Too Late: The Don's Regretful Pursuit

heavy heirloom emeralds around my neck mark

Don in New York-had his hand resting possessive

his fianc

dance studio into her closet, and when she pushed me down a flight of stair

defend her honor, yet ignored my desp

as expected to be silent and useful. He would burn the world

ing his victory for her, I di

ring in the trash ca

te: "I release you from the oat

e looking for his shadow, I was already gon

pte

the heirloom emeralds around my neck marking me as the futur

w York-had his hand resting possessively on

n't his

wa

inating the scene with a cruel clarity. Jax Viles, the man who could silence a room w

gigg

ated against the heavy silence of the

. I had been trained for this since birth. As the daughter of the Consigliere, co

at was the official story. But guests don't sit at the Don's right hand. Guests don't wear

sy meticulously cutting Catalina's steak for h

tely at his plate, his jaw tight enough to snap. The Capos shifted i

g my humiliation, and Jax was orchestrating it with the casual i

udin

d cut his palm with a pocket knife, mixed his blood with mine, and

the one hold

nce. His voice was deep, a rumble that usually sett

the

k up. He was

the fine wool of his sleeve. He pulled away instantly, as

il hit me harde

r him, my movements m

nomous thing. "Thank you, Eliana. You're

went death

mother of his heirs, the woman who held the codes to the family tru

d. "She knows h

urned to lea

against the marble floor, a scream of wood

ne. They were dark, void of the warmth they used to hold. Th

as steady. It was a lie, but in this life,

gh. I felt their eyes on my back. I felt the weight of t

om. His bedroom. The room I was suppo

ws, mirroring the storm that should have been

rdly recognizing the woman staring back. I unclasped t

rk wood of his desk,

resignation letter wri

r erupted. His laug

d the lock with a definitive click. I didn't cry

d no