Chapter 3
Chapter 3
I asked Isabella not to tell anyone about the engagement yet.
I'd already signed the papers ending it. But my father's ring was still on Damian's finger. Once the news got out, he'd think I was trying to force his hand, and I'd never see that ring again as long as I lived.
For a whole month after that, Damian didn't call me once.
Every minute he had went to Daisy. He took her to the Hamptons to see the ocean, skated with her at the rink at Rockefeller Center, drove to New Jersey at three in the morning to buy her doughnuts from some old shop she liked.
Daisy posted every bit of it on Instagram, like she was checking things off a bucket list.
The last photo was of her in a wedding dress, leaning on Damian's shoulder, with the yacht named Daisy behind them.
The caption said: Thank you for making every one of my dreams come true.
The next morning, the Russos came to the club.
I heard it from one of the kitchen guys. Three of them. They sat in the front room, drank one espresso each, ordered nothing else, and left one message on their way out: the Marino girl had seven accidents, the Russos took the blame seven times, and at next month's sit-down, they expected the Vitales to answer for it.
That afternoon, Damian called me.
"Two o'clock. City Hall." His voice was hoarse. "Bring your ID."
He hung up before I could answer.
I sat on the edge of my bed with the phone in my hand for a long time.
In three years, this was the first time he'd been the one to bring up City Hall. Not because he wanted to marry me, but because the Russos were at his door. Once I was Mrs. Vitale, those seven "accidents" would just be bumps on the road to a marriage between two families. No one would ever dig into them again.
I almost texted back no.
Then I thought about the ring.
It was a beautiful day. The steps of City Hall were bleached white in the sun.
I waited there for an hour.
It was the eighth time I'd stood on those steps. The first time, I was stabbed four times right here, and my blood ran down the stone. Today, nothing happened at all.
When Damian got out of the car, I almost didn't recognize him. The skin under his eyes was dark, and I could smell the smoke on him from several feet away.
He'd quit smoking years ago. The last time he slipped was the week the old man was buried.
When he saw me, he stopped for a second.
In one month, I'd lost almost twenty pounds. I hadn't even started chemo yet, but the headaches and the vomiting had worn me down to bones. My coat hung off me like it was on a hanger.
"What happened to you?" He frowned. "We're taking the license photo today."
"I'm not here to get married." I held out my hand. "Give me back my father's ring."
Damian stared at my hand for two seconds, then laughed. It was a cold laugh.
"A month away, and this is your new move?" He grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside. "Fine. You win. We'll do it today, and you can have whatever wedding you want. Happy now?"
He was gripping me too hard. My right hand started to ache again.
Behind the counter sat a heavyset Black woman with a warm smile. She took the driver's license Damian handed her. As he reached out, his sleeve rode up, and there on the inside of his wrist was a fresh tattoo.
A small daisy.
"Oh, now that's a pretty tattoo," she said, lighting up, looking from him to me. "Did you get that for the bride? That's so romantic."
Damian's hand froze in midair. He yanked his sleeve back down.
He turned to look at me without thinking. I hadn't moved. I hadn't even opened my bag.
"What are you waiting for?" he snapped. "Where's your ID?"
"I told you, I'm not here to—"
His phone rang.
It was Enzo. His voice was so loud I could hear every word, frantic, close to tears.
"Boss, something happened to Daisy! She swallowed a whole bottle of sleeping pills, and we can't wake her up... There's a note by the bed. It says... it says Lucia drove her to it!"
