I ignored him. I took Valentina's small hand in mine, walked to the gate, and knelt.
"Father. Your daughter knows she was wrong."
My father was Don Enzo Castellano, Boss of the oldest and most feared syndicate on the Eastern Seaboard. My mother had been a Montecalvo from the old Sicilian families.
I was born the heir to the Castellano name, raised behind compound walls where men kissed my father's ring before they spoke. Then one autumn, during a drive through the warehouse district near the waterfront, I stumbled upon Dante Ferrante, the castoff second son of the Ferrante family.
His brothers had been tearing each other apart over the family's territory, and he'd nearly been killed in the crossfire. They broke his leg and left him bleeding in a back alley.
I felt sorry for him. So I saved his life.
Then, sharing those long days in a safe house while his bones healed, I fell in love with him.
When I swore I would marry Dante and no one else, my father was furious. His voice went cold as iron.
"If you marry that man, I no longer have a daughter."
Dante swore on his mother's grave he would cherish me for the rest of his life.