I ran into my ex-boyfriend at a friend's birthday party. He was now the Godfather of the Barzan family.

He looked handsome and polished, and he'd arrived with his gorgeous fiancée on his arm.

She smiled at me and said, "If you hadn't broken up with him back then, you'd be the lady of the Barzan house—the Godfather's wife."

Across the table, his arm around her, Nico wore a cold expression. "Why bring up the past? We ended things ages ago. You're my fiancée, the future matriarch of the family."

Under the crowd's watchful stares, I quietly covered the scar on my wrist and forced a tight smile. "Right… it's been such a long time."

"Didn't Valentina dump him first?"

That was the whispered question going around the table while Nico's fiancée was in the bathroom.

My name is Valentina. I hadn't planned to be here. A friend swore Nico wouldn't show up, so I came. But there he was.

Nico Barzan—the youngest don on the East Coast. He ran every dock and casino in Boston. In his tailored suit, he was almost too handsome to look at. Even the family ring on his finger was worth a fortune. Everyone wanted his favor.

Me? I was nobody.

"She did break up with him," Nico said flatly, answering the question no one dared ask aloud.

Let them fill in the blanks. I was proud. Blind. Stupid.

"Valentina, I heard your family went under, right?"

"Oh my God, did you come here to ask for money?"

"Or find some rich guy to pay off your debts? Ha."

Nico just watched me from across the table, his dark eyes unreadable. He didn't say a word in my defense. So I smiled—an ugly, tight thing—and stayed quiet.

Then the bathroom door opened. His fiancée came back, felt the tension right away, and smiled anyway. Two perfect dimples.

"What did I miss?"

Nico took her hand. "Nothing. Old news."

She sat down, her eyes landing on me. "Nico told me about you. You know, if you hadn't broken up with him back then, you'd be the Barzan lady today."

A few guests smirked. I used to be somebody. My family had power, and I was always the center of attention. People don't forget that kind of envy—they just wait for you to fall.

Nico cut in, his voice cold and final. "That's in the past."

No one argued. When the don closes a subject, you close it.

His fiancée raised her glass to me. "Thank you for letting him go. Otherwise I never would have met him. You have to come to the wedding."

I pulled my sleeve over the scar on my wrist and said, "Congratulations."

"Why didn't you explain anything to him?"

My best friend Chiara was furious. I could hear it through the phone.

The dinner party had ended early. I stood outside in my coat, watching my breath turn to fog in the cold air.

"He has a fiancée now," I said.

Chiara went quiet. "A fiancée?"

"Yeah."

People trickled out in pairs and groups. Streetlights reflected off the snow like cracked glass.

"That's such a shame. After everything you did to see him again—"

"Chiara." I cut her off. "No one waits forever."

Some things are better left unsaid. They only get uglier.

The wind made my eyes water. I blinked and tried to rub the dryness away. "I'm giving up."

I had spent years crawling out of the mud, hoping to meet him again with my head held high. But it was too late.

"Okay," Chiara said softly. "Come home first."

It was below freezing. No taxis anywhere. My hands went numb within minutes.

Then I heard heels clicking on the pavement behind me, followed by a sweet voice: "Nico, the snow is beautiful."

"It's cold. Get in the car. I'll be there in a minute." That voice—I would know it anywhere.

"Hurry up, then."

She walked past me and gave me a long, meaningful look. Then she got into a nearby car, opened the door just enough to flash the ring on her right hand. It caught the light and blazed.

The Barzan heirloom.

It used to be on my finger. I gave it back to Nico when we broke up.

So she wasn't just his fiancée. She was the future lady of the Barzan family.

Everyone else had left. Only he and I remained. My ride still hadn't come.

Nico stood behind me in silence. Neither of us spoke. Under the streetlight, our shadows overlapped.

I found myself drifting back to the night we broke up.

Nico had been ambushed on his way to see me. He took a bullet.

His friend called me, voice harsh. "Nico's in the hospital. Get here."

"Is he going to die?"

A bitter laugh. "So if he's not dying, you're not coming?"

"That's not it. I just can't come. Take care of him."

"Valentina, he's already made his place in the family. Give him more time and he'll be the don. Why can't you just wait? Are you really that desperate for money? He did things for you that you can never repay. Did you forget all of it?"

His friend was practically screaming. Then the phone was snatched away and slammed down.

Yes. I was the one who left him. Of course he hated me.

"How much do you owe?" Nico's voice pulled me back to the present. Cold.

"None of your business."

I breathed in the freezing air. My throat, already raw from the drinks earlier, tightened, and I started coughing. The cold was biting. I doubled over, holding onto a lamppost. The alcohol churned in my stomach, and tears ran down my face.

Nico stood next to me, watching coldly.

A taxi pulled up. "Brooklyn?" I asked.

The driver leaned over. "Yeah."

I pushed myself up, caught my breath, and reached for the door handle. Then someone grabbed my arm and yanked me back. I fell into Nico's chest.

"What are you doing in Brooklyn?" he demanded.

Brooklyn was full of politicians and cops. Mafia families didn't go there.

I tried to push him away. He caught my wrist instead. His body heat seeped through his clothes into mine.

I struggled again but couldn't break free. I looked up at his shadowed face. "What does the Barzan don want to say?"

He pressed his lips together, his dark eyes calm and unreadable.

The wind howled, whipping my hair around. I smiled bitterly and said what he was thinking. "You're like everyone else. You think I came to the party looking for a sugar daddy, right?"

"Fifty thousand a month. Enough?" He cut me off, his face cold.

"What do you mean?"

Finally, a glint of mockery appeared in Nico's eyes. "Aren't you broke? Fifty or a hundred grand—just name your price if that's not enough."

I raised my hand and slapped him. The smack echoed through the night. A clear red handprint bloomed on his cheek.

In the distance, a woman shrieked. She threw open the car door and ran toward us.

"Nico, I don't need your money. I just need you to stay away from me."

I got into the taxi and left.

"You hit him?" Chiara handed me a glass of warm water.

"Yeah. He tried to put me on a monthly allowance." I curled up on the couch, fighting waves of stomach pain, and drank slowly.

A few minutes later, I ran to the bathroom and threw up.

Chiara patted my back. "Bad stomach and you still drink."

I caught my breath, wiped my mouth. My throat was on fire.

"Was it worth it?" she asked. "Loving him all these years?"

I looked up at my reflection in the mirror—wet lashes, dark hair plastered to my forehead, pale face.

Chiara's voice came from far away, muffled. "If you hadn't been so ruthless back then, he wouldn't be where he is today…"

I thought of Nico's fiancée again. She had a brightness I'd lost. I used to be like that. A long time ago. Then I fell too hard. By the time I crawled out of the pit, everything had changed.

When Chiara finished her work in Brooklyn, we walked hand in hand back to our rental.

My phone rang. It was Nico's friend.

"Valentina, if you're in trouble, I can find you a job in the family."

I stayed quiet, waiting.

"They're getting married next month. Mira's a good person. Her family is solid. You—"

"I won't bother him again. Don't worry."

He paused, then offered weakly, "We just want Nico to be happy."

"Okay."

All our old friends had taken Nico's side. Every single one.

Chiara's eyes were red. "They don't understand anything."

"It's fine."

I had to stay in town a while longer, so I found a job not far from home.

At the interview, the manager asked, "Do you have depression?"

"In the past. It's under control now. I have a doctor's note."

Other jobs had turned me down because of it. But that night, I got the offer.

I thought the birthday party would be the last time I ever saw Nico.

Three days later, he stormed in with his men. I was sitting in a corner, reconciling accounts.

He stopped when he saw me. "What are you doing here?"

"Working."

He stared for a second, then said to his deputy, "We need a bookkeeper at the casino. Put her there."

"No."

"Fine." Nico didn't even look up. "Either you take the job, or you get out of my territory."

I laughed bitterly. "So if I say no, you'll kick me out?"

He finally raised his head. "I'm giving you a choice. You don't really think I want something from you, do you?"

I thought of Chiara arguing over pennies for rent the night before. I forced a smile. "The Barzan don is a gentleman. And he's about to get married. I have nothing to fear."

Nico nodded slightly. "Thank you. When you start, stay outside my private suite. I don't want to see your face."

The weeks passed. We barely crossed paths.

A week later, some high rollers came to the casino. I was new, so I got pulled into drinking with them.

"Valentina, you can't say no."

"Don't worry, someone will get you home."

My boss smiled and pushed a glass toward me. With everyone egging me on, I downed the last drink of the night and passed out at the table.

The next morning, I woke up in a huge bed. Bright sunlight flooded the room. I sat up. The blanket slipped, revealing a soft bathrobe.

I froze, then got up and walked out.

In the living room, Nico sat with his legs crossed, cleaning a gun. He was also in a hotel robe.

He glanced up when he saw me. "You're awake. Breakfast is on the table. Eat, then sleep more."

A chill ran down my spine. My face went white. "Did we…?"

He put the gun on the coffee table. He pulled his collar open slightly, showing a hickey. "Not my doing. You were the one who came onto me last night. You said, 'I still love you.'"

I was stunned. I had no memory of any of it. "That's impossible."

Nico slid a contract across the table. My fingerprint was on it. It said I would be his mistress, and he'd pay me ten thousand a month.

"I never signed that…"

"Really?" He chuckled. "Are you sure?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

He ignored my panic and pulled out a voice recorder. "I happened to record your little monologue last night. Want to hear how twisted you really are?"

I shook, frozen. Humiliation crashed over me. That kind of secret feeling—hidden because it's shameful—now exposed and used as evidence, like a crime.

"Either you stay and work at my casino, on call whenever I want. Or I make sure you can't survive in Boston. And that recording? It'll spread through the family."

"You're getting revenge."

"Yes." He said it lightly. "You made sure I suffered. Why should you have it easy?"

"Two choices. Stay or leave. But if you walk out, no one on the entire East Coast will hire you."

The clock ticked in the silence, each second pressing on my ears. My lips were dry and cracked. I looked up numbly. "I'm leaving."

Under his icy gaze, I whispered, "Nico, I won't be anyone's mistress."

He studied me, then smiled. "Valentina, who do you think you are? Do you really have a choice?"