Eight Graves Later, I Stopped Loving Him

Three hours before the alliance union was to be sealed, my betrothed sent word that he would not come for me. Instead, he turned his back on the pact and bound himself to Carmela Rossi before the eyes of the Family.

I stood through the murmurs that moved through the guests like smoke under a door, every whispered word a small knife. Then the younger cousin of my betrothed, Lorenzo Marchetti, pushed open the doors of the hall.

He came with the most extravagant procession the territory had seen in years, black cars gleaming like polished gun barrels, and he laid 1,001 roses at my feet.