He Never Claimed Me in Public,So I Wed the Don Who Never Forgot Me

There were two tickets to the opera tucked in the breast pocket of Lorenzo Vitale's suit jacket, and I thought they were a surprise for me.

I waited for the night of the performance with my heart fluttering, only for him to leave for the docks on Family business with both tickets in hand.

I called in a favor and paid a small fortune to get a seat of my own, and I watched with my own eyes as he kissed another girl right there beneath the music.

The two of them flashed up onto the great hall's screen, lost in a kiss, eyes brimming with tears.

After the curtain fell, I came across the girl's post:

"Sharing a kiss with the love of my life at our maestro's gala was the best birthday present I could ever ask for."

The comments were all wishing them a long, blessed life together, while I was knocked flat by his car as it suddenly lurched forward in the dim of the side street.

When I came to, Lorenzo Vitale was sitting at my bedside, head bent over his phone, the smile at the corner of his mouth softer than anything I'd ever seen on him.

I asked who she was, and he lifted his eyes and said,

"I'm the man you answer to. You're awake now, so just focus on getting better."

The second the words were out, he couldn't leave fast enough, and I drew my gaze back and dialed home.

"Uncle, that alliance marriage you mentioned last time. I agree. I'll marry him."

Uncle Salvatore froze for a beat, then his voice flooded with relief.

"Adriana, you've finally come to your senses. A man who wasted five years of your life and still kept you in the dark deserves to stay in the dark for the rest of his."

"When can you come home? The moment I sent word over, the Falcone side was already pushing to set a date."

Five years of loving Lorenzo Vitale, and the one who never saw the light of day was me.

He was so desperate to cut all ties with me that he wouldn't dare hold up my leaving the crew.

"The sooner the better. My end won't take long."

Lorenzo Vitale came back into the room, looking for his car keys.

"Leaving? Has someone in the crew asked to walk?"

A man doesn't simply walk away from the Family without it clearing him first, so I had no intention of hiding it.

But he was too busy staring at his phone to notice me nod.

He picked up the car keys and said, offhand,

"The doctor said you struck your head, that you might lose your memory. I actually thought you'd really forgotten."

"I was driving. The light was too dim, and you had your head down on your phone"

I couldn't help but freeze.

So that was why. That was why, even with no one else in the room, he refused to explain anything and kept playing it like we were strangers bound only by the rules.

Ten minutes ago, when he told me he was only the man I answered to, his expression had been cold and distant, laced with just the right measure of practiced concern.

The one thing missing was any trace of guilt.

Right before the car knocked me down, I saw it coming straight at me, and Lorenzo Vitale was sitting in the passenger seat.

The one behind the wheel was the girl he'd kissed.

He hadn't even given me a chance to confront him, just couldn't wait to make an excuse about Family business pressing and leave.

I'd actually thought it was because he'd hurt me, that he didn't know how to face me.

How laughable. He'd never thought of me as anything at all.

"I just woke up, my head's still a little foggy. I didn't know you, boss."

He was brushing me off, so I played along and pretended nothing had happened.

He turned his head, studying my cold expression, a little baffled.

The girl who used to throw a fit for kisses and tenderness over the smallest scrape, why was she acting so strange today?

He glanced around the room, and only after confirming no one was there did he soften his voice to soothe me.

"Adriana, a place like this has too many ears and too many loose tongues. It wouldn't be good if word got back. Just rest and get well. Once you're out of here and home, I'll make it all up to you."

I gave him a polite, perfectly composed smile.

"Mm. Thank you, boss."

In private, on ordinary days, I used to call him "boss" on purpose, teasing and sweet.

But today those two words came out stiff and remote, sharp enough that Lorenzo Vitale knit his brows without meaning to.

He was just about to say something when the doctor came in to check on me, and he slipped right back into that cold mask.

Before he left, he didn't forget to remind me,

"Rest well. And don't go throwing weight around in my crew on account of any special standing. Everyone answers the same. Things are done by the rules."

The Family's house physician studied the fake smile pasted on my face and teased me.

"Your capo already left, so you don't have to torture yourself by forcing a smile. Gruff as he is, that man of yours has a soft heart underneath. He covered every dollar of the bill himself."

The fake smile slid into a bitter one.

Lorenzo had played his part too well.

That was why, apart from a handful of his made friends, not a single soul in the Family knew we'd been together. Five years of it.

I'd asked him countless times when he'd finally let me stand at his side in the open. Every time, he'd brushed me off with the same line about how the timing wasn't right, how a man in his position couldn't afford whispers running through the crew.

To the point where I no longer knew what, exactly, we even were.

Today, he'd given me the answer.

Mistaking me for someone who'd lost her memory, the words that flew out of his mouth, "I'm just your capo," were what he truly believed.

The car hadn't hurt me badly. After three days under the doctor's watch in the back rooms of the social club, I was cleared to leave.

Because the Family's arrangement covered most of it, the overpayment went straight back into Lorenzo's account.

The man who hadn't shown his face or sent a single word in three days finally called.

"Out already? You could've given me a heads-up. I've got a sit-down today, no time to come for you."

"Mm."

I swallowed the accusation that nearly broke loose.

His location pinged from a hotel downtown.

What kept him busy needed no explanation.

A woman's voice rang out behind him.

"Come dry my hair already"

He hung up immediately.

Not long after, the transfers came through.

One for 0-03.14, one for $5.20.

Sweet little amounts, both of them. The exact numbers I'd wanted to receive for five years, the ones he'd always shot down.

I'd wanted what every other woman gets, to show off being loved, just once in a while.

Now that I'd decided to let go, for whatever was going on behind those eyes of his, he'd finally given me what I wanted.

Looking at his new profile photo, I tapped refund on both.

His picture was unmistakably half of a matching pair.

Just not with me.

Lorenzo sent me a string of question marks. I didn't reply.

Back at the apartment he kept for me, the place looked exactly as it had the day I left.

So he hadn't set foot here once since the night of the concert.

I reined in my thoughts and started packing.

In just half a day, the home I'd spent five years carefully putting together stood noticeably bare.

Most of it was the couple's things I'd bought with my own money. But Lorenzo had grown so used to keeping us hidden that he hated wearing or carrying anything that might hint he had a woman of his own.

I used to tease him about being as careful as a man living a double life.

Turns out it was because, in his heart, I had never been his woman at all.

Halfway through, Lorenzo actually came back.

"Adriana, what's your problem? I call you for dinner and you won't pick up or answer!"

The scent of a perfume that wasn't mine came off him, and I quickly put up a hand to keep him from getting closer.

I glanced at the suspicious mark on the side of his neck and said flatly,

"Was busy. Didn't check the phone."

He swept his eyes over the apartment, clearly irritated.

"Don't tell me you've been busy tearing the place apart. You just got out of bed, ever think about resting?"

He pointed at the few boxes of brand-new things on the floor I hadn't gotten around to throwing out yet.

"This stuff all junk now?"

I bent down to lift the box, and he took it from my hands.

"Enough, I'll go toss it. And quit buying useless crap from now on. Money burning a hole in your pocket?"

"Hurry up and change. I'm taking you out to eat."

I was leaving. Some things had to be said straight.

From the balcony, I watched him drop those couple's things into the trash without a shred of reluctance.

Just like the five years between us. Not worth a thing.

We went to a restaurant together, one of the quiet places the Family kept as a front, and he ordered several of the dishes we always got. But he also ordered the one thing I hate most, the bitter melon with scrambled eggs.

My appetite vanished in an instant, and I refused to keep swallowing my own hurt.

Excuse me, could you take this dish away? I'll still pay for it.

But Lorenzo slid the plate over in front of himself.

So I didn't sit with you while you were laid up. When did you get so dramatic? If you'd watched where you were going, you wouldn't have ended up there in the first place.

I'd seen what he looked like when he cared about me. So the fact that he didn't love me was just as obvious now.

Once, when I'd run a high fever, this was the man who'd carried me on his back in the dead of night, running through empty streets until he was nearly in tears. Yet when he was the one who'd put me in that hospital bed, he was nowhere to be found.

The man who knew I hated bitter melon, who'd never once set anything bitter in front of me, had suddenly gone back to the way he was five years ago when we first met, ordering it like a stranger across the table.

I tugged my lips into a faint smile and said evenly,

I hate eating bitter melon. The smell makes me sick.

Then just don't eat it. Problem solved, isn't it?

His impatience was plain. My smile didn't waver.

Let's brea

Before I could finish, a woman appeared beside the table.

Lorenzo, after all these years, you still remember I love bitter melon!

I lifted my eyes calmly and looked at her, her makeup flawless, staring down at me with open contempt.

She nudged Lorenzo over without a word, squeezing in to sit right beside him, directly across from me.

Let me introduce myself. I'm Lorenzo's woman, Bianca Russo.

I didn't respond.

So she made a point of pressing against Lorenzo's arm.

Lorenzo, why don't you introduce her? She's

Lorenzo's expression wasn't pleasant. Around us the low murmur of the club's regulars carried on, ice settling in glasses, men talking business that wasn't ours to hear. But at our table the air had gone tight.

Clearly Bianca's sudden arrival had caught him off guard.

The way his eyes darted away, the way his thumb found the heavy signet ring on his right hand and began to turn it, struck me as almost funny.

She's an associate in my crew. The place was full, so we just shared a table.

Lorenzo's head snapped toward me, shock flashing through his eyes for a split second before he let out a long breath of relief.

Ah, right. This is one of mine, Adriana Bellandi.

At that, Bianca smiled, sweet and lovely. The corner of her mouth lifted a fraction too fast before she remembered to look gracious.

Miss Bellandi must be exceptionally useful to him. This is the first time I've ever seen Lorenzo sit at a table with a woman other than me.

With that, she set her phone down beside her, casually nudging it forward.

The provocation in it was unmistakable.

I caught a glimpse of the photo on her screen. Just as I'd thought, it was the two of them, a matched pair.

Even the clothes they wore today fell in the same palette, like something chosen together, the kind of thing tribute money buys.

Now, sitting close under the soft lamps of the club, they made a strikingly well-matched pair, the handsome man and the beautiful woman.

I set down my fork and rose to leave.

Bianca grabbed my hand, her long nails digging viciously into my flesh where Lorenzo couldn't see.

Miss Bellandi, you're leaving the second I arrive? Did I say something wrong? I'll apologize. Isn't that enough?

Faced with a snake like her, I had no patience for these games. I yanked my hand free.

I was just checking the welts she'd dug into my wrist when, out of nowhere, her hand came down in a slap across a little boy playing near the tables.

The boy yelped in pain and burst into loud sobs.

Bianca's eyes instantly reddened, and she rushed to apologize to him.

Lorenzo hurried to press a fold of cash into the parents' hands along with his own apology, the way these things are smoothed over.

Then, without warning, the little boy pointed straight at me and said,

It was her! She swung this lady's hand at me and hit me! I want her to apologize!

Bianca immediately put on the picture of wounded innocence.

Miss Bellandi, I don't know how I offended you, but if you have a problem with me, take it out on me. Don't drag an innocent child into it.

In an instant, the diners around us were pointing and whispering, the way whispers move through the Family, faster than truth.

Lorenzo shot me a furious glare and said coldly,

What are you standing there for? Hurry up and apologize to him! Have you no shame?

With the room behind him now, the boy darted forward and sank his teeth into my hand, jaw locked tight, refusing to let go.

The more Bianca cooed at him, the harder he bit.

I couldn't very well wage war on a child in front of half the Family, so I murmured an apology to the boy.

But Lorenzo still wasn't satisfied. Blind to the blood the bite had drawn on my hand, he caught my wrist as I tried to rise from the table.

"Adriana, apologize to Bianca."

Bianca pleaded with him, the picture of reluctance, her free hand pressed to her chest.

"Lorenzo, let it go. I'm fine, aren't I? The little one probably got struck and it frightened him, that's all."

He looked at the angry red mark on the back of Bianca's hand, and something in his face twisted with pity.

Then he turned and pressed my hand straight down into the bowl of broth that had just been set before me.

The soup wasn't scalding, but the salted stock, easily over a hundred and forty degrees, seeped into the bite wound, and the burning sting was enough to leave my whole body trembling. Across the club, a glass was set down too softly. No one spoke.

"Adriana, how can your heart be this vicious? Let this be a lesson to you."

"Is this really who you think I am?"

Even though I already knew the answer in my heart, I still humiliated myself by asking it.

The whole farce had the others at the sit-down murmuring among themselves.

"Wait. Which one's actually his woman?"

"Are you blind? Obviously the one he's shielding is the real one. You can't even read matching colors that plain?"

When their eyes landed on me, they were full of pity.

"That's enough, son. Keep this up and you'll cook the girl's hand clean off."

My face was ghostly pale, but I didn't rage. I looked at Lorenzo and laughed instead, and under my gaze, for once, he seemed thrown. His thumb found the heavy signet ring on his right hand and turned it, slow.

In the end he finally deigned to release my hand, then swept out of the club with Bianca on his arm.

Back at his place, he had a tube of burn salve sent up by one of his runners.

"Adriana, don't be so sensitive. Don't go looking for ways to cross Bianca. We'll be moving in the same circles from now on, and I want the two of you to get along."

Did he think one tube of salve would settle the account, so he could keep both his standing and his obsession and call it peace?

I worked the salve into the wound and said nothing. He stayed out all night again.

The next morning at the club, the associates all looked at me strangely.

When I took my place at the desk in the back office, Carla, the one I was close to, leaned in. She glanced over her shoulder once, then again, before she spoke under her breath.

"Adriana, they're all saying you tried to throw yourself at Lorenzo and his woman caught you in the act. The whole crew's passing it around like it came down from the Don himself..."

I took the phone she pressed into my hand.

That was when I understood someone else had been at that table last night too. Overnight they'd strung together a group thread, picking apart my supposed bid to climb into the capo's bed.

Before I could say a word in my own defense, Lorenzo appeared before the whole room with Bianca at his side.

"I want you all to meet someone. This is Bianca Russo. She'll be running the floor from now on, over you."

So this was what Lorenzo had meant by moving in the same circles. He'd placed Bianca above me, made her my lieutenant.

In an instant, every eye in the room turned to me.

Because ever since the last lieutenant was cut loose, I'd been the one holding the crew's books together.

Everyone had already taken it as settled that the placement was mine, locked in.

In front of them all, Lorenzo brought Bianca into the crew's chat himself.

The two of them posted a line each, one after the other.

You'd have to be blind not to see their photos were a matched set, a couple flaunting it for the Family to read.

All morning, the whole floor fed on the whispers.

I was leaving anyway, so I didn't care that the placement that should have been mine had been handed off.

After sending word to the old man who kept the crew's records that I was done, exile or not, I stole a rare moment of quiet to brew myself a cup of honey citron tea in the back room.

I'd barely had two sips when Bianca came in too.

She poured herself a coffee and settled beside me, every inch the victor. The corner of her mouth lifted a fraction too fast before she remembered to soften it.

"Adriana, I know you were Lorenzo's kept woman for five years, but I'm his real one. Now that I'm back, you, the mistress, should have the good sense to leave. As long as you keep your mouth shut like before, the way omert means you should, I won't come after you again."

As she spoke, she played a voice recording. It was the boy from the night before, angling for what he'd been promised:

"Auntie Bianca, did I do good? You can't forget the Transformer you swore me!"

I knew it. There was no way it had been a coincidence.

Watching the malice glint in her eyes, instinct told me to walk out of that back room right then, past the bar and the men playing cards who pretended not to listen.

Instead, she snatched the teacup from my hand and dumped the whole thing over her own face, then slammed the cup down onto my foot, where it shattered into pieces against the floor of the social club.

The cold tea slid down her cheeks, and the soaked blouse and tangled hair made her look pitiful, like a wounded little thing some made man might want to avenge.

This woman was truly ruthless when it came to going after me.

She blocked my way, wouldn't let me leave, and shrieked at the top of her lungs:

"Adriana, what are you doing? Why are you doing this to me?"

Her screaming brought the others running. Associates abandoned their glasses, soldiers turned in their chairs, the whole room drawn to the noise like blood in water.

She didn't forget to splash coffee down her own chest, either, and pulled the same trick again, rubbing her neck raw and red until anyone who looked saw a victim.

I couldn't take it anymore. I slapped her hard across the face. The crack of it cut clean through the silence, and for one beat no one breathed.

Lorenzo heard the commotion and came through the door, only to see me, whole and unharmed, standing over a disheveled, miserable Bianca.

Without a second thought, he raised his hand and slapped me too:

"Adriana! If you don't want your place here anymore, then get the hell out!"

Still not satisfied, he shoved me out of the way hard, then scooped Bianca up in his arms and carried her into the back office, the door closing on her soft, practiced sobbing.

I stumbled backward, the small of my back smashing into the edge of the table, the pain dragging tears straight down my face.

The old man who handled the books, the one who'd been hesitating over whether to let me walk clean, settled it with one sweep of his hand.

And Lorenzo, busy soothing Bianca, didn't even glance at what he was signing away. He cut me loose outright.

The money men read the wind and shifted with it, eager to please Bianca, the woman they now figured Lorenzo would keep, and counted out my last tribute on the spot.

I still had a fair amount of client business to hand back, names and numbers that belonged to the crew, so I packaged it all up, ready to send it to Lorenzo.

But it turned out my line into the Family had already been cut.

The only man with the authority to erase someone walking away was Lorenzo.

I sent the parting word to his phone, only to find he had blocked my number and my messages too. Deleted. Blocked. Erased, the way you erase someone who never mattered, the way the Family warns the rest that no one simply leaves.

I walked out of the club without another word, went home and wiped away every trace that belonged to me, then headed straight for the airport.