Love runs deep

chapter 3

A bitter smile touched her lips. Father had sought out Don Moretti the moment the agreement was drawn up, pleading for its revocation in the name of our families' longstanding friendship.

But Don Moretti merely had his men bar my father from the door, even going so far as to declare that should the Costello family dare defy the agreement, they would be declaring war on the entire Commission.

Mother had hoped Marco would show some consideration for old ties, believing he would back down if we adopted a submissive stance. Little did she expect he was scheming to share me with another woman.

Once I resolved to marry, the household immediately became a flurry of activity.

The agreement stipulated a wedding within seven days—time was pressing. Mother summoned New York's finest designers overnight to craft my gown. Father began dispatching invitations to our most steadfast allied families.

Three days later, as I was trying on the wedding dress sample at home, the butler rushed in to report: "Miss, Isabella is here. She says... she says she wants you to return what belongs to her!"

My heart sank, and I snapped, "Nonsense! When on earth did I ever take anything from her?"

I hurried to the estate gates, only to find the iron entrance already swarming with people. Several reporters with cameras were even present—clearly someone had deliberately summoned them.

Isabella wore a simple white dress today, her frame gaunt and complexion pale, presenting the very picture of a bullied, fragile soul.

The moment she saw me emerge, her eyes welled up with tears. Before I could speak, she dropped straight to her knees.

"Miss Elena, I beg you, please return those things to Marco."

I frowned. "What nonsense are you talking about? When have I ever taken anything from Marco and not returned it?"

Isabella wiped away tears that weren't there, her voice quiet yet clear enough for every microphone in the room to pick up: "Miss Elena, three months ago Marco gifted you a Maserati worth two hundred thousand dollars. Five months ago, Marco presented you with a Van Cleef & Arpels necklace..."

She rattled off each item, listing every gift Marco had bestowed upon me since we began our relationship, every sum he'd spent. From luxury cars and jewellery to the cost of ingredients for a dinner he'd personally cooked for me – nothing escaped her scrutiny. It was as though she held a ledger detailing every cent.

When she finished, Isabella's face took on a pleading expression: "Over the years, Marco has given you gifts worth tens of millions. I shouldn't have come to ask for them back. But yesterday, Marco's financial officer handed me the ledger for verification, and I discovered that the family's cash flow has become... somewhat strained because of these... Miss Elena, since you are no longer marrying Marco, shouldn't you return the items?"

She lifted her head, her eyes innocent yet her words laced with venom: "One cannot renounce marriage yet covet another's fortune."

I stared fixedly at Isabella, finding the whole situation utterly preposterous.

"Exchanging gifts is a matter of mutual consent. For every present Marco gave me, I reciprocated. How can anyone claim I coveted his wealth?"

Isabella smiled. "Then might Miss Elena produce evidence? Care to share the monetary value of your gifts to Marco?"

I pressed my lips together, speechless. Only a cold, absurd emptiness filled my heart.

In our world, the exchange of gifts between families serves to cement relationships, express affection, and uphold honour. Who would keep meticulous accounts of every single transaction, like some sort of bookkeeper?