Arianna's POV
How long had it been since he worried about me like that? Three years? Five? Or perhaps even longer. In my memories, Dominic had always been at my side — my protector, the man I was supposed to spend my life with. We had understood each other better than anyone else in either Family. Sometimes we hadn't needed words at all; a single glance across a crowded room was enough for him to read every shifting current of my emotions.
Perhaps that certainty — that I would always choose him, always forgive him — had made him careless. It had given him the freedom to wound me, to parade another woman through his estate while assuming I would remain faithfully at his side, arranging his household, keeping his world in order. But even a Castellano woman has limits, and my loyalty had reached its end.
I stared at the countless missed calls flashing across my phone screen and blocked his number. My fingers hovered over his profile on the private messaging network the Families used. Eight years ago, his profile picture had been a sketch I had drawn of us — his arm around my shoulders, both of us laughing, young and stupid with the belief that nothing could touch us. Now it was replaced by a polished photograph of him standing proudly beside Selena Mancuso, her hand resting on his arm with the casual possessiveness of a woman who believed she had already won.
A familiar ache tightened behind my ribs, but I swallowed it down. They looked like a married couple, even though no church had blessed them, no ring had been exchanged, no priest had spoken the words. With a deep breath, I pressed delete. A decade of memories erased with a single swipe.
A message from my aunt Lucia appeared just as I powered down my phone:
"Safe travels, Arianna. The estate isn't the same without you. We'll miss you."
I reassured her with a quick reply and boarded the flight. The three-hour journey felt like an eternity, my thoughts circling endlessly through regret, anger, and the dull, persistent ache of betrayal. I pressed my forehead against the cold window glass and watched the clouds drift past like smoke from a fire I had finally walked away from.
When the plane landed, I adjusted my scarf, ensuring it covered my bare neck — the neck that bore no ring on the finger below it, no mark of any formal union. My parents waited for me at the terminal, arms full of gifts. They had insisted I come back to Castellano territory, leaving the chaos of the Valente compound — and Dominic — behind.
My father took my suitcase while my mother placed a delicate silver pendant around my neck, a tradition among the Castellano women when welcoming a daughter home. Her tears streamed down like stars falling from the night sky.
"Our daughter has grown into a stunning woman," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "Promise us you won't leave again."
Papa smiled, his weathered face full of pride and concern. "We've already arranged a strong alliance for you. Don Ferrante's territory borders ours, so you'll never feel far from home."
I forced a smile, leaning into my mother's embrace. I had spent a decade believing Dominic was my forever, my husband in everything but name. I had sacrificed Family gatherings, holidays, and my parents' love — all for a man who chose someone else. Guilt gnawed at me as I nodded.
"I won't run, Papa," I assured him. "If this union strengthens the Family and makes you proud, I'll honor it."
My parents visibly relaxed, though traces of worry lingered in the creases around their eyes.
"You've matured so much," Mamma said, brushing a lock of hair from my face. "Have you finished everything with... him?"
My stomach tightened at the mention of Dominic, but I nodded. "It's over. I'll never go back."
They exchanged a relieved glance before leading me to the car — a black sedan with tinted windows, one of Papa's soldiers holding the door open with a respectful nod. As we drove through the familiar streets of Castellano territory, my phone buzzed. I ignored the unfamiliar number until it rang for the third time. Against my better judgment, I answered.
Dominic's furious voice exploded through the speaker.
"Arianna, what the hell are you doing? Blocking me? Running off without a word? Where are you?!"
He didn't wait for an answer, continuing in the same breath. "Selena's hurt because of you, and you can't even apologize? Do you realize how embarrassing you made me look in front of the Family?"
A bitter laugh escaped me. Of course. It wasn't about Selena's so-called injury or my absence. It was about his pride — the pride of a Don who couldn't tolerate the thought that someone had walked away from him without permission. Before I could respond, I heard her soft, syrupy voice threading through the background like poison poured into honey.
"Don't be angry with her, Dominic. It's my fault for not understanding her preferences. Please, don't let this ruin what you had."
My grip tightened on the phone until my knuckles went white, nausea churning in my stomach. The performance was flawless — the trembling voice, the self-sacrificing plea, all perfectly calibrated to make him protective and me the villain. I ended the call and blocked the number, cutting off his voice mid-sentence. The silence that followed felt like drawing a clean breath after years underwater.
"Sweetheart, is something wrong?" Mamma asked, sensing my distress from the front seat. Her eyes found mine in the rearview mirror.
I shook my head, forcing a smile. "Just a scam call."
"Good riddance," Papa muttered, his jaw tight. "Let's focus on happier things. How about stopping by the tailor to check on your wedding dress? It should be ready by now."
"That's a good idea," I said, grateful for the distraction.
The dress fitting took longer than expected, the staff meticulously ensuring every detail was perfect — each seam, each fold of fabric, each hand-stitched bead. When I finally stepped into the gown, my reflection caught me off guard. The intricate lace hugged my frame, the silver embroidery glinting like candlelight in a cathedral. The bodice was structured and elegant, the train trailing behind me like a whispered promise. I looked every bit the Lady of a great Family that I was meant to be.
Mamma's eyes filled with tears as she snapped photographs, her excitement bubbling over. "You're breathtaking, Arianna. Every Family in the city will talk about this ceremony for years."
I bit back the lump in my throat, wishing I could share her joy. This wasn't the wedding I had dreamed of. The man I had spent a decade loving wouldn't be waiting at the altar. A different man would stand there — one I barely knew, chosen by blood and strategy rather than by the heart.
"I'm proud of you," Papa said, placing a steady hand on my shoulder. His grip was firm, the grip of a man who had built an empire and was now trusting his daughter to carry part of its weight. "This marriage will bring peace and prosperity to both Families. You're doing the right thing."
I nodded, a practiced smile fixed on my face.
As we drove back to the Castellano estate, I gazed out the window, the tree-lined avenues blurring into a river of green and gold. Something restless stirred deep inside me — that old Castellano instinct, that gut-deep awareness that had always been attuned to my emotions, mirroring every shift in my mood like a second heartbeat.
We'll be okay, I told myself silently. This is our fresh start.
But even as I tried to convince myself, doubt lingered like smoke that wouldn't clear.
When we arrived, my mother immediately began planning the ceremony details with the household staff — seating arrangements, flowers, the menu for the reception. I retreated to my room, needing a moment to collect myself. The familiar scents of home surrounded me — pine from the grounds, cedar from the old bookshelves, the faint trace of espresso and leather that had permeated these walls for generations. They comforted me in a way I hadn't expected.
I sat by the window, staring at the crescent moon hanging low over the estate. A feeling of calmness washed over me, settling into my bones like warmth from a fire I had forgotten existed. For the first time in years, I wasn't waiting for a call or an apology. I wasn't begging for scraps of affection from a man who kept me close enough to use but never close enough to honor. I was free.
The freedom tasted bittersweet, but it was mine.
The next morning, I rose with the sun, ready to embrace my new life. Something deep in my blood stirred, urging me forward — that ancient Castellano resolve, the same steel that had carried the women of my family through decades of this world. Whatever lay ahead — alliances, ceremonies, or challenges — I would face it with my head held high.
I wasn't just a woman scorned. I was Arianna Castellano, daughter of Don Castellano, and my story was far from over.
