My Don Husband Denied Me in Front of Everyone

At the sit-down of the old associates, someone asked my husband, "Who was the one you couldn't stop thinking about, back before you took the oath?"

Lorenzo Moretti let his eyes drift to me for half a breath, then turned to the ruined beauty seated at his elbow. "Bianca."

Bianca Falcone's eyes went wide with shock.

"Then why did you never answer the letter I sent you?"

Lorenzo froze.

"I thought you belonged to Salvatore Greco."

One question pulled another loose, and piece by piece, the misunderstanding from all those years ago came apart on the white tablecloth between them.

Bianca's letter had ended up in the wrong hands.

That single mistake had kept them apart.

Bianca's eyes turned red in an instant, and Lorenzo's face filled with stunned regret.

The men and women around the table began trading their quiet, knife-edged remarks.

"Come now, how is that so tragic? A letter that just happened to slip into the wrong hands? You don't suppose... someone switched it on purpose?"

The air went dead.

Every pair of eyes at the table turned to me. Even the enforcer by the door went still, one hand drifting toward his lapel out of habit, before he read the room and let it fall.

Most of these old associates had no idea that Lorenzo and I had been bound by blood for five years.

All they remembered was that I was the ugly, nothing girl who'd shamelessly chased after Lorenzo Moretti when we were young and no one had any name at all.

I turned to look at him.

I wanted him to say something. Anything.

Even just one sentence. That he was the one who'd come after me.

But he said nothing. Just like the rest of them, he stared at me with an unreadable expression, that old signet ring of his father's held motionless between his fingers.

In that moment, I slipped the ring of the blood oath off my finger, the one I'd worn for five years, and told myself it was over.

——

A few more rounds of wine went around the table.

Bianca crossed to Lorenzo's side, tears streaming down her face like rain on cherry blossoms, and the two of them poured their hearts out to each other.

"I can't believe it was all just a misunderstanding."

"If only I'd written your name at the top of that letter. Then you wouldn't have thought... that the one I wanted was someone else."

Lorenzo's gaze was heavy, full of regret.

"No one could have seen it coming."

"That it would end up like this."

Bianca grew more unsteady, drinking far more than a woman should among men who never forget anything.

Lorenzo stayed at her side the whole while, gently patting her back, even setting a glass before her to settle the wine.

From start to finish, he never once looked at me.

The murmuring around the table swelled, warm and pleased with itself.

"Who would've guessed? A flame that died out years ago, catching again eight years on."

"So the gutter-born Moretti boy who clawed his way to the head of his own table really did carry a torch for the Falcone beauty."

"If they'd come together back then, their child would be old enough to kiss the ring by now."

Then another voice cut in, dripping with old venom.

"Exactly. If certain people hadn't thrown themselves at Lorenzo so shamelessly, maybe those two wouldn't have lost all these years."

Their eyes drifted toward me, one by one, never quite direct, impossible to miss.

I clenched my fists, pressed my lips together, and said nothing.

The whispers kept coming.

Then one of the bolder ones slid into the chair beside me, leaning in close, wine sweet on her breath.

"Adriana Valente. Was it you?"

"Tell the truth. Did you switch that letter on purpose, so those two would miss their moment?"

My expression turned cold. I opened my mouth to say it wasn't me.

But the table erupted before I could get the words out.

"I'd stake tribute on it."

"Everyone used to say Lorenzo and Bianca were meant for each other. Anyone could see they wanted the same thing."

"The only one who didn't get the message was Adriana, pining away, watching Lorenzo every chance she got."

"We all saw it. The moment the last of us cleared out at night, she'd pull him off to some quiet corner. Who knows what else she got up to."

"Switching a letter? That's nothing for a woman like her. Obviously she did it. Do we even need to ask?"

Not one of them knew that Lorenzo and I were bound to each other. Eight years together. Five of them as husband and wife, sealed in blood.