At my best friend's wedding, I caught the bouquet she tossed—only to have my mafia boyfriend hand it to another woman. Every eye in the room turned to Dante, exchanging knowing looks. Dante Romano—my boyfriend of eight years, son of the mob boss who controlled the entire city. The crowd erupted in cheers: "Marry her! Marry her!" "It's time to propose!" Dante was pushed through the crowd until he stood right in front of me. I blushed, waiting for him to say he'd marry me. The bridesmaid beside him pouted. "But I want it too." He immediately yanked the bouquet from my hands. Handed it to the bridesmaid. Then patted my shoulder dismissively. "She wants it, so let her have it. Be the bigger person. You'll get one next time." My eyes followed the flowers as they left my hands. Watched that girl's face light up with surprise and shy delight. Forced a smile. Dante had no idea there wouldn't be a next time. My wedding was next week. ... Lana's face went dark instantly. I grabbed her hand before she could swing it. She whipped around, eyes redder than mine: "That bitch did it on purpose! I told every single bridesmaid the bouquet was meant for you..." "Lana." I cut her off softly. "The wedding's not over." All eyes had already moved on from me and Dante. Following that bouquet to land on the bridesmaid's face—Vivian Stone. She clutched the flowers, gazing at Dante with adoring eyes. Dante had already stepped back into the crowd, composed as ever. The emcee was a pro. A few jokes and the energy was back up. Lana finally turned away with a huff, continuing the ceremony. The whole reception, I sat at the bride's family table. Subjected to pitying and curious stares from every direction. Dante was at another table, laughing it up with his soldiers and lieutenants. Vivian sat right next to him, closer than any consigliere's assistant should ever be. She wasn't even supposed to be a bridesmaid. Dante brought her everywhere—to territorial meetings, to collections, to sit-downs with the Five Families—called it "grooming her for the organization." Even to my best friend's wedding, he brought her along. During the toasts, Lana came to our table with her new husband. She hugged me tight, whispering in my ear through gritted teeth: "That woman's been scheming for six months, working her way into Dante's inner circle. I had someone look into her—she's good. Real good. Dante, he..." "Lana," I patted her back, cutting her off. "Today you're the most beautiful bride. Don't talk about that." She huffed but dropped it. When the reception finally ended and guests trickled out, Dante strolled over. "Ready to go?" He naturally took my purse, other hand moving to drape around my shoulders out of habit. I shifted slightly, dodging it. "You've been drinking. I'll call a car." He didn't seem bothered, just nodded. "Yeah, good call." The car slid into the night. My face reflected dimly in the window. Makeup flawless, but couldn't hide the exhaustion underneath. "Today," he said suddenly, "Vivian really wanted that bouquet. Girl probably just wanted some good luck." "You gave it to her. Don't take it personally." I didn't answer, just watched the neon lights blur past outside. He waited a moment, then finally looked up from his phone screen. "You mad?" He leaned in closer. "Didn't we agree? Next time for sure?" His fingers slid through my loose hair, massaging the back of my neck. Like soothing a sulking cat. "Our wedding's gonna blow Lana's out of the water. I'll get you more flowers, better flowers, yeah?" My heart filled with something bitter. Every single time, like this. Soft voice, vague promise about "next time." Then just assumed the storm would pass. "Dante." I looked at his reflection in the window. "Mm?" "Lana and I made a promise when we were kids." My voice was steady. "Whoever gets married first, the other one can't be more than a week behind." "We were gonna wear each other's bridesmaid dresses. Be the first to witness each other's happiness." The car went quiet. His hand on my neck stopped. "That was kid stuff. You're serious about that?" He laughed. The hand started moving again, more dismissive now. "Plans change too fast. Venue, dates, arrangements—all that takes six months minimum, sometimes a year." "We'll plan it right, make it perfect for you. What's the rush?" He didn't explain why he couldn't promise to marry me in front of everyone. Just went on and on about how complicated planning a perfect wedding would be. I suddenly remembered a month before Lana's wedding. She'd dragged me excitedly to try on the bridesmaid dress she designed herself. Champagne-colored tulle with tiny pearls along the waist. When I put it on, Lana's eyes lit up, then got mysteriously wet. "Elena, you look amazing in this." "I made it special for you. When you get married, I'm gonna make you an even more beautiful wedding dress!" Dante had been there too. Looking down at his phone, dealing with a shipment issue. Glanced up when he heard, smiled briefly. "Yeah, looks nice." Then his eyes dropped back to the screen, fingers flying. In that instant, I felt something cold settle in my chest. Eight years, and still no outcome. The car pulled slowly into our building, stopped. Dante unbuckled his seatbelt. Seeming to think his little speech had closed the book on this episode, he leaned in naturally, going for a kiss. I raised my hand, gently pressing against his shoulder. He froze. "I'm tired, Dante."
He looked at me, silent for a few seconds. Finally just patted my shoulder. "Yeah, being a bridesmaid's exhausting. Get some rest." "Vivian said she can't get a ride. Not safe for a girl alone at night. I'm gonna go pick her up." "Okay." My voice was flat. He didn't move right away. Like he was waiting for me to tell him to be safe like I usually did. Or pout and complain about him going out this late. But I didn't. I got out of the car without looking back, ignoring the frown on his brow. I collapsed on the couch the moment I got inside. Stayed there a long time before dragging myself toward the bedroom. Passing by that "nursery," my steps faltered. We'd designed this room four years ago when we bought the place, for our future child. Now it was just filled with junk. I walked in. Pulled a thick stack of stuff from the dusty crib. His handwritten love letters, movie ticket stubs, amusement park passes, Polaroids from trips together... The one at the bottom was from college graduation. He was carrying me on his back under a cherry blossom tree, my arms around his neck. My long hair and the petals flying together. On the back, his messy scrawl: "I'll carry you for life. That's a promise." The dim light from the living room hit those words coldly. Like a silent mockery. Downstairs, the faint sound of a car pulling into the garage. I froze but didn't move, just listened. Keys turning the lock, footsteps deliberately quiet. After a while, the door cracked open. He stood in the doorway. "Still up?" I didn't turn around, still crouched by the crib. "Yeah." "Why'd you dig all this out?" he asked, tone casual. "Feeling nostalgic?" I didn't answer his question, just asked quietly, "Did you get her home safe?" He paused, then explained, "Yeah. She lives far out. Hard to get a ride there." "Oh." I lowered my head, carefully stacking the photos back, putting them away. "It's late. Let's sleep." He said it again, this time reaching out to pull me up. I didn't take his hand, just pushed myself up with my knee. "Dante." "Mm?" His steps paused. "Let's break up." He stopped, looked at me for two seconds, then laughed. Reached up to loosen his tie. "Still thinking about the bouquet? Don't be petty." His tone was like humoring a bratty kid. "Fine, I'll order you a bigger one tomorrow, alright? Now go wash up and sleep. I've got a sit-down with the Colombo crew in the morning." He turned toward the bathroom. "Within a week," I said to his back, voice quiet, "I'm getting married."
His hand froze on the bathroom door handle. A few seconds later, he turned around. That forced patience finally stripped completely away from his face. "Elena, stop this." He pressed his temples. "Marriage is a blood vow in our world. You don't just decide to get married because you're throwing a tantrum." "October twenty-eighth." I added the date. "The venue is booked. The dress is picked." He let out a cold, dismissive laugh. "Did Lana get in your head again today? She rushed into a union, so now she thinks everyone should be as reckless as her?" "Elena, wake up. Don't let her mess with you. After eight years together..." "Dante," I cut him off, "the invitations start printing tomorrow." A muscle twitched in his jaw. "You think this little bluff is gonna work?" His voice dropped, carrying that dangerous edge. "This just makes you look childish. My father’s handing me half the city, and I’m dealing with a critical transition for the Family. This wedding isn’t my priority." His words hit like stones. Once, his cold authority would've made me panic, made me rush to explain and back down. But now, all I felt was a hollow calm. His attention had always been expensive. Had to split it between the Family's operations, his soldiers and so on. His attention had always been expensive. Had to stretched thin between the Family’s critical operations and his most trusted lieutenants. Vivian had the privilege of staying by his side through late-night strategy sessions, every territorial meeting, and every high-stakes negotiation. She had all his time. While I sat at home, waiting for him to come back—if he came back at all. I met his dark eyes, and nodded: "Yeah. All my friends are married. I want to get married too."
After saying that, I turned and walked into the bedroom. On the nightstand sat a bridal magazine from six months ago. I'd bought it so excited, flipped through a few pages, before he'd told me "no rush," and I never opened it again. In the dark, I stared at the blurry ceiling. My phone vibrated softly. The screen lit up with a message from Lana: Asleep yet? I'm so pissed. Can't stop thinking about that bitch Vivian. What the hell is wrong with Dante? What's wrong? Nothing's wrong. Not everything you wait for blooms. Another message came through: Remember our promise? Wedding max one week apart? Who knew the future Boss of the Romano family could be so blind. Bouquet literally in your hands and he still pulled that stunt. It's been eight YEARS, Elena! Whatever. This time, I'll let you break the promise. I just want you safe. My finger paused. I typed slowly: Girl, when have I ever broken a promise to you?
Dante moved to one of the Family's high-end safe houses downtown. Probably thought my "wedding bluff" was suffocating him and went there for some peace until I "calmed down." Fine. We both got breathing room. I quietly handled everything. Listed our shared penthouse on a discreet real estate site. The afternoon I handed the keys to the broker, I was home sorting through random stuff. I found a shipment ledger tucked inside an old magazine—one of Dante's current port operations. After a moment's hesitation, I decided to bring it to him. When I arrived, the heavy reinforced door of the safe house was shut tight. Faint laughter drifted from inside, clearly more than one person. His inner circle. I raised my hand to knock. A familiar female voice rose, sounding helpless: "Boss, it's my fault. First time catching a bouquet, I didn't know better. Now the guys at the club won't stop whispering, asking me if you and I are..." "You gotta tell them to knock it off, Dante, or I won't be able to show my face at the warehouse anymore." My raised hand froze mid-air. Before Dante could respond, one of his capos, Silvio, cut in with a rough, teasing laugh: "Come on, Miss Stone, do you really want the Boss to shut the rumors down, or are you fishing for him to make them true?" A round of knowing, gritty laughter from the men. Vivian pouted playfully, "Stop it," but there wasn't a trace of real annoyance in her voice. "Alright, leave her alone." Dante's voice came through, casual and indulgent. "Don't sweat the whispers, Viv. Give it time, they'll find something else to talk about." The words hit a switch in my memory. Years ago, I went to the Family’s legitimate front—a high-end restaurant. He had forgotten where we were and casually pulled me onto his lap in front of his soldiers. The next day, rumors spread that the ruthless Dante Romano was going soft for a civilian girl. That same afternoon, he had brutally shut it down. Told everyone in the crew that I was just a girl he kept around, nothing serious enough to make him weak. I'd understood then. To avoid making him look vulnerable, I stopped visiting his operations completely. My fingertips went cold. Turns out what he minded might never have been looking "soft" in front ofof his men. Silvio spoke up again, confused: "Speaking of which, Boss, what's the deal with this Elena situation? I actually got an invitation delivered to the club this morning. She's really committing to this bit, huh?" Brief silence. Dante laughed lightly, a cold, arrogant sound. "Let her print them." "I usually let the small stuff slide. But this time, she needs to learn that bluffing me doesn't work. When she stands at that altar with no groom, she'll finally drop this childish act." "Whoa," someone egged on, "so you're seriously gonna call her bluff? Just let her humiliate herself?" Dante didn't answer, his silence basically confirming it. He was so utterly convinced I was playing a game of chicken. Until Silvio tested the waters again: "Dante, you sure you wanna let it go that far? You and Elena go way back. Unless... you got other plans for the future? Like... a union with Miss Stone's family?" "Silvio~" Vivian drew out his name with a flirty laugh. "Don't say things like that. The Boss... he knows what he's doing." The last few words came out soft and loaded with meaning. Dante didn't explain. Just the clinking of whiskey glasses and a round of knowing chuckles. "If you ask me," another soldier chimed in, "Dante's already been generous enough. Anyone else would've tossed a girl out for throwing tantrums like this. Nothing like our Vivian here—smart, lethal, and actually useful to the Family..." The motion-sensor light in the hallway flickered off. The corridor plunged into heavy darkness. I didn't knock. I gently set the ledger down on the welcome mat, right beneath the heavy steel door. Then I turned around, and walked away into the shadows.
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