He Only Remembers That I Am His Enemy

For seven years, I was ensnared by Dante Moretti, the feared Don of New York's underworld.

I was the enemy he loathed and the phantom in his nightmares.

On the day of his 97th attempt to marry his fiancée, Isabella, one second I was promising him I wouldn't interfere this time.

The next, images of us, tangled in a naked embrace, flashed across the giant screens of Times Square.

In less than half an hour, he found me, murder in his eyes.

On the roof of the Empire State Building, the wind howled.

"Elara, have you lost your mind?"

"All I want is to give Isabella the perfect wedding. Why must you declare war on the one thing I want?"

I smiled and brandished my phone, the live feed showing the wedding he had just fled in a panic.

"This was just a little bet between your fiancée and me. A bet on whether you would abandon her for me."

Hellfire burned in his eyes. He shoved me over the railing.

"You like to gamble, don't you? Then let all of New York place their bets—on whether you die today, or I do!"

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1

On the phone screen, Isabella was sobbing hysterically.

A vise gripped Dante's heart, and the hand clutching my neck tightened.

"You swore you wouldn't ruin my wedding this time. Why?"

"Do you have any idea how much I want Isabella to be my wife? Is my happiness that repulsive to you?!"

One hundred and two stories high, the wind whipped my long hair into a black frenzy against the sky.

I curled my lips into a languid smile, my fingertips tracing his taut jawline.

"Dante, don't you know? Promises are made to be broken."

After all, breaking promises was your specialty when it came to me.

The live stream's comment section instantly exploded with curses directed at me.

"Is that Elara Costello insane? How many times is this? Crashing weddings like it's a sport. Does she have a death wish?"

"If she really loved Don Moretti, she wouldn't have killed his mother and almost gotten him killed, too. What's with this whole 'devoted lover' act now?"

"If I were Dante, I'd throw her off right now. What's it to the Moretti family to kill a Costello? Getting rid of a menace like her would be doing the world a favor!"

Isabella's plaintive voice, tinged with anticipation, came from the phone.

"Dante, are you going to keep letting her get away with this..."

That sentence was the last straw.

He yanked me further out over the edge, yet the muscles in his arm were trembling.

Just when everyone thought he would send me plummeting to my death, Dante suddenly wrenched me back.

His eyes were bloodshot as he panted heavily.

"Elara, don't think I'll give up Isabella for some doctored photos. I never touched you!"

"Maybe I had a crush on you when we were kids, but ever since you killed my mother, there's been nothing but hatred between us. Just looking at you makes me sick!"

Seeing that he had let me go, Isabella suddenly clutched her chest and collapsed.

"Isabella!"

Dante immediately made a call, ordering his men to get Isabella to the hospital.

Before leaving, he shot me an icy glare, his warning unspoken but clear.

"Elara, I'm not letting this go."

My gaze fell on those photos, a bitter smile rising from the depths of my heart.

Some of it was real. He had just forgotten. Or rather, not entirely.

He only remembered me as his mortal enemy. The woman who murdered his mother.

So in his mind, and in everyone else's, I was the murderer. His mother's killer.

When I returned to the Costello estate, my grandfather was sitting in the main hall, his face ashen.

The moment I stepped through the door, the leather belt in his hand whipped toward me without hesitation.

"Kneel!"

"I thought you were finally useful when the Morettis agreed to cooperate. But you're nothing but a useless troublemaker! Ruining their wedding again and again, and now splashing those photos everywhere? Have you no sense of shame?! Don Moretti himself called me!"

So, this was Dante's revenge.

Getting someone else to do his dirty work. He’d always been skilled at that.

He knew my grandfather prioritized profit over blood, so he used the cooperation between our two families as leverage.

The belt lashed down on my body again and again.

Only when my skin split and bled did my grandfather make a video call to Dante to inspect the results.

"I appreciate you handling this, Mr. Costello. Your family discipline is as stern as they say."

Dante's voice, lazy and cruel, came through the screen.

His gaze fell upon me, his expression dark and unreadable.

"Elara, not sending you to prison was a courtesy, for the sake of the long-standing friendship between our families."

"As long as you promise me you'll behave from now on and leave Isabella alone, we'll call it even. How about it?"

He didn't remember that this was the second time he had seen my grandfather use family discipline on me.

Except last time, a young Dante had stood in front of me, taking a bullet for me.

Covered in blood, he had pointed a gun at my grandfather's head and warned:

"It's just a few docks' worth of business. The Moretti family will cover them. But if you dare touch a single hair on Elara's head again, I will make the Costello family disappear from New York!"

How strange.

My body ached, but it was my heart that was tearing itself apart.

I slowly pushed myself up from the floor, forced a smile at the screen, and enunciated each word.

"In. Your. Dreams."