Chapter 1

After I rejected my ex-boyfriend’s proposal, he left New York in a rage and went to Sicily.

Seven years later, Santino Moretti returned as the most feared Don of the Moretti family, with a new woman at his side and plans to marry her in the very church we had once chosen for our own wedding.

That same day, my doctor told me my cancer was completely out of control.

I had less than a month left.

When Santino came to my mother’s house with his fiancée, he saw me sitting in a wheelchair. Something in his eyes changed for a split second before he looked away.

“Seven years, Elena. What happened? Did you forget how to walk?”

I tugged my sleeve lower, hiding the needle marks covering the back of my hand.

“I fell. That’s all.”

He believed me.

Then Sofia smiled and asked if I would help them prepare for the wedding, including the church we had once chosen together.

Everyone expected me to refuse.

Instead, I agreed.

Santino thought I had finally moved on enough to watch him marry another woman.

He didn’t know I had already signed my discharge papers after my doctors told me there was nothing more they could do.

I had come home because I wanted to see him one last time.

I probably would not live long enough to see him stand at the altar.

Chapter 1

I had barely made it home and settled into bed with my mother’s help when the doorbell rang.

Ten minutes later, Santino’s mother stood in my bedroom doorway.

She paused when she saw me.

“Elena.”

I already knew why she had come.

Seven years ago, she had appeared in my hospital room the same way.

That day, I had just received my cancer diagnosis.

Lucia closed the door behind her and dropped to her knees in front of me.

“Elena, I’m begging you. Don’t tell Santino.”

I reached out to help her up, but she caught my hand and refused to move.

“Santino has just been formally named the Moretti heir. Next month he leaves for Sicily to take his place in the family’s inner circle.”

“If he finds out you have cancer, he won’t leave.”

I answered without hesitation.

“Then he doesn’t have to go.”

Lucia’s face changed.

“Elena, he’s the only Moretti heir.”

I said nothing.

Then she asked the question that silenced me.

“Can your doctors promise you’ll recover?”

They couldn’t.

Lucia told me the Morettis would pay for every treatment, every specialist, anything I needed. She asked only one thing in return.

Let Santino go to Sicily.

Later, she arranged for a man to help me stage the betrayal.

All I had to do was let Santino see us kiss, tell him I had fallen for someone else, and reject his proposal.

That day, Santino stood outside my house with the ring he had planned to give me.

I told him, “I don’t love you anymore.”

He stared at me for a long time.

“Say it again.”

So I did.

“Santino, I don’t love you.”

A month later, he left for Sicily.

I started chemotherapy.

“Elena.”

Lucia’s voice pulled me back to the present.

She had taken a seat beside the bed.

“What happened seven years ago was my fault. But Santino is getting married now. Sofia Bellini has known him for years, and the Bellinis have long-standing business ties with the Morettis. This marriage matters to both families.”

I looked at her.

“So you came here to ask me to keep lying to him.”

Lucia was silent for a moment before nodding.

“I don’t want you to tell him what happened back then.”

Her gaze shifted to the medication on my bedside table.

“And with your health like this, it would be better if you avoided seeing Santino for a while.”

My mother stood immediately.

“Lucia, do you have any conscience at all?”

I caught her hand.

“Mom. Enough.”

After she sat down again, I looked back at Lucia.

“I won’t tell Santino the truth about seven years ago.”

Relief crossed her face.

“Thank you.”

“But I can’t promise not to see him.”

Her brows drew together.

“Elena, what are you planning to do?”

“Nothing.” I met her eyes. “I just want to see him.”

During these seven years of fighting cancer, there had not been a single day when I truly forgot Santino.

When chemotherapy became unbearable, I would take out the photograph of us at seventeen and tell myself that if I survived, I could still go to Sicily one day and find him.

After several surgeries, when I stayed unconscious in intensive care far longer than I should have, my mother would stand beside the bed and call my name.

“Elena, remember what you promised. When you get better, we’ll go to Sicily.”

“You still owe Santino an explanation.”

That promise pulled me back more than once.

In the end, I still lost to cancer.

Santino had a new life now, and a fiancée he was about to marry.

I had no intention of explaining what happened seven years ago anymore, and I would never interfere with his wedding.

I would not explain the past, and I would not interfere with his wedding.

But before I died, I needed to look at him once and know whether the seven years I had spent holding on had meant anything at all.

So when I learned Santino had returned to New York, I signed the discharge papers even after the doctor made it clear that leaving the hospital meant going home to die.

I came back for an answer. Even if that answer destroyed the last thing keeping me alive.

Chapter 2

I hadn’t expected Santino to show up so soon after Lucia left.

I was exhausted enough to fall asleep for a while, and when I woke, I heard his voice coming from the living room. For a few seconds, I thought I had imagined it.

Seven years ago, Santino had truly hated me.

After he found out I had betrayed him, he waited outside my house for three straight days just to ask me why.

I told him I didn’t love him anymore.

He stood in the hallway and stared at me for a long time before driving his fist through the glass panel beside him. Blood covered his knuckles, but he never touched me.

After that, whenever he saw me nearby, he would turn around and leave. He stopped going to the café we had loved since we were teenagers, and if anyone mentioned my name in front of him, his expression would turn cold.

“Don’t talk about Elena around me.”

Even on the day he left New York for Sicily, when I went to the airport in the pouring rain just to see him one last time, he only threw the matching ring we had bought together at my feet and smashed the phone that held every photograph of us.

Then he walked away without looking back, leaving me standing there soaked through in the rain.

So I had never imagined that seven years later, he would come to my house willingly.

My bedroom door was not fully closed, and it did not take long for me to understand why he was there.

Santino stood in the living room with Sofia Bellini beside him.

He was holding her hand tightly, as though that alone proved whatever had once existed between us was over.

“Mrs. Russo, is this because of what happened seven years ago? Is that why you don’t want Elena helping us with the wedding?”

My mother said nothing.

Santino continued in the same calm voice.

“I moved on a long time ago. Elena and I grew up together. Just because we couldn’t stay together doesn’t mean we have to spend the rest of our lives as strangers.”

He sounded so composed that it was hard to believe he had once spent three nights outside my door because of me.

Sofia quickly joined in.

“Santino told me everything about what happened between them.”

She smiled.

“Elena did fall for someone else back then, but they were young. When a relationship ends, you can’t blame only one person.”

Then she added lightly, “Honestly, I should probably thank Elena. If she hadn’t left Santino, I might never have had the chance to meet him.”

My mother’s expression darkened.

Sofia either failed to notice or chose not to.

“Asking Elena to help was actually my idea. Santino has spent years in Sicily, and I barely know New York. We still need to confirm details with the church, the Moretti jeweler has designs ready for the rings, and we have to visit the hotel for the reception.”

She paused, then smiled at my mother again.

“We can’t leave everything to the older generation. Our taste might be a little different.”

Seven years ago, when I first learned I had cancer, my greatest wish had been for Santino to forget me.

I wanted him to stop hating me. I wanted him to stop waiting.

Now, through a half-closed door, I finally heard him say that he had moved on.

He could even tell the woman he planned to marry about my betrayal without hesitation.

I should have been relieved. Seven years earlier, that was exactly what I had wanted for him, to forget me and move on.

Instead, something in my chest slowly began to ache.

My mother finally lost her patience.

She knew the affair had never happened, and she knew exactly what those seven years had cost me.

“Enough.”

The living room fell silent.

She stared at Santino, her eyes already red with anger.

“You really are exactly like your mother.”

Santino’s voice turned colder.

“Mrs. Russo, what is that supposed to mean?”

Panic hit me immediately.

If my mother kept talking, there was no chance the truth about seven years ago would stay buried.

I pushed myself upright against the bed.

“Mom.”

The voices outside stopped.

I held the edge of the mattress and waited until I could breathe properly again.

“Come in for a second. Help me into the wheelchair. I’ll talk to Santino myself.”

Chapter 3

When Mom came into the bedroom, I had already pushed myself upright against the headboard.

She still looked upset, and I knew she did not want me going anywhere with Santino. I reached out and wrapped my arms around her.

“Mom, just help me with one last wish, okay?”

Her eyes reddened almost immediately.

In the end, she did not try to stop me again. She helped me put on my wig, added a little lipstick to my pale face, and wrapped me in a heavy coat before wheeling me into the living room.

The moment Santino saw me in the wheelchair, his brows drew together.

“What happened to your leg?”

“I fell. The fracture is worse than I expected. The doctor told me not to walk for a while.”

He looked at me for another two seconds. His gaze moved over my face, then dropped to the blanket over my knees, but he said nothing else.

Sofia slipped her arm through his and smiled.

“Elena, don’t mind him. Santino has been like this for years. He doesn’t have much patience for anyone except me.”

Something tightened quietly in my chest.

People used to say Santino had a temper even when we were young. He had never been patient with strangers, and he had never cared much about being liked, but he had always been different with me.

I pushed the feeling aside and looked at Sofia.

“You really want me to help with the wedding?”

“Of course.”

She nodded.

“We still need to finalize the church, the rings, and the reception hotel. You’ve lived in New York this whole time, so you know the city better than we do.”

“Okay.”

If they really wanted my help, I would go.

That evening, Santino called me.

“I’ll pick you up at ten tomorrow morning.”

“Okay.”

My fingers tightened around the phone.

It had been seven years since I had heard his voice this way, with no one else between us and no crowded room forcing us to pretend we were strangers.

When we were together, he used to call me almost every night. Sometimes neither of us said much. I would lie in bed listening to him breathe or turn pages on the other end of the line, and somehow that had always been enough to help me fall asleep.

Hearing him again now still made me nervous.

Then Sofia’s voice came through the phone.

“Santino, have you seen my earrings?”

“They’re on the dresser.”

His answer was easy and familiar, the kind that came from knowing someone’s habits without having to think.

I went still for a moment before saying quietly, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

The call ended.

I stared at the dark screen in my hand.

I had known for days that he was getting married. I had seen Sofia beside him and heard them talk about their wedding, but only then did I fully understand that they already had a life that belonged to the two of them. They shared a room, ordinary mornings, misplaced earrings, and all the small things that once seemed too unimportant to lose.

The next morning, I asked Mom to wheel me downstairs at nine thirty.

Santino had said ten.

By ten thirty, there was still no sign of him. Eleven passed, and then noon.

I called once, but he did not answer.

Mom tried several times to take me back upstairs, but I refused.

“Let’s go home, Elena. He can come up when he gets here.”

“I’m fine. I can wait.”

She knew I was lying.

Just leaving the apartment had already taken more strength than I wanted her to see. My back had begun to ache, and the cold was slowly sinking through my coat, but I stayed where I was because I did not know if I would be able to come downstairs again after today.

It was almost one when Santino finally called.

“We’re here.”

A black SUV pulled up outside a few minutes later.

Santino got out, folded my wheelchair into the back, and opened the rear door for me. Sofia was already sitting inside.

“Elena, I’m sorry we kept you waiting.”

She smiled at me.

“We were up too late last night and overslept this morning.”

My fingers tightened slightly against my coat.

Santino slid into the driver’s seat and glanced at her through the rearview mirror.

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I just didn’t want her to think we forgot about her.”

I said nothing. I only lifted a hand to Mom through the window as the car pulled away.

A few minutes into the drive, I began to feel sick.

Seven years ago, when Santino first got his license, he used to drive me everywhere.

He knew I got carsick easily, so he always drove carefully. He slowed down before turns, avoided sudden stops, and never complained when a trip took longer because of me.

I could barely survive a taxi ride without feeling nauseous, but I had never once gotten sick in his car.

Now he clearly no longer remembered those old habits.

A car changed lanes in front of us.

Santino hit the brakes, and my body jerked forward before the seat belt caught me. My stomach turned hard enough that I sucked in a breath.

His eyes lifted to the rearview mirror.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just a little carsick.”

His brows tightened, and a second later, the car slowed.

After a while, he said, “You never used to get sick in my car.”

I looked at the back of his seat.

“That’s because you used to drive slower for me.”

Silence filled the car.

Santino kept both hands on the wheel.

“That was then.”

I nodded.

“I know. Sofia is the one you should be taking care of now.”

He did not answer. Sofia turned her attention to the window, and the car fell quiet, but for the rest of the drive, Santino never sped up again.

I leaned back and closed my eyes.

At least he still remembered that I never used to get sick in his car. Maybe I had not disappeared from his world completely.

Chapter 4

The SUV stopped in front of a private restaurant in Manhattan owned by the Moretti family.

Santino got out first. One of the men waiting by the entrance stepped forward to help, but Santino had already opened my door.

Before I could say anything, he bent down and lifted me from the seat.

For one second, I forgot how to breathe.

Seven years had changed him, but being held by him still felt painfully familiar.

I kept my hands close to my body, afraid that if I touched him, even by accident, I would remember too much.

He set me carefully into the wheelchair, then stepped back at once.

Sofia came around the car and slipped her arm through his.

“Don’t take it personally,” she said with a small smile. “Santino doesn’t like people touching him. He’s been that way for years.”

I lowered my eyes.

At least for those few seconds, he had chosen to carry me himself.

The restaurant manager personally led us to a private dining room in the back.

As soon as we sat down, a server brought the menus. Santino barely looked at his before ordering for Sofia.

“The sea bass. No olives. Sparkling water with lemon.”

Sofia looked at him and smiled.

“You remembered.”

“You order the same thing every time.”

Something tightened in my chest.

He used to remember my habits that way.

He knew I hated cilantro, that I never drank coffee too sweet, and that I always ordered my steak medium. He remembered small things I sometimes forgot about myself.

Now he remembered them for someone else.

I opened my menu and kept my eyes on the page.

When the server reached me, I ordered only a light vegetable soup.

Santino looked up.

“That’s it?”

“It’s enough.”

His gaze moved over my wrist where it rested beside the menu.

“You’re already too thin. Are you planning to keep starving yourself?”

My fingers tightened around the glass.

For a moment, the concern in his voice sounded so familiar that I could almost pretend nothing between us had ever broken.

Then I remembered Sofia sitting beside him.

I smiled.

“Matteo likes me thinner.”

The room went quiet.

Matteo was the man Lucia had found seven years ago to help me stage the betrayal. Santino believed I had rejected his proposal because I had fallen for Matteo, that I had chosen another man and let him leave New York hating me. I had not seen Matteo since that day.

Santino’s expression changed immediately.

“Seven years later, and you still care what he likes?”

I forced myself to keep smiling.

“Some habits are hard to break.”

Sofia glanced between us.

“Elena, don’t misunderstand him. Santino hates seeing people skip meals. He would say the same thing to anyone in the family.”

She touched his arm lightly.

“Remember when I tried to live on salads before your cousin’s wedding? You were worse with me.”

Santino did not look at her. His eyes stayed on me.

“If Matteo cares that much about how you look, why isn’t he here?”

My chest tightened.

“He has his own life.”

Santino gave a short laugh.

“Apparently one that doesn’t include taking care of you.”

The words landed harder than they should have.

I looked down at the table.

He was right about one thing. Matteo was not here because there had never been anything between us to begin with.

The lie I had told seven years ago was still standing between Santino and me, and I was the one who had promised to keep it alive.

Sofia’s smile had faded.

“Santino.”

He finally looked away from me.

“What?”

“You’re making this more serious than it needs to be.”

“I asked a question.”

“And she answered it.”

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.

I wished I had never mentioned Matteo. I had only wanted to stop Santino from asking why I was barely eating. Instead, I had dragged the past into the middle of their lunch.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I shouldn’t have brought him up.”

Santino’s jaw tightened.

“You don’t owe me an apology.”

His hand closed around the edge of the table.

“I stopped caring who you chose a long time ago.”

I nodded.

“That’s good.”

His eyes came back to mine.

Something shifted in his expression, then disappeared.

He pushed his chair back and stood.

“I need some air.”

Sofia looked up at him.

“We just got here.”

“I’ll be back.”

He walked out without looking at either of us.

I watched the door close behind him.

All I had wanted was a little more time near him before I was gone. Instead, I had found another way to disturb the life he had built without me.

Chapter 5

The door had barely closed behind Santino when Sofia’s smile disappeared.

She looked at me across the table.

“What exactly are you trying to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t understand. You know he still cares about what happened seven years ago, and you keep bringing Matteo up in front of him.”

“I wasn’t trying to upset him.”

“But you did.”

I met her eyes. “I’m not here to interfere with your wedding.”

Sofia gave a quiet laugh, then picked up her coffee and threw it at me.

The liquid hit my face and coat. I shut my eyes for a second.

“Elena, you can stop acting innocent.”

I wiped my cheek with a napkin.

“If I made you misunderstand something, I’m sorry.”

That only seemed to make her angrier.

She stood and walked around the table.

“You think sitting in that wheelchair makes him feel sorry for you? You think if you look weak enough, he’ll remember what you used to be to him?”

Before I could answer, she slapped me.

My head turned with the force of it, and for a moment all I could hear was a dull ringing.

I slowly looked back at her.

“Sofia, that’s enough. If you touch me again, I’ll call Moretti security.”

She reached for me again.

I lifted my arm and pushed her hand away. I barely used any strength, but Sofia suddenly stumbled backward and dropped to the floor.

Her face changed at once.

“My baby.”

I froze as she curled an arm around her stomach.

“My stomach hurts.”

The door opened behind us.

Santino walked back into the room, and the second he saw Sofia on the floor, his expression changed.

“Sofia.”

He crossed the room and crouched beside her.

She grabbed the front of his coat.

“Santino, it hurts.”

Then she looked at me through tears.

“She pushed me.”

“What?”

“You left, and she started saying you never really loved me. She said if she wanted you back, you would come running.”

“That’s not true.”

Sofia began crying harder.

“I admit I got angry. I threw coffee at her, and I slapped her. But then she pushed me.”

She pressed a hand to her stomach.

“She knows I’m pregnant.”

I looked at Santino.

“I didn’t know.”

His eyes lifted to mine. There was anger there now, but also fear.

“Enough, Elena.”

My chest tightened.

“Santino, listen to me. I didn’t push her down.”

“She’s carrying my child.”

“I didn’t know she was pregnant.”

He stood, keeping one hand on Sofia.

“Seven years ago is over. Whatever happened between us is over. But you do not touch her.”

“I didn’t.”

I moved the wheelchair forward slightly.

Santino caught the handle and pushed me back.

“Stay away from her.”

He did not shove hard, but the wheelchair struck the corner of the table behind me and tipped.

I fell sideways, and my forehead hit the edge of the table before I reached the floor.

For several seconds, I could not hear anything clearly. Then the room came back in pieces as someone called for the manager and a chair scraped across the floor.

Warm blood slid down the side of my face.

Santino saw it, and his expression changed instantly. He took one step toward me, but Sofia doubled over and clutched his arm.

“Santino, please. Something’s wrong.”

He stopped and looked between us for a second before bending down and lifting Sofia into his arms.

“I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Before he left, he looked back at me once, then carried her out.

I stayed on the floor, staring after him, and suddenly I remembered being eighteen.

At a Moretti family dinner, one of the older men had grabbed my wrist when I tried to leave. Santino saw him, crossed the room, pulled the man away from me, and hit him before anyone could stop him.

Three people tried to drag Santino back. He only stopped when I wrapped both hands around his arm and begged him to.

That night, he told everyone in the room that if anyone touched me again, they would answer to him.

Back then, I was the person he protected. Now it was someone else.

Moretti security entered a few minutes later.

One of the men crouched beside me while another called for an ambulance.

“Miss Russo, can you hear me?”

I tried to answer, but my voice would not come. The room blurred, and my body suddenly felt strangely light.

I had fought for seven years because I wanted one thing. I wanted to see Santino again, and now I had.

Maybe this was enough.My eyes closed.

“Miss Russo?”

Someone pressed two fingers against my neck.

Then his voice cut through the room.

“I can’t find a pulse.”

“Call her family. Start CPR. Now!”