And for five years, Dante kept his word. He cherished me. Protected me. He healed me. I thought I'd never love again after Damiano, but slowly I fell hard. Dante became my everything.
Until the day I lost him.
He was killed in a contract hit on his way to a sit-down with an allied family to settle a territorial dispute. The news wrecked me. I didn't even know how to breathe anymore. On the day of his funeral, the compound heavy with flowers and armed men in black, I wasn't feeling well. I went to the family doctor and learned I was two months pregnant.
With his child.
Still in disbelief, I returned to the cemetery. That's when I saw him. Damiano. Or rather, his back. He leaned against a black sedan, smoking and talking to his cousin, unaware of my presence.
Then I heard it.
"This is crazy, Dante. What if someone finds out you're the one alive? That it was Damiano who died in the hit? What if Elena or Serafina realize you're pretending to be Damiano?"
I froze.
That voice. Dante.
He was alive.
And pretending to be his dead brother.
I couldn't breathe. My knees nearly gave out. Tears blurred my vision. He lied to me. Betrayed me. Used me. All for her.
Because they both loved her.