Fragile Longing

by Cora Reilly

Serafina had been close to perfect in people’s eyes when she was still around, but now that she was nothing but a fading memory, her absence amplified all that she had been. She’d become larger than life.

I peered at my reflection, my face hazy through the fine gossamer veil. Dressed like this, I almost looked like Serafina, minus the blonde hair.

Maybe, for a second, he would look at me with the same longing he used to direct at Serafina.

I’d known Serafina for as long as I could remember. Long before I’d met her, her name had been whispered reverently among the boys and even the men in our circles. The regal ice princess’s beauty featured in many fantasies.

On the day of our wedding, Serafina was stolen from me, kidnapped by our cruelest enemy: the Camorra of Las Vegas.

Sofia. She was a child. Ten years younger than me. I’d never even spared her a glance. “She’s what, eleven?” Even though it was the only option, a new wave of anger rose in me. Anger for the situation and absolute rage toward Remo Falcone.

She was a child. She wasn’t Serafina.

I was going to kill Remo Falcone for stealing my fiancée, for breaking her in ways that made it impossible for her to marry me.

This was messed up. We both got girls we didn’t want for a bond that would ensure our power. Samuel and I were proud men to a fault, and Remo Falcone had trampled on that pride.

Danilo was so handsome and clever. Serafina and he had looked like monarchs beside each other, like a Disney dream couple.

Fina stepped in, blonde hair trailing down her shoulder. She was in simple jeans and a T-shirt and not wearing make-up, but she was still the prettiest girl I knew.

He would already have been family, if not for Remo Falcone.

The door opened and a tall woman with long blonde hair stepped in. She was dressed in a white wrap dress matching the theme of the room. In my exhausted, half-drunk state, she looked like a bad replica of Serafina. Fuck Marco, the bastard. He could read me like an open book.

I didn’t look at her as she sucked me, didn’t look at her as I fucked her. Images of another blonde woman entered my mind,

all of them had pictures of Danilo with blonde girls. Nobody had taken Serafina’s place in Danilo’s heart. With every new conquest, he seemed to look for a replica of her.

They were Serafina lookalikes. None of them even had the slightest resemblance to me.

pounded when I caught sight of myself in the shop window. Like a Serafina ghost.

Everyone had always commented on how beautiful Serafina’s hair was.

Danilo sounded so . . . emotionless. He hadn’t been emotionless in the slightest when Serafina had been concerned.

He probably still wanted Serafina after all these years. I blamed her and I hated myself for feeling that way. It wasn’t her fault that my fiancé couldn’t let go of her.

Apparently, Danilo was sleeping his way through the high society of Indianapolis—the blonde high-society, mind you.

Naturally, Danilo was with a blonde—again. Always with blondes. Always with women who resembled Serafina but couldn’t hold a candle to her beauty. They were less, a copy of the original. Less.

I’d often caught myself thinking about Fina these last few months, almost as much as in the days after she’d run off with Remo Falcone.

My thoughts had revolved around Serafina, around what had been taken from me, what I’d lost. I couldn’t get past that hit to my pride, still battled almost uncontrollable rage when I thought about Remo Falcone, and ever since she ran off with him, Serafina as well.

His nostrils flared, a vein in his temple throbbing. This was his weak spot: Serafina. “Remo didn’t hesitate and look what he got.”

Remo. Serafina. Two names I never wanted to hear ever again. Least of all on my wedding night.

Remo could have been dead. The Camorra wouldn’t have been as strong without him. Instead, he paraded around in the west like a king.