Chapter 1

At the joint bachelor party, Mia made a bet with my Don fiancé: five bullets in his gun? Our wedding's off for three years.

Cole took the bet without a word. He flipped the chamber open.

Three bullets.

Everybody let out a breath and thought the bet was over. But I saw it.

As Mia's eyes watered, Cole slid two more bullets into the chamber from his pocket.

"It's five bullets now. Don't cry, okay?"

He turned to me. "Our wedding's delayed."

"A bet's a bet. It's sacred in the Mafia. So don't make a scene."

I wouldn't.

He didn't know I had a bet of my own.

The message from Cole's greatest rival was still on my phone.

Happy birthday. Remember the bet? If you're still single at twenty-seven, you'll marry me. Deal?

I typed my reply.

Deal. A bet's a bet.

...

For a few seconds, no one spoke.

Then the hall exploded.

“You’re kidding. You actually bet the wedding?”

“That’s not something you gamble with!”

“Grace handwrote five hundred invitations! Do you have any idea how much work that was? Everyone’s already been told. You can’t just call off a wedding now!”

Voices piled on top of each other.

The more they talked, the louder they got.

Finally, they all turned toward Mia.

“You’re Grace’s best friend. Say something.”

“This was obviously a joke. You guys weren't seriously betting on the wedding, were you?”

Mia sat quietly in the corner with a glass of red wine in her hand.

She avoided everyone's eyes.

Slowly, she swirled the wine.

“I wasn't joking.”

“You all know me. I never break a bet.”

The moment those words left her mouth, the entire room went still.

Everyone understood.

The wedding was really off.

There was no other explanation.

Except for me, who worked at an art gallery, everyone in Cole's circle was part of the same world.

The Mafia.

They had spent years building their empire through underground deals, smuggling, and high-stakes black-market business.

That was how they had made their first fortune back in the slums.

They had one rule above everything else.

Once you made a bet, you lived with the outcome.

No excuses.

No take-backs.

No one dared argue anymore.

I lowered my eyes and poured myself a drink.

Then I looked at Cole.

“What do you say?”

Cole looked at me. There was a slight haze of alcohol in his eyes.

He reached out and gave my cheek a familiar squeeze.

“Grace, we can still get married three years from now. It's not like we're running out of time.”

“But if we go against the bet and bring bad luck down on everyone, that's not worth it.”

“You understand that, right?”

Exactly the answer I expected.

I lowered my head and swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat.

When I looked up again, I was smiling.

“I don't understand.”

I paused.

“But I agree.”

Cole let out a relieved breath.

Then he laughed.

“Still joking around. Guess you're not taking it too hard.”

The mood in the room dropped instantly.

No one knew what to say.

Then the door opened.

Adrian, my new fiancé, walked in. I didn't notice when he'd left.

He was pushing a three-tiered birthday cake.

Candles covered the top. Across the frosting were the words:

Happy 27th Birthday, Grace.