The Don Regretted It Five Years After I Left

Not long after, Dante's coming-of-age banquet was held at an estate in Long Island.

It was his first official appearance as heir, and he insisted I come as his date.

I wore the black dress I'd been saving up for three years.

When Dante knocked and saw what I had on, he frowned. “I sent over three gowns. Why aren't you wearing one of them?”

“This is fine.”

“Mia. You know what tonight is. That dress is...” He paused. “It looks cheap.”

“That's exactly why I'm wearing it. I was a girl who carried trays at a dock bar. I'm not going to pretend to be someone I'm not. Your gowns would look out of place on me. Too conspicuous. Too wrong.”

He didn't care what I thought. He made me change into the red dress he'd picked: fitted, low-cut, everything wrong for my face.

I stared at myself in the mirror and said nothing.

When we reached the estate gates, he took my hand and looked at me with that careful sincerity. “Whatever anyone says tonight, just stay by my side. All you need to know is that I love you.”

“You hear me?”

His hand was warm and his grip was steady. I took it as a promise. I said yes.

The moment we walked through the door, he let go and moved half a step ahead of me.

I felt the room take me in, head to toe, slow and deliberate. The dress he'd chosen made me stand out for all the wrong reasons.

Dante's mother sat at the head table. She gave us a single nod from across the room, lips not moving.

Beside her stood Camille.

I already knew who she was.

She wore a champagne-colored gown that pooled at the floor, with a sapphire necklace the size of a pigeon's egg at her throat. Everything about her, the way she held herself, the way she moved through the room, was effortless, born into it. She worked a room the way you could only do if you'd been doing it your whole life.

She walked toward us, her smile flawless.

“Camille.” Dante greeted her first.

She turned to me, let her eyes settle on me for just a moment, then smiled even warmer. “You must be Mia. Dante mentions you.”

A small pause, a tilt of her head toward Dante. “Says you work at a dockside bar. That you're very capable.”

No insult. Not a single ugly word. But everyone in the room now knew exactly what I was, a server from the waterfront.

I looked at Dante. He said nothing. No correction. No defense.

Camille picked up a fresh glass of champagne and held it out to him. “Lots of old European families here tonight, Dante. You should go make the rounds.”

Dante took the glass the way a man takes something that's already his. He turned to Camille, naturally like they were the pair, and said easily, “Stay with Mia for me while I say hello to everyone.”

After he left, Camille stood beside me, champagne in hand, effortlessly making me look like I'd wandered in from the wrong neighborhood.

“You don't have to be nervous. I know the engagement situation is hard for you. But believe me, there's nothing between me and Dante. This is just what the older generation decided.”

She took a sip, watching me over the rim. “My father is one of the five major Sicilian families. Whether the Morettis can hold their line in Europe depends on how my father speaks tonight.”

“And you, Mia?” She tilted her head. “Your father fled, didn't he?”

The knuckles of the hand holding my empty glass went white.

“I'm not looking down on you. I'm just telling you, Dante does love you. He just can't afford to.”

“Your family can't give him anything he needs. It can't give the family anything it needs.”

There was nothing to argue with. She was stating facts, and that was what made it worse.

I understood. This was the wall between me and Dante that had always been there, but understanding it didn't make it hurt less.

Camille didn't wait for me to respond. She turned and started working the room on her own.

For the rest of the banquet, Dante never came back. I moved through the event in a dress that didn't fit me, in a room that didn't want me, invisible to everyone.

When it was time to leave, I looked over to find Dante and Camille standing on either side of his mother, seeing guests out together, a picture-perfect family. I squeezed out with the staff.

As we were about to leave, Camille whispered something. Dante leaned his head toward her, listening closely, a faint smile playing on his lips.

On the way back, I tried to start conversations. He pinched the bridge of his nose and said he was tired, then didn't say another word the whole drive.

I'd watched him talk with Camille for hours at that party, animated, leaning in, not wanting the night to end. Now this silence.

When he dropped me off, I reminded him that my mother's birthday was tomorrow. We'd planned it a month ago.

He said he couldn't make it. “Camille asked me to take her shopping. I said yes earlier.”

“But we already made plans.”

“Birthdays happen every year. Camille's a princess from one of Sicily's five great families, and she needs protection when she's out.”

I went quiet again.

As he was leaving, he seemed to remember something and turned back.

“By the way, you should start getting used to these events. A Donna needs to know how to handle herself at things like this. Watch how Camille does it.”

Then he left, and he didn't look back.

After that, he came less and less.

When he did show up, it was for twenty minutes at most. Then an excuse and gone, wearing a perfume I didn't recognize.

He'd said he'd handle the family situation. He'd said Camille was nothing to him.

I believed it for a long time.

Until the day word came from the family: the engagement between Dante and Camille was official.

I didn't hear it from Dante.

What I got was one message:

[Business trip. South Europe. Few days. We'll talk when I'm back.]

One line with no explanation.