecting the question.

She quickly mumbled an excuse about attending to her duties and scurried away.

I went to the window and watched Vincenzo seeing Dr. Moretti off.

They spoke in low voices for a long time.

It ended with Vincenzo slipping the doctor a thick envelope.

I stared at the doctor's face as he accepted the money.

A chill settled deep in my bones.

If this were a normal consultation, Vincenzo would have already paid his fee.

Why the extra cash?

Isabella's words rang in my ears, every single one.

The thermostat was set to a comfortable warmth, but I felt frozen solid.

Before Vincenzo returned, I hurried to the sofa and pretended to be engrossed in a book.

He approached silently from behind, about to drape a blanket over my shoulders.

Suddenly, his phone chimed.

The moment he glanced at the screen, a deep, unguarded tenderness I had never seen before softened his features.

It was a look he never gave me.

"Family business. I have to go take care of it."

With that, he turned to leave.

I instinctively moved to block the doorway, tears welling in my eyes.

"Please, don't go."

A flash of impatience crossed his eyes, but he kept his voice soft.

"It really is business. I'll be back before you know it, I promise."

Seeing the tears on my face, he suppressed his irritation and added, "Do you want me working overtime during our honeymoon? Be good. I'm taking care of this now so we can have a future together."

But is it really for us?

I didn't ask the question out loud.

Vincenzo left anyway.

My own phone chimed.

There was only one sentence on the screen.

"I know you don't believe me. If you want the truth, come to this address."

I didn't recognize the number, but I knew exactly who it was from.

I took a cab to a private club.

Outside the VIP room, I stared through a one-way mirror.

I saw Vincenzo—the man I believed was my fiancé of five years—pinning Isabella against the bar.

Her dress was hiked up her thighs, the bodice slipping to reveal the swell of her breasts as their bodies pressed together.

They were kissing furiously, as if they couldn't get enough.

After a long moment, their lips parted. In the dim light, I saw a thin, glistening thread of saliva stretch between them.

Isabella rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes flicking toward the mirror, right at me.

Her lips curved into a sly, triumphant smile.

"Vince, when are you going to tell that fool the truth?"

"She threw wine on me today. Am I just supposed to take that?"

"We're supposed to be the ones together, and now I have to plan her wedding to you. It's breaking my heart."