The Night My Fiancé Got Engaged to Someone Else, I Got a Proposal Text from a Rival Mafia Don
Hannah Air · Completed · 7.2k Words
Introduction
Instead, in the very next second, he walked in holding a little boy and claimed him as his son.
And the woman he said he was going to marry? Scarlett Morello. The one he had always introduced as his “sister.”
The whole room erupted in applause. I stood there frozen, like a nail hammered into the floor.
Later, in his study, he took my hand and said, “Scarlett is dying. Late-stage breast cancer. She only has six months left. After she’s gone, I’ll marry you.”
But there was no guilt in his eyes. No love, either.
Then he told me to go to his villa that afternoon, to take care of the woman who was supposedly “dying.”
I opened the photo he sent me. Scarlett was lying in a hospital bed, pale-faced, an IV in the back of her hand.
A professional tennis player who had been playing in an exhibition match three weeks ago, and who had dropped three grand at Louis Vuitton on Fifth Avenue just five days ago.
But sure. She was “dying.”
At three in the morning, I was curled up by the front door of my apartment, crying so long I lost track of time.
Then my phone lit up. A text from an unknown number:
[Elena, I’m downstairs. When we were kids, you told me that once I controlled the docks on the East Coast, you’d marry me. The docks are mine now. Does that promise still stand?]
I pulled back the curtain and there he was. Ethan Vitale, my first love, leaning against the door of a black Cadillac, lifting a hand in a lazy wave.
Three years ago, when he left New York, he was only a Capo.
Now, he was the Don of the Vitale family.
He didn’t rush me. Didn’t pressure me to come downstairs.
He came for one reason only, to let me know he was back.
I wiped away my tears and texted back:
[It still stands.]
Because I wanted to see for myself just how long that woman could keep up her act.
Chapter 1
At the Morello family’s Christmas dinner, I stood beside Vincent, smiling as I accepted the guests’ congratulations.
Vincent lifted his champagne flute and tapped it three times.
“Tonight, I have two pieces of good news to share.”
I smiled back. This was our engagement party. At least, that was what I thought.
“The first,” he said, “is that in seven days, I’ll be marrying Scarlett Morello.”
I followed his gaze. Scarlett rose slowly from her seat, dressed in a long white gown.
Scarlett? The girl the Morello family had taken in when she was fifteen. The one everyone had always treated like Vincent’s little sister.
The ballroom went silent for one second.
“And the second,” Vincent said, glancing toward the corner, “is that our son, Nico, is almost three years old.”
The light hit Scarlett’s pale face as she lifted a hand and smiled, like she’d rehearsed this moment a thousand times.
I watched as a nanny led a little boy forward. He looked shy, hiding behind Scarlett’s skirt.
Then the applause started, scattered and thin but it was applause all the same. Everyone in that room knew the rules. Family business was family business. Outsiders didn’t get opinions.
I stood there like I’d been struck by lightning. My whole body went numb, and every sound around me seemed to vanish.
All I could hear was my own heartbeat. Too loud. Too violent.
I didn’t even know how I made it to the end of the party without falling apart.
The study door shut behind us, cutting off the last of the noise outside.
Vincent stood in front of me, his expression complicated. He reached for my hand, and I took a step back.
He let out a sigh. “Elena, I know this is hard for you.”
My eyes were red, but I said nothing.
“I should’ve told you about Scarlett a long time ago.”
His voice was heavy with guilt.
“Three years ago, someone slipped something into my drink at a bar. She… it was an accident. By the time she found out she was pregnant, it was too late.”
Vincent stepped toward me. “I can’t just walk away from her. I—”
“What about me?” I cut in.
We had been in love for five years. And this was how it ended? With him marrying another woman?
Vincent froze for a second, then lowered his voice. “Scarlett is dying. Late-stage breast cancer. The doctors say she has six months at most.”
I looked into his eyes. For five years, I thought I knew them.
“The child needs a complete family,” Vincent said, holding my gaze. “Once she’s gone, I’ll marry you. Nico will have an easier time accepting you that way.”
He took my hand. “The boy is innocent. In six months, everything will go back to the way it was. Just wait for me.”
I stared at those “loving” eyes of his, and suddenly a wave of nausea rolled through me.
I remembered when Scarlett had just had the baby three years ago. Everyone said she’d been naive, that some stranger had tricked her, that the father was long gone.
I had felt sorry for her. I had even helped take care of that child.
I never imagined the boy’s real father was the man I had loved for five years.
I pulled my hand free and smoothed out my expression.
“For the child,” I said. “That actually sounds like a pretty good plan.”
The tension in Vincent’s face eased instantly. He was obviously relieved. He lifted a hand like he wanted to touch my face, but I turned my head away.
His hand froze in midair for a second before he slowly pulled it back.
“Thank you for understanding. There’s still some cleanup left from the party. I should get back.”
Then he turned and left the study a little too quickly.
I drove back to my apartment and shut the door behind me.
I didn’t turn on the light in the entryway. I just stood there in the dark for a long time.
Then I slid down to the floor, buried my face in my knees, and cried. I didn’t know how long I stayed like that.
At three in the morning, my phone buzzed.
A text message. Unknown number.
[Elena, I’m downstairs. When we were kids, you told me that once I controlled the docks on the East Coast, you’d marry me. The docks are mine now. Does that promise still stand?]
A car horn sounded outside.
I walked to the window and pulled back the curtain.
A black Cadillac was parked under the streetlamp. A man leaned against the driver’s-side door and looked up at me.
The light carved his outline into something sharp and unmistakable. Thirteen years had passed, and he still looked the same. Only broader now and harder.
His gaze darker than I remembered.
Ethan Vitale.
When he left New York three years ago, he’d only been an Enforcer Captain. Now, he was the Don of the Vitale family. Down below, he straightened and lifted a hand toward my window.
And suddenly, I was fifteen again. Ethan standing at my front door, dead serious, saying, “Elena, one day when I make a name for myself, you’re gonna marry me.”
Back then, I had laughed and nodded.
I never thought he’d actually come back. Never thought he’d stand outside my window one day, in a black Cadillac, to collect on a childhood promise.
The Cadillac outside started up and slowly pulled away. He didn’t ask me to come downstairs. Didn’t push. He came for one reason only, to let me know he was back.
I closed my eyes. Vincent’s face flashed through my mind, then Scarlett’s, and then that little boy hiding behind his mother.
I wiped the tears from my face and picked up my phone.
[It still stands.]
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