Lorenzo's POV
The next few days were hell. Cassandra, that psycho, was suffocating me.
She’d dug up the Vitale family’s old territory maps, spread them all over my desk, and was constantly whispering in my ear, planning the new map of our combined territories.

Over and over.
I lost my patience. I shoved her away, my eyes burning with a rage I couldn't hold back.
“The wedding. You handle it.”
We had an agreement. This was just a show, a formality to honor her father's dying blood oath.
But she kept bugging me about every little thing. Red roses or white lilies for the hall… shit like that. A dozen times a day.
During the day, I was dealing with our shipment seized at the docks. At night, I had to put up with her fantasies. I was running on fumes.

It was always late when I was done.
Isabella got jumpy in the joint. She paces. She can’t sleep. I didn't want to wake her, so I’d been sleeping at the office like a stray dog.
I knew Isabella had been wronged.
I owe her. I’ll pay it back with my life.

Soon... Just one more day, and this will all be over.
I pulled open the mahogany drawer and took out the plain wedding band.
The one Isabella had ripped off her finger and thrown in my face three years ago, the day she went to prison.
For three years, I’d carried it with me. Like a good luck charm. My thumb traced the name engraved on the inside.
I’d been so busy dealing with those old bastards from the Vitale family, I almost forgot what really mattered.
Guilt washed over me. I pulled out my phone and typed a text:
"Bella, you once said you wanted to go to Sicily. When this is over, I'll take you. Okay?"
Sent.
A red exclamation mark flashed on the screen.
A single line of text glowed under my message: Delivery Failed. Recipient has blocked your number.
My brow furrowed. I stared at that glaring red symbol.
My heart clenched, like someone had squeezed it hard.
That woman. She was throwing a fit again.
Annoyed, I turned off the phone, tossed it on the desk, and leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes.
I’ll make it up to her when this is all over.
The day of the wedding, things spiraled out of control.
I saw the sea of faces at the estate, and my face went dark.
I grabbed Cassandra, who was mingling with the guests, and dragged her into the private room. I slammed the door behind me. The sound echoed like a gunshot.
"Cassandra, we had a deal. Capos and Made Men from the Five Families. That's it. So why are there reporters from the New York Times here? You got a death wish?"
Cassandra just draped herself over my shoulders, her eyes wild with excitement.
"Reporters? That's not all. I invited all the smaller crews loyal to the Vitales too."
"Lorenzo, don't you see? The entire underworld is on our side! In the Mafia, I'm a better Donna to you than Isabella will ever be! If it wasn't for that damn oath, our heir would have been born by now!"
She stood on her toes, her red lips reaching for my chin.
The next second, I pushed her away. Coldly.
"We had a deal. This wedding was just to fulfill the blood oath. Once the ceremony is over, you have no reason to bother the Romano family again."
"After this show, you and I are done. I don't care if you bring every reporter in New York. I'm not going to be with you. Cassandra, whatever we had is long gone. I love Isabella. I'm never leaving her again!"
Every word hit the floor like a hammer.
The seductive smile on Cassandra’s face froze.
A chill shot up her spine.
Before she could argue, I pulled the door open and strode out.
Cassandra panicked, grabbing her cumbersome designer wedding dress and chasing after me.
"Don Lorenzo, what's the rush? Can't wait for the wedding night?"
A few Capos with wine glasses blocked my path, smirking like they were in on some dirty joke.
"What's the hurry? Got tired of that jailbird ex-wife, huh? Time to taste some fresh Vitale meat? Hahaha!"
My eyes went cold as steel. My hand rested on the cold grip of my gun. My lips pressed into a thin line.
"You done?"
"If you are, then get the hell out of my way."
The Capo who started it, one of the Vitale dogs, got shut down. His face turned pale, then red. He looked back at Cassandra, who had just caught up.
Cassandra’s face was white as a sheet.
She frowned, trying to take my arm, to save some face in front of her men.
I recoiled like I’d been touched by scum.
The air turned instantly awkward. The men around us exchanged glances, not knowing where to look. The silence was deafening.
Just as I was about to leave this goddamn place, the reporters Cassandra had invited swarmed us. They were like sharks smelling blood, cameras and microphones raised.