I'm a mafia princess with crippling social anxiety. My fiancé, Rocco Falcone, is our family's consigliere.

He’s the exact opposite of me—extroverted, effortlessly charming, a master at reading and bending people. He's supposed to be my protector. My only link to the outside world.

Tonight was the charity gala for my late mother. I was hiding in the darkest corner, a mask covering my face.

Rocco was supposed to give the speech. My speech. He never showed.

[Emergency. Sorry. Skip the speech, I know you hate the attention. Driver will take you home after the auction. Don't wait up.]

Then I saw Livia’s new post.

It was a picture of Rocco, draping his suit jacket over her shoulders. He was looking down at her, his eyes full of a tenderness he never showed me.

The caption was a gut punch:

[No prom date, so my big bro saved the day! Couldn't have done it without him! ]

The cold hit me. Bone deep.

He ditched a memorial for my dead mother... to take his stepsister to a university dance?

The guests began whispering and sneering that I, the famously awkward, socially crippled princess, couldn’t even force a word out.

I stared at the whiskey I’d ordered for him. The ice in my glass was melting. Just like the hope in my heart.

When I got back to our empty penthouse, my screen was lit up with missed calls and texts from Rocco.

The last one came in thirty minutes ago:

[Aurelia, trouble at Livia's prom. You know how she gets. Couldn't leave her. Your mother's gala means everything. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Next time will be perfect. Trust me.]

I didn't reply.

An engagement held together by "next time." Was a promise like that even worth keeping?

I'm a mafia princess with crippling social anxiety. My fiancé, Rocco Falcone, is our family's consigliere.

He’s the exact opposite of me—extroverted, effortlessly charming, a master at reading and bending people. He's supposed to be my protector. My only link to the outside world.

Tonight was the charity gala for my late mother. I was hiding in the darkest corner, a mask covering my face.

Rocco was supposed to give the speech. My speech. He never showed.

[Emergency. Sorry. Skip the speech, I know you hate the attention. Driver will take you home after the auction. Don't wait up.]

Then I saw Livia’s new post.

It was a picture of Rocco, draping his suit jacket over her shoulders. He was looking down at her, his eyes full of a tenderness he never showed me.

The caption was a gut punch:

[No prom date, so my big bro saved the day! Couldn't have done it without him! ]

The cold hit me. Bone deep.

He ditched a memorial for my dead mother... to take his stepsister to a university dance?

The guests began whispering and sneering that I, the famously awkward, socially crippled princess, couldn’t even force a word out.

I stared at the whiskey I’d ordered for him. The ice in my glass was melting. Just like the hope in my heart.

When I got back to our empty penthouse, my screen was lit up with missed calls and texts from Rocco.

The last one came in thirty minutes ago:

[Aurelia, trouble at Livia's prom. You know how she gets. Couldn't leave her. Your mother's gala means everything. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Next time will be perfect. Trust me.]

I didn't reply.

An engagement held together by "next time." Was a promise like that even worth keeping?

...

I didn't expect to run into Rocco at the family's private club two hours later.

My cousin, Caterina, had dragged me out, worried I'd lock myself away.

The air was thick with smoke, expensive whiskey, and cloying perfume. It was a shield. Dark enough, loud enough. Here, I wasn't the Marino princess. I was invisible.

A sax wailed from a corner of the room.

I leaned back on the sofa and closed my eyes. A moment later, a familiar hand touched my shoulder.

"Aurelia?" Rocco’s voice cut through the noise. "What are you doing here?"

I looked up. Rocco stood over me, surprise and a flicker of unease in his eyes.

Before I could speak, Caterina was on her feet. "Well, look what the cat dragged in," she drawled, her voice dripping poison. "Shouldn't you be chaperoning a high school dance, Rocco? Or is your 'sister' all tuckered out?"

Rocco’s face tightened. His eyes darted between me and Caterina.

"Aurelia, why didn't you answer my texts? I sent you a dozen explaining..."

"Explaining what?" Caterina sneered. "How you blew off Aurelia's mother's memorial to play Prince Charming for your stepsister?"

I put a hand on Caterina’s wrist, a silent signal to stop.

He glanced over his shoulder.

Livia was at the entrance, all innocent in a white evening gown, looking fragile and helpless.

"Livia ran into some trouble," Rocco explained, his voice tired. "Some guys at the prom were giving her a hard time. I was worried. I brought her here to lay low. I wasn't her prom date."

I nodded, but my heart twisted. A sharp, needle-like pain.

Even with his excuses, the fact was he'd abandoned me on the anniversary of my mother's death.

And now he’d brought Livia here. To our private club.

Before I could respond, Livia drifted over, her voice a soft whisper. "Brother, it's all my fault. Please don't make Aurelia mad because of me. I can handle those guys outside. Dad just called, I should go home. You stay with her..."

At her words, Rocco's expression, which had been pleading for my forgiveness, changed.

"I'm not letting you go back alone," he said, his tone firm. "Aurelia will understand. Wait for me. I'll take you."

He pulled me aside, his voice softening. "I'm sorry, Aurelia. I have to get her home. Wait for me, okay? I’ll have your favorite white Andalusian brought up from the Long Island stable. We'll keep him at the estate. And I swear, I will never miss another gala."

My nose stung. I just nodded.

“Good girl. I already called you a car. Go home.”

He patted my head—like I was a dog he was quieting—then turned and walked away. No second thought.

He left so fast, he didn't even notice me flinch away from his touch.

Of course. He remembered all my favorite things. He knew which horse I loved to ride. He knew I couldn't handle crowds, so he was always ready to be my voice.

But the second Livia, his annoying stepsister, needed anything, he'd drop everything.

He was so sure that a few comforting words were all it took to make me stay. To make me wait for him. Always.

Their figures vanished through the club's doors.

"That little bitch," Caterina muttered.

I poured a glass of whiskey and downed it in one go.

The burn in my throat did nothing to warm the ice in my heart.

It was 2 a.m. when I got back to the penthouse.

Rocco shot up from the sofa, his face a mask of anxiety and anger.

"I got back an hour ago," he said, storming towards me. "You said you'd be home early. Why are you drunk?"

I steadied myself against the console table, looking into his furious eyes. A wave of hurt washed over me.

"So you can play knight in shining armor for Livia all night, but I can't have a damn drink?"

Rocco's face went dark.

"Aurelia, that's enough," he snapped. "You're being petty. It's childish. Livia is my sister. My sister! And you're accusing us?"

My eyes welled up. I bit my lip, unable to speak.

Seeing my tears, his expression softened.

He sighed and walked over.

"Okay, don't cry," he said, gently wiping a tear from my eye. "I didn't mean to yell."

He pulled a small, velvet box from his pocket. A diamond necklace glittered inside. A bribe.

"Forgive me?" he murmured, his lips finding mine.

I closed my eyes and let myself sink into his embrace.

After the kiss, Rocco swept me up and carried me to the master bathroom. He undressed me with practiced hands, then guided me into the shower, testing the water against his own wrist before letting it touch my skin.

The warm spray washed over my skin.

"I'm sorry, Aurelia," he whispered in my ear. "I know I let you down today."

I leaned against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

Maybe I was overthinking it.

Rocco wrapped me in a towel and carried me to bed.

"Sleep now, my princess."

I closed my eyes, relaxing in his arms. The alcohol made me drowsy, and his warmth made me feel safe.

Just as I was about to drift off, the mattress shifted.

I opened my eyes, groggy.

The space beside me was empty.

Rocco was throwing on his clothes, the light from his phone flickering in the dark.

"Rocco?" I murmured.

"Shh, go back to sleep," he whispered. "Something came up. I'll be back soon."

He leaned down, gave me a quick kiss, and hurried out of the room.

A few minutes later, the roar of a Lamborghini engine tore through the night.

It sounded angry, raw, ripping the sky apart.

I stared at the ceiling. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a fist.

At this hour, who else could it be but Livia?

I woke up to an empty bed.

Sunlight streamed through the curtains. Rocco never came back.

I picked up my phone.

Livia had posted a new video.

She and Rocco were on a rooftop, sitting against a sky full of stars.

Her head was on his shoulder. "Thanks for being here, brother," she said softly. "You're the only one who listens when I can't sleep."

I watched the whole thing. Then I scrolled past. The alcohol was gone. The pain was still there, but it was a cold, hard thing now. Not a fire. And in that cold, a new thought took root. Let go.

An hour later, I was in my father’s, Antonio Marino’s, study. I told him I wanted to go to Venice.

"Venice?"

"To take over Mom's art foundation," I said, my voice steady. "I think it's time."

My father watched me, his eyes sharp. "Aurelia, you understand what this means. You'd be leaving New York. You'd be leaving Rocco."

I nodded. "I'm sure."

"Alright." He didn't ask any more questions. "I'll make the arrangements. Flight in three days, is that good?"

"It is."

Just then, the sound of engines rumbled outside. Not one car. A lot of them.

I walked to the window.

A fleet of black trucks choked the lane outside our gates. Men were unloading armfuls of black roses. Hundreds of them. A grotesque spectacle.

A crowd was gathering. Passersby were stopping, pulling out their phones, taking pictures.

My social anxiety hit me like a truck. My chest tightened. My palms started to sweat.

"Aurelia."

Rocco’s voice came from behind me.

I turned. He was standing in the living room doorway, still in last night’s suit, dark circles under his eyes.

"Do you like them?" He gestured to the window. "It took me all night to find them."

I looked at his exhausted face, and a wave of sadness washed over me.

"You forgot something, Rocco," I said, my voice flat. "I hate being the center of attention. I hate being a spectacle."

Rocco froze.

He glanced out the window, at the people with their phones held high.

"Dammit," he cursed under his breath. "I'm sorry, Aurelia, I forgot. I'll have them take it all down."

"Don't bother," I said, shaking my head. "The damage is done."

"I promise, next time I'll remember."

Next time.

Always next time.

I'd heard that promise a thousand times.

"Let's go." He reached for my hand. "I have a surprise for you."

"Rocco, I—"

"Trust me, okay?" His eyes pleaded. "Let me make up for last night."

When we arrived, I saw we were at a private airstrip. Before I could ask, Rocco was opening my door.

He pulled me into a run across the tarmac.

I was stunned.

The Rocco I knew was always a man in a suit, calm and in control. This boyish, frantic version of him? I'd only ever seen it on Livia's Instagram feed.

"Come on, Aurelia! The flight to Lake Como is waiting for us."

Once I was buckled into a leather seat, breathless, I finally had a chance to ask, "What is all this?"

Rocco, still catching his breath, tucked our passports away.

"I know you've always wanted to see where your mother grew up."

"You always wanted to go back to Lake Como, right? I'm on leave, so let me take you. Don't be mad at me anymore, okay?"

I realized then, in three years of being engaged, this was our first trip alone. Just the two of us.

Every other vacation he’d taken had been for Livia.

Or maybe, he only ever took vacations because of Livia.

He'd take Livia skiing in the Alps, to see the sunset in Santorini, to watch the races in Monaco.

But when I asked him to take me to the botanical gardens—right here in the city—he was always too busy with "family business."

And now? Now that I was finally ready to walk away, he was suddenly the man I'd always begged him to be?

The plane began to taxi.

Rocco stroked my hair. "Don't worry, my princess. I've taken care of everything."

We landed in Milan late at night. The moment we stepped into the hotel lobby, Rocco’s satellite phone rang.

He answered. "Don't cry. Stay put. I'm coming."

His face was a grim mask. He told the driver to pull over.

"It's Livia. She followed us to Italy. She's in Milan, at a casino, and she's found trouble. Our enemies are everywhere here. I can't leave her alone."

Before I could say a word, he was in the driver's seat, flooring it back toward the city.

The car door slammed shut. And just like that, he was gone.

He'd left me. Alone. In a foreign country, with no passport, no money, and not a single word of Italian.

The lobby blurred. Voices dropped to whispers. Phones came out, their screens like a thousand hungry eyes. The panic hit me like a physical blow. My throat closed. My heart hammered against my ribs. I couldn't breathe.

I had to get out of there. Find somewhere to hide.

"Aurelia?" A low, calm voice cut through the panic.

I turned. A familiar face.

"Adrian?"

Adrian Volkov stood there in a dark blue suit, his eyes kind.

"What are you doing here?"

"Business," he said, walking toward me. "You don't look so good."

I bit my lip, not knowing what to say.

Adrian scanned the lobby and made a decision.

"Come with me."

He didn't ask questions. He just took my wrist gently and led me away from the prying eyes.

"I need the presidential suite on the top floor," Adrian said to the concierge.

The manager recognized him immediately.

"Mr. Volkov. Of course. Right away, sir."

A few minutes later, I was sitting on a plush sofa in a sprawling suite, a warm cup of tea in my hands.

"Thank you," I said, my voice soft.

"Don't mention it." Adrian sat across from me. "Want to talk about it?"

I shook my head.

"Then we won't," he said, no pressure in his voice. "You can rest here. The room's in my name. You're safe."

His words made me want to cry.

"Adrian, why... why are you always there when I need someone?"

He was quiet for a moment.

"Maybe it's fate."

Rocco finally showed up at ten that night.

He found me, his face a thundercloud.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, his eyes sweeping over the massive suite. "Whose room is this?"

"Adrian Volkov's," I answered calmly.

Rocco’s face got even darker.

"Volkov? Why the hell is that bastard here?"

"Business," I repeated Adrian's word. "He helped me."

"Helped you with what? You couldn't just wait for me in the lobby?"

I looked at him, and he suddenly felt like a stranger.

"Rocco, you took my passport and all my cash. I was alone in a strange place. I couldn't even buy a bottle of water."

Rocco faltered. "I was just trying to keep you safe..."

"And Livia?" I cut him off. "How is she?"

"She's... she's fine. A little shaken up," he said, his tone strained. "I got her a room at a hotel downtown."

I nodded. "Good."

Rocco came toward me, reaching to pull me up.

"Let's go back to the villa. Livia needs a secure place to rest. This suite is perfect..."

"What?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"You want me to give my room to Livia?"

"Aurelia, she's been through a lot. She needs the best protection..."

I stood up and took a step back.

"Get out."

"What?"

"I said, get out." My voice was quiet, but he heard the steel in it.

"Aurelia, are you kidding me?"

"I have never been more serious in my life."

Rocco tried to get closer, but I kept backing away.

"If you don't leave, I'll call security."

Rocco stared at me, his face a storm of fury, then he turned and left.

The click of the door was soft, but in my heart, it sounded like thunder.

The next afternoon, Adrian took me on a drive along the Sicilian coast.

The sun glittered on the blue water, and the salty wind felt clean.

"Feeling better?" Adrian asked.

"Much better," I said. "Thank you for yesterday. You saved me."

"We're friends, aren't we?"

"Yeah," I smiled. "Ever since high school."

I remembered it clearly. A group of girls had cornered me in the bathroom, mocking my anxiety, pouring water on my head.

Adrian had burst in, cursing at them in Russian, then gently draped his jacket over me.

"You always protect me."

"And I'm always happy to do it," Adrian replied.

When we got back to the suite that evening, Adrian’s shirt was stained with red wine from dinner.

"You can use the shower," I said, pointing. "I'm going to get some air on the balcony."

I stood on the balcony, looking out at the distant sea.

Suddenly, a loud bang came from behind me.

"Open the door! Aurelia!"

Rocco's voice, angry and frantic.

Before I could react, the door splintered open.

Rocco stormed in and froze.

Adrian walked out of the bathroom. A white towel was slung low on his hips, water glistening on the hard muscles of his chest and stomach.

Rocco’s eyes landed on Adrian, then on me. A muscle in his jaw jumped. "What the hell," he snarled, "is this?"

He lashed out at Adrian with a punch.