The room was dark. Clara had gone to my old apartment this morning and brought back some of my things. She'd left the antique music box on the nightstand.
I stared at its worn wooden lid. The one Victor bought me when he was working the docks. Seeing it took me back to that night 4 years ago.
4 years ago, Victor took control of the Rossi family and became the Godfather of New York. He found me and told me we were getting married.
I owed him an explanation. I'd spent days practicing what to say. I wanted to tell him the truth about the breakup. Explain the genetic disease, and why I couldn't drag him into a life of medical bills and sick children. I planned to smile, apologize for the cruel things I'd said back then, and tell him I truly hoped he'd find happiness with someone else.
I we
