My Consigliere, I Will Not Stand Behind You Anymore

Damian's brow tightened. "What did you say?"

Just as he was about to press me, Isabella came running frantically from the direction of the dining hall. "Damian! Something's happened! Our offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands have been frozen!"

The color drained from Damian's face. That account was one of the family's lifelines.

Isabella grabbed his arm, her face etched with panic. "That's the account Dad cares about most. If the FBI is onto it…"

Damian glanced at me, his demeanor instantly all business. "The accounts are an emergency. We'll talk after this is handled."

Without another word, he turned and strode down the corridor with Isabella, not even giving me a second glance.

I stood in the cold wind of the rose garden, watching them leave.

I wasn't surprised.

In his world, I would never be more important than the family's interests.

And that "we'll talk later" would most likely never happen.

Just like our wedding, a wedding no one truly cared about.

I had handled all the preparations myself anyway. All he had to do was sign the checks and show up.

Now that I had informed him, my part was done.

The penthouse was consigned to an agent for an anonymous sale, and my previous apartment was long empty. I suddenly realized I had nowhere to go.

I moved into a safe house the family provided for its senior members.

It was an unassuming brownstone in Brooklyn. While not as luxurious as the penthouse, it offered a welcome quiet.

The next few days were calm. I was busy finalizing the last of the handover procedures for my move to Nevada.

Suddenly, my office door was pushed open and Damian strode in.

He acted completely normal, as if our last tense conversation had never happened. He didn't mention my recent distance or my move.

He stopped in front of my desk, his tone as entitled as ever. "Family dinner tonight. We're going together."

The atmosphere at dinner was lively, with the conversation naturally circling around a recent financial breakthrough.

Isabella was seated next to Damian, animatedly talking about the charity gala.

The Don, his face glowing, trimmed the end of a cigar. His gaze shifted between Damian and Isabella, a knowing smile on his face.

"Damian, you and Isabella worked well together in Europe. The two of you, one is my head, the other my heart."

The Don set down his cigar and looked around the table.

"You're not getting any younger. You can't just bury yourself in family business forever. As for our Isabella, she can be a bit willful at times, but her heart is in the right place…"

The implication was clear.

The mood at the long table instantly froze. A few of the old-timers who knew the situation shot me furtive glances, their eyes a mix of pity and morbid curiosity.

Isabella's cheeks flushed. She let out a shy "Dad," then looked at Damian with eyes full of expectation.

I kept my gaze lowered, staring at the deep red wine in my glass, my fingertips digging into my palm under the table.

Damian was silent for a few seconds before setting down his glass. His tone was as calm as ever. "Don, thank you for the high praise. But my focus is on expanding our territory. I have no plans for marriage at the moment."

The blush on Isabella's face vanished, leaving her skin stark white.

She stared at Damian in disbelief, her eyes quickly welling up. She shot to her feet, a hand flying to her mouth, and fled the dining room.

"Bella!" the Don said, frowning.

Damian's gaze followed the direction Isabella had fled. He sighed and rose to his feet.

"My apologies, Don. I'll go check on her."

The room was left in dead silence.

The Underboss, sitting next to me, leaned in and said in a low, teasing voice,

"Ava, what's this all about? Damian didn't even mention your engagement."

"You want me to say something to the Don?"

I shook my head and took a sip of wine. "There's no need."

A relationship that neither party was willing to acknowledge would only become a joke if brought up by a third person.

My stomach churned. I stood up and walked out to the terrace for some air.

The terrace had a perfect view of the private garden below.

In the dim light, I saw two figures beneath the old oak tree.

Isabella was sobbing in Damian's arms, her words coming out in broken fragments.

"Why not? Damian, I love you… I know I'm not mature enough, not as capable as Ava…"

"But I can learn! I can do everything she does for you!"

Damian wasn't holding her, but he wasn't pushing her away either. He just let her tears soak his shirt.

That tolerance alone said enough.

I thought of all the times over the past ten years I had tried to get close to him in moments of vulnerability.

Every single time, the slightest brush of a fingertip was met with an instinctive stiffening, a retreat.

Just then, as if sensing something, Damian's head snapped up toward the terrace.

My face was a blank mask. I met his gaze calmly, as if watching a drama that had nothing to do with me.

Only my hand, hanging by my side, had lost all its warmth.

Damian's pupils seemed to contract, or maybe it was just a trick of the light.

Isabella, still lost in her sorrow, didn't notice.

"I know you better than she does, I know how to make you happy…"

I turned and walked away, not sparing them another glance.

Back in the private room, I excused myself, claiming I wasn't feeling well.

The Underboss looked at me with concern, but ultimately said nothing.

I walked back to the safe house alone, feeling hollow, the last embers in my heart turning to ash.

I had just finished washing up and was about to go to bed when there was a knock on the door.

I pulled it open to find Damian standing in the dim hallway light.