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Even in the midst of this memory, all these years later, I can feel the echoes of that bullet vibrating in my very bones. The knowledge that I am to blame brings more pain than any physical injury ever could.
I see their blood every night in my dreams. It’s my punishment for not seeing it in real life.
Each second brings death a little closer, and there I stand, frozen. Then, Sienna’s small hand fills mine, and the decision is made. I pull her with me toward the hidden door at the back of the house. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. The second gunshot splits the air.
Did I still have time to save one of them? I would never know because I abandoned my parents, our home, my rightful inheritance. It took two years for me to win it back. Two years of enduring the slow and painful death of Matteo Rossi, son and brother, to rise again as Matteo Rossi, Don of the Italian Mafia, head of the Five Families in New York City.
“At least she’s pretty,” he said. Pretty was an understatement. Piercing blue eyes stared at me, framed by golden blonde curls. Full red lips. Dark brows. Small, straight nose. Pink cheeks. Sofiya Ivanova was the most stunning woman I’d ever set my eyes on. There was a strange stirring in my chest the longer I looked at her.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “It’s not like we’ll be real husband and wife.” “Oh?” “We’ll live together, but we won’t be more than roommates.”
I’d decided long ago that I would never let a woman make me weak.
A slow smile spread across his face as he crossed his arms. “What?” I asked, scowling. “Just interested to see how this goes. The unshakeable Matteo Rossi living with his pretty little roommate.”
Romeo nodded and then reached for the file. “Leave it,” I barked. He just hummed as he left my office.
It was a candid of Matteo outside a hotel. He was scowling in his perfectly tailored black tux, which stretched across his broad shoulders. His dark hair fell messily in his face, and there was a firm set to his square jaw. I felt a tiny flutter in my stomach. “I guess he’s… fine.”
“At least we know your fiancé is hot.” “I wonder if he’s nice,” I murmured. God, I felt so stupid even saying the words out loud. I’d never seen a kind husband or happy marriage in the Bratva, but I clung to the hope that Matteo wasn’t as awful as my father. Maybe things were different with the Italians. Maybe they treated their women better.
“Do you think Matteo knows about my—” I gestured my hand at my body. Mila’s lips parted. “The Pakhan had to tell him, right? Matteo probably got tons of information on you before he agreed.”
A tiny thread of hopefulness joined my anxiety. Matteo must be a decent man if he was choosing to marry me as I was.
“You might want to practice your smile,” Romeo said. I met his gaze with a scowl. “No, no, the opposite of that.”
“I won’t hesitate to shoot you,” I said, looking out the window. He just snorted.
She would live in my apartment and join me for events when we needed to keep up the appearance of a strong marriage. I wasn’t cruel—she would have access to money and whatever else she needed—but that was it. I refused to disrupt my life for her. Refused to do anything that would make it easy for her to gain an advantage over me.
The sun shone through the stained glass window, creating a halo of light around a young woman sitting in a wheelchair. I kept my face blank, refusing to look at Rustik, who had clearly withheld this information about his daughter. What else was the bastard hiding? Did he think I would have rejected the marriage proposal if I’d known?
She’d been beautiful in her picture, but in person, she was breathtaking.
When her blue eyes met mine, I felt a weird jolt of electricity so strong it almost broke through my blank mask.
A strange, uncomfortable feeling formed in my chest at seeing her struggle down the aisle alone. I told myself it was because she was a Mafia queen now and needed to look strong in front of my men.
She gave me a shy glance before looking at the priest, and I had the strange urge to demand she put her eyes back on me.
Her voice was gentle and sweet, and I felt a strange twinge in my chest.
“And are you prepared to accept children lovingly from God and to bring them up according to the law of Christ and his Church?” When I ascended as Don thirteen years ago, I’d known producing heirs was part of my responsibility. But the prospect of children had never felt so real as it did now, with my pretty little bride beside me.
When the priest asked Sofiya if she vowed to “love, honor, and obey” me, her jaw clenched tight. Her eyes flitted to her father and then up at me. I could see the rebellion play out, her eyes so expressive I could practically hear her thoughts. The priest cleared his throat, and she gave an annoyed huff before saying, “I do.” Fuck, that was… cute. It was almost enough to make me smile.
I gave him a grateful smile, and something in his jaw ticked. My smile fell and a sick feeling twisted my stomach. Did my husband hate me already?
I’d dreamed of an art deco-style ring with a large diamond in the middle and smaller stones surrounding it. But nothing about this wedding was like the one I’d imagined when I was younger. Not the dress, which my mother had chosen, even though it would make moving around in my wheelchair a nightmare. Not the guest list, which mainly consisted of old, powerful Bratva men. And not the groom.
Matteo was devastatingly handsome.
But I’d always imagined getting married to someone who loved me. Or at least liked me.
“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride,” the priest said, closing out the ceremony. I froze.
Matteo would have to bend down to kiss me, but doing that would be degrading to a Mafia Don. His expression remained unchanging as he leaned down, took my chin between his thumb and forefinger, and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was soft, barely a brush, but his touch was electric and left me wanting more.
“Don’t let him push you around, Sofiya. You’re too sweet for your own good,” she whispered. “Okay,” I whispered back. I’d always been good at standing up for Mila, but I’d never been able to do it for myself. I guessed it was time to learn.
He was probably the biggest guy I’d ever seen—at least 6’6”, maybe taller, and ridiculously muscular. My heart jolted anxiously until I took in his slightly boyish face, gentle smile, and man bun. “Hi, Mrs. Rossi, I’m Angelo. I can help you get in if you tell me what to do.”
“Impressive, bella,” Angelo said, helping me pull the skirt of my dress into the car. “I’ll put your chair in the back.” I gave him a little smile, and Matteo made a sound almost like a growl.
I closed my eyes, refusing to allow myself to cry. After growing up in such a cold house, I’d dreamed of marrying and starting a family. Now I wondered if signing my name on that paper had sealed my fate of living in another loveless home.
I pulled out my phone the second I was in the car, mindlessly scrolling through messages to distract myself from my new wife beside me. I had no idea what had come over me when she smiled at Angelo. All I knew was that I hated it. I’d assigned him to be Sofiya’s guard, but now I was second-guessing my choice.
She’d done a good job getting in the car herself, but my fingers had itched with the urge to pick her up.
“Rustik kept some secrets.” “Would it have changed your decision?” I knew what he was asking—would I have rejected this match if I had known she was in a wheelchair? As Don, I knew that any sign of weakness would be exploited. Having a wife already made me vulnerable—my enemies would certainly try to use her to get to me—but having one who was so visibly defective? I grimaced. The word felt wrong in my mind as Sofiya rounded the car, stopping when she was beside me. She tilted her face to meet my gaze, her plump red lips mesmerizing me. Wheelchair or not, she was perfection.
“I don’t have time for this. I’ll carry you up the stairs and then we can fucking get out of here.” Sofiya fidgeted with the skirt of her dress again. “Oh, well, it’s not super safe to be carried…” She trailed off as she took in my expression. “I’m not going to drop you,”
Angelo walked beside her, leaning down slightly to speak. She laughed at whatever he said, and my jaw clenched.
We watched Sofiya and Angelo approach in silence. Did he have to walk so close to her? And what the fuck could possibly be so funny to make Sofiya smile so much?
“I can carry her onto the plane,” Romeo said. I whirled to face him, something hot burning inside me. He laughed, clasping my shoulder before heading up the stairs.
“Put your arm around my neck.” I managed to get one arm around her back and the other underneath her legs. Angelo had to help when the many layers of her dress got in the way, but then she was in my arms with a little squeak.
“This marriage is an alliance between our families. Nothing more. You are not my bride. I expect you to behave in a manner befitting your position, but do not expect a real marriage from me. Understand?” Hurt flashed across Sofiya’s face, her expressive eyes giving away everything she was feeling.
“Of course. We will present a strong marriage to the outside world. In private, we will have separate lives.” I forced myself to turn away and took a seat across the aisle from her.
I’d fucked her in the bedroom at the back of the plane last month, and the hungry way she was looking at me told me she wanted a repeat experience. But now I couldn’t remember what I’d found attractive about her.
If she was an angel, I was the devil. And we would never belong together.
there was a hard lump in my throat. My new husband had made clear I would never complete several items on my list—being loved, creating a happy home for children.
What woman in my world ever got happiness? We learned to live without it.
Would Matteo have been interested in a real marriage with me if I were prettier or skinnier or less damaged?
Mila always said I was too trusting, but I would rather believe that people were fundamentally good than spend my life expecting them to lie or hurt me. Maybe I’d been born into the wrong world.
