He Stole My Dance, I Took His Crown

The Dance Floor Is Yours After the guests had left, the Crystal Hall of the Aurelia Hotel was so quiet I could hear the electric hum of the chandeliers. In the vast ballroom, only three of us remained. An hour ago, the godfathers of the Five Families had been standing here, raising their glasses to the two people in the center of the dance floor. And I—the newlywed in the legal sense of this wedding—had stood beside the head table like a waiter holding champagne. My gaze fell on Massimo. Only then did I notice that the pocket square on his chest was not the ivory white meant to match my suit. It was champagne gold. The same color as Aiden’s outfit tonight. I looked down at my custom white suit and suddenly felt like a clown. After calming Aiden down, Massimo turned back, yanking his bow tie loose in irritation. “Luca took three bullets for me. His body came back to New York cold. Aiden was with you for ten years. He swore he’d never touch another wedding in his life. I was only giving him one dance on behalf of a dead man. Elliott, I honestly don’t understand why you have to make such a scene over one dance.” “One dance?” I tightened my grip on the sample invitation in my hand. The stiff gold-foiled edge cut into my palm. “Do you know how these two hundred invitations came to be?” The shift in topic was too sudden. Massimo frowned, impatience flashing in his eyes. “What are you trying to say?” I drew in a breath, my voice hoarse. “Old-school rules. Wedding invitations for the Five Families have to be handwritten. Printed ones are considered an insult. So I wrote them for seven nights, Massimo. Six hours every night. Don’t forget—my right hand is ruined.” “And don’t forget how it got ruined.” His body stiffened. He pressed his lips together and said nothing. Two years ago, at the Chicago docks, Falcone’s convoy was trapped at Warehouse Three. Luca died on-site. Massimo took three bullets and was dragged out of a pile of bodies. Every hospital was being watched. Federal agents were posted outside every emergency room. So they carried him into the back room of Vance Clinic. With no anesthesiologist and no heart-lung machine, I operated on him for eleven hours. At dawn, the second wave of hitmen arrived. I threw myself over his hospital bed and took a stray bullet for him. The bullet tore through my right wrist, shattered the carpal bones, and severed my median nerve. That hand had once belonged to the youngest attending surgeon Johns Hopkins had ever seen. Now, if I hold a pen for more than an hour, it feels like someone is twisting pliers into the seams of my bones. Seven nights. Six hours each night. For me, it was torture. And yet— I threw the invitation against his chest. “So tell me. In your eyes, is my hand worth nothing more than a dance you gave to someone else?” “I…” Massimo seemed ready to say something. Aiden cut him off through tears. “Enough! Stop talking. This is all because of you!” He rushed over and grabbed my hand, tears spilling down his face. “Elliott, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I had no idea he would arrange this. I’ll pay for it. We’ll hold another wedding, okay? If I had to choose between you and Massimo, Elliott, I would choose you. Always.” He sounded utterly sincere. And I saw the way Massimo looked at Aiden’s trembling shoulders. All concern. All tenderness. That look had once belonged only to me. My heart was stabbed without warning. A tiny wound. Fatal in its pain. I pulled my hand away, my tone flat. “I don’t want it.” Aiden cried even harder, covering his mouth as he ran out of the ballroom. Massimo’s breath caught for a second. His eyes followed that retreating figure, his whole body going tense. “Aren’t you going after him?” I asked with a mocking laugh. He barely hesitated. “We’ll talk later.” Then he strode after him. The Crystal Hall fell completely dead. I sat beside the empty head table in my white wedding suit, my eyes slowly moving over the battlefield I had built with my own hands. I had ordered the flowers, white roses flown in from Florence. I had hired the band. I had tasted every bottle on the wine list myself. Even the stitching on his suit cuffs had been altered three times under my supervision. Now, all of it was a joke. I closed my eyes, forced the damp heat back from behind them, and drove to Greenwood Cemetery. After my mother died, there was no one left in this world who loved me unconditionally. But just as I parked at the end of the cemetery lane, I heard a familiar voice not far away. “Massimo, we should end this. We can’t keep making this mistake.”