I still remember how it started. He saw me once at a gathering his grandfather Don Enzo hosted and decided I was it for him. He sent gifts, luxury cars, even put on a three-day fireworks show that lit up the whole city. When I casually mentioned I liked chestnut cake, he drove through a snowstorm all night to bring one to me. He was drenched, lips blue from the cold, but the cake was still warm when he pressed it into my hands.
And when my parents died in that accident, he abandoned a billion-dollar negotiation in New York to rush back to me. He found me shaking, hollow, broken. He pulled me into his arms and whispered, "Arianna, I'm here. I'll always be by your side."
Back then, I thought he was my safe place. My Mr. Right. I gave him my whole heart.
But love doesn't stop men like Marcello from straying. Nine months ago, temptation knocked, and he answered. His best friend's sister, of all people. Giulio Santoro's own blood. He thought I'd never find out. But secrets don't stay buried forever. We had just sent our two-year-old daughter to heaven when I saw the truth. When I smelled her perfume on our couch, when I pieced together the lies, I knew I was done.