Chapter 1

My fiancé, the Don, Damon DeLuca, dismisses my heart attack as a tantrum.

To punish me, he locks me in his basement, gives my recovery room to his childhood sweetheart, Mia Bellini, and watches me die.

Tonight is supposed to be my engagement dinner.

The DeLuca compound is full of black suits, gold watches, cigar smoke, and Dons.

Everyone is here to see Damon claim me as his future Donna.

I stand beside him for hours.

I smile. I shake hands. I accept toast after toast.

Then my chest starts to hurt.

At first, I grit my teeth and bear it.

But the pain turns sharp.

My knees buckle.

"Damon," I whisper, grabbing his sleeve. "I need to rest."

Across from us, an older capo is still talking about tribute from the docks.

Damon's jaw tightens, like I am embarrassing him.

"Not now," he says under his breath.

"I'm serious. My heart—"

Before I can finish, Mia Bellini sways beside him.

"Damon," she gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. "I can't breathe. The smoke…"

His eyes snap to her.

Mia grew up in the DeLuca house. Her father was Damon's old underboss.

I look down at the small silver key in my hand.

Dr. Hale gave it to me before dinner. It opens the private recovery room upstairs.

Quiet air. Water. My heart pills. A nurse on call.

Damon hesitates.

For one stupid second, I think he is going to help me.

Then he speaks, "Give your recovery room key to Mia."

"Mia has asthma," Damon continues. "She can't handle the smoke. You can stand through one dinner."

I stare at him.

"I can't," I whisper. "I sent you the report last night."

His face darkens.

Mia blinks innocently. "You won't blame me, will you, Ava?"

She fakes a few coughs. "I need to sit down more than you do…"

Mia clutches the key to her chest. "After all… maybe you just want to leave early?"

"Damon," she turns to Damon and says softly, "I overheard Ava earlier. She's booked out an entire club, with thirty top-tier male strippers and models lined up.”

She chuckles, as if she's only joking. "Looks like our dear Ava wants one last night of indulgence before she officially becomes your Donna, Damon.”

Damon looks at me then. Disappointment flickering in his eyes.

"You picked tonight to act out?" he asks.

"No. Damon, please. I just need to sit down and take some rest."

"You need to stop acting like a spoiled princess."

He drags me away from the ballroom, through the service hall, and down the back stairs toward the old wine cellar.

"Damon, please," I beg. "I can't breathe."

"You wanted a scene," he says. "Now you get privacy."

He shoves open the old wine cellar door. The room is now a basement storage room.

No windows, just one narrow vent near the ceiling.

"Count the inventory while you're down here," Damon says. "Maybe work will dry out all that drama in your head."

He presses, "You should know that the way you acted wasn't befitting a Donna."

He pushes me inside.

I hit the concrete floor hard.

The door slams. Then the lock turns.

I crawl to it and pound both hands against the metal.

"Damon! I'm not faking! Please open the door!"

Outside, his voice is cold.

"When you're ready to apologize, maybe I'll listen."

His footsteps fade.