Chapter 1 of She Wore Her Sister's Ring

For five years, I wore a ring that never led me down an aisle.

There were no white dresses, no flower petals scattered across the floor, no friends and family gathered in tidy rows. No vows spoken under soft lighting. Just a thin band of metal and a piece of paperwork my husband, Celia, had arranged for us. Or so he said.

We never once stood before the Commission. He kept promising we'd "fix it later," that he'd arrange the blood-oath ceremony once things settled down with the Family. But later never arrived.

I remembered it clearly — just a week ago.

I was folding the laundry in our room at the Valente estate, carefully smoothing the wrinkles from his shirts, when I finally gathered the courage to ask.

"Celia… do you think maybe this year, we could finally have the ceremony?" I said as lightly as I could, pretending my voice wasn't shaking. "For our fifth anniversary maybe? Just… do it properly? Have the families witness it?"

He didn't even lift his eyes from the ledger spread across his desk.

"Why?" he replied flatly. "We're already bound. A ceremony is just for people who need attention."

"But you told me we would someday," I murmured. "You said when everything stopped being so tight with the territory—"

His pen paused over the page.

"And now you're acting like a kid," he snapped without looking at me. "Drop it, Seraphina. We don't have resources to waste on that nonsense."

Like I always did, I swallowed it.

I let the silence sit between us. I let my disappointment sink down deep where it wouldn't bother him.

But today — today was different.

Today marked five years since the day I thought we became husband and wife. Celia told me he couldn't celebrate. Said Family business had piled up and he couldn't free up even an hour. Sit-downs, deadlines, pressure from the other borgatas. I didn't argue. I never do.

I convinced myself it was fine. I told myself it wasn't about attention or parties.

I planned to make his favorite dishes instead. To light a candle or two. Maybe play soft music while I waited for him to come home to the compound.

It wasn't a grand celebration, but it was still something. My quiet way of honoring what I believed we had built — even without witnesses, even without vows.

So I went to the market early.

I walked slowly through the stalls, choosing vegetables with care, checking the meat twice, holding each item as though it mattered. I even bought a bouquet of white lilies — the kind he once mentioned he liked back when he visited the Carbone house for the first time, before everything was alliances and territory.

I held them close to my chest the entire walk home, feeling ridiculous for feeling excited when he'd so casually brushed me off.

I was only a block from the compound when I passed the courthouse on neutral ground.

I wasn't planning to look.

I had no reason to stop.

But something twisted in my chest — a strange tug, like a warning I didn't understand. My steps slowed. My body turned before my mind caught up.

And that was when I saw them.

Celia.

And Vera.

My sister, who had vanished five years ago without a trace.

They walked out of the building side by side, her arm looped through his, laughing softly like it was the most natural thing in the world. Two of his soldiers flanked them at a respectful distance, hands loose at their sides, relaxed in the way men only were when the Don was pleased.

I went completely still.

The grocery bags slipped in my hands. The lilies almost fell.

Vera had a document in her hand.

A marriage certificate. Sanctioned. Filed. Real.

My stomach dropped.

Her voice floated toward me, soft and unsure.

"Are you sure this is okay?" she asked him. "What about Seraphina? She's still your wife, isn't she?"

Celia's reply came fast. No pause. No guilt.

"I don't care about her," he said. "That wasn't a real marriage. That's why I never brought her before the Commission — never had the oath witnessed, never gave her standing. This one? This is real. And now that you're back, I'll deal with her soon."

My ears rang.

Vera's voice trembled. "You mean it? You still… care about me? Even after I ran from the pact? I thought you'd hate me. I was so scared back then."

He turned toward her, smiling softly — a smile I used to think was only meant for me.

"It was always you," he said. "You don't have to feel guilty. I know why you left. You weren't ready. That's all. You are now."

He leaned in and kissed her.

My breath caught painfully in my throat.

She pulled back just enough to whisper, "And my sister? Did you ever have real feelings for her?"

He let out a short, dismissive laugh.

"Never," he said. "She was just useful. She looked like you. That made things easy. She was warm at night. That's all she was."

The air left my lungs.

The ground felt like it tipped sideways.

Five years ago, that wedding was supposed to belong to them.

Vera and Celia.

Both families had gathered. The Valente estate chapel was dressed in white and gold. The dress was fitted. The Commission representatives were waiting to witness the blood oath that would bind the Carbone and Valente families for a generation.

And then she vanished.

No message. No warning. No explanation.

Gone. Fled to Milan with Evelyn Morano, though none of us knew that then.

Celia had been wrecked. I'd found him in the back room of the Family's social club that same night, drunk and shaking, staring into a glass like the world had ended. The soldiers had cleared out. Even the bartender had disappeared. Just him and the silence and the humiliation of a Don left standing at his own altar.

I sat beside him.

I listened.

I stayed.

When he cried, I didn't move away.

When he leaned closer, I didn't push him back.

And when his lips found mine, I didn't stop him.

A week later, he asked me to marry him.

I said yes.

I thought I was helping him survive heartbreak.

I thought I was choosing love.

I thought I had become important.

But standing there, hidden behind a stone pillar outside the courthouse, I finally understood.

Every touch.

Every whisper in the dark.

Every soft "I love you."

It had all been borrowed. Rehearsed. Fake.

And then, as if it wasn't enough —

Two more voices cut through the air.

Marco. And Enzo.

My older brothers.

"You already got the certificate?" Marco asked Celia, his voice bright with approval. "Didn't waste any time, huh?"

Enzo laughed. "What about the actual blood-oath ceremony? We should just make sure Seraphina doesn't hear anything yet. She'll make a whole dramatic mess. Maybe we can ship her off somewhere first."

My fingers curled around the wall beside me. The stone bit into my skin.

Marco added casually, "We should just handle her soon. She's too unstable."

They laughed.

All of them.

The same brothers who had once cursed Vera for leaving. The same ones who swore they'd always stand by me. The same blood that was supposed to mean something in a world where blood meant everything.

Now they were laughing about how to erase me.

A strange numbness washed through my body.

I wasn't just unwanted.

I was ridiculous. A placeholder. A joke.

I pressed my thumb against the bare hollow of my throat where a pendant once hung, and felt nothing there. Nothing anywhere.

I turned away.

My feet moved without me thinking.

I ran.

Past the gates.

Past the shops.

Past the stinging sound inside my ears.

My chest burned. My vision swam. The world narrowed into noise and blurred sidewalks.