Chapter 4

"No! I'm getting married in five days too!"

Marco's face darkened like ink. "Bianca, are you done? When did I ever say I wanted to marry you?"

I furrowed my brows slightly. "Marco, don't get ahead of yourself. The man I'm marrying is not you."

He sneered, again and again. "Eight years on my arm, and you think any Family would still want you? A woman other men have already had. A person should know her own worth. Don't be a fool and ruin what's left of your future."

He stepped forward and roughly yanked the diamond ring from my finger, not caring that my skin tore, that a thin line of blood welled up where the band had bitten in.

He was almost giddy as he tried to slide the ring onto Adriana's hand, only to find the setting too small to fit.

"I'll take this ring. Resize it. How much?"

The jeweler, an old man who dressed windows for the wives of capos and knew exactly whose money he was handling, murmured a figure. Marco's face went white. So did Adriana's.

"Bianca, just because you don't want Marco to marry me, there's no need to be so vile and inflate the price to trap us."

Marco shook his head at me, the picture of wounded disappointment. "Bianca, I never thought you'd sink this low."

They came to take my ring, couldn't afford the stone, and then turned to lay the blame at my feet.

The two of them swept out in a temper, and my phone rang. Lorenzo.

"Do you like the diamond? Don't forget, tesoro, you're to try the gown this afternoon."

"Yes. I really like it."

I drove to the bridal salon Lorenzo had named, a discreet place off the boulevard where the seamstresses knew better than to gossip about the names in their appointment book. The moment I stepped inside, I saw Adriana stroking the shoulder of a single-strap gown.

"Miss Verdi, I'm sorry, but that gown is already reserved."

"I want this one. Call whoever reserved it. I'll pay ten percent over to take it."

When the attendant saw me come through the door, her eyes lit with relief.

"The customer who reserved it is here now. Perhaps you'd care to settle it with her directly, Miss Verdi."

Something ugly flickered across Adriana's face, unwillingness sharpening into anger.

"Bianca, why do you always haunt me, always set yourself against me? First you stole my wedding ring, and now you'd take my gown from my hands too."

Beside her, Marco frowned deep. "Bianca, you're the one who said you wanted to be finished with me, and now you throw a ring and a dress at my feet to force me to the altar. You have no shame."

"Even if you crawl into my wedding, I won't spare you a glance. I'll give the ring and the gown both to Adriana."

I laughed, soft and low. "Who told you that a woman buying a ring and a gown means she means to marry you? You are not the only man walking this earth."

"You can't afford a stone, you can't afford a dress, and now you stand here expecting me to hand them over for nothing?"

Marco's face went from pale to something worse. Adriana, seeing it, covered her face and fled the room.

"Marco, since you've already settled on a ring and a gown, there's nothing here for me. I'll go."

"Bianca!" Marco, in a fit of rage, snatched the shears from the cutting table and began slashing at the gown, wild, careless. "I'll teach you to stop forcing marriage on me, to stop making Adriana weep! You want to marry, do you? Let's see what you'll wear to that wedding now the dress is gone."

That gown had been commissioned by Lorenzo himself, the finest hands in the trade working through the night to finish it in time.

I rushed to stop him. He shoved me down, and I hit the floor hard, and the shears caught my other hand and opened it in one clean, sharp line.

Marco seemed to have lost his mind entirely, tearing the flawless gown to ribbons.

Not satisfied, he ground it under his heel. "You dream of marrying me, Bianca? Keep dreaming. And if you dare ruin my wedding five days from now, your end will look exactly like this dress."

Then he didn't even look at me. He hurried out after Adriana.

The attendant beside me had gone white to the lips. She was already reaching for the phone.

On the floor, my hand bleeding into the shredded silk, I closed my fist around the small silver crucifix at my throat. Not a gift. Not from any man. The one thing that was mine. My fingers tightened around it, and something in me went very still and very certain.

In the haze of it, Lorenzo called.

"Are you hurt?" A pause, and in that pause the room seemed to hold its breath. "Don't trouble yourself over the gown. I'll have my consigliere see to it."

"I'm sorry."