Chapter 3
The first time I left candy for him, he chased me down. His ears were bright red. “I don’t like sweets.”
I just smiled and waved. “Lorenzo, you should talk more. Your voice is really nice.”
Later, it became a habit.
That lonely boy started waiting for me. Waiting for me to slip candy into his pocket.
In the dark alley of our neighborhood, we walked side by side through countless days and nights.
Until he turned eighteen. Right before his father sent him to a boarding school in Switzerland.
He found me and handed me a card.
“I looked into it. This art school has high security. It’s not far from my school. Your grades might not be good enough to apply for it, but you could try the foundation program.”
I didn’t tell him that my parents had already planned to send me abroad to study art. They could afford any school.
But I secretly changed my application. I chose that school for it was the closest to his.
I got yelled at by my father for it. I didn’t regret it.
Later, we moved to the same city.
Lorenzo, away from his father’s control, changed. He took off his clunky glasses and got contacts. He cut his hair short and wore tailored suits. He even learned to play Chopin on the piano.
I didn’t know why he changed. Until one day, when I was in my studio celebrating an upcoming exhibition, he grabbed my wrist, his eyes red.
“I’ve become everything you like. Can’t you even look at me?”
The word “like” hit me like a bullet.
Even though we went to different schools, I’d heard the rumors. At sixteen, he cleaned out family traitors. At eighteen, he took over half the business. At twenty, he was already recognized as the heir to the mafia.
And countless women documented his “change” on private forums.
I thought there was a whole bloody world between us. But he said he liked me.
I’ve always been bold. I didn’t even think. I stood on my toes and kissed him.
We got together after that. I spent my days learning to brew his coffee, pick out his cufflinks, choose his records.
I had no plan for my life. Only him.
Meanwhile, Lorenzo’s life kept climbing. He consolidated power, eliminated rivals, and officially became the Don at twenty-three.
A bitter contrast to my life.
I gave up art and became his accessory.
My parents, who loved me more than anything, were killed in a car bombing on their way to see my art exhibition. Lorenzo’s enemies did it.
I became an orphan. I held their belongings and cried until I passed out.
Lorenzo knelt in front of the memorial, under his father’s cold stare, and swore to take care of me for the rest of his life.
He chose a girl who didn’t belong to the mafia world.
Later, we got married.
His rivals made sure I had multiple miscarriages. My health got worse and worse.
At first, Lorenzo felt guilty for dragging me into this bloody world.
Then he started resenting me for not being strong enough.
After he met Elena, he began to find me shallow, for all I ever asked was what he wanted to eat or wear.
Unlike Elena, who could talk about arms deals and territory disputes with him, could go with him to any bloody meeting.
And I couldn’t even protect his children.
My eyes burned. When I opened them, it was morning.
My pillow was wet with tears again.
Just then, a message from Lorenzo came in. “Come to the nursing home this afternoon. Visit my father.”
I looked at the message and replied calmly, “Can’t today. I have plans.”
Lorenzo called immediately. “What plans? How long are you going to keep giving me the silent treatment?”
“Sophia, there’s nothing going on between me and Elena. Why do you have to make such a big deal out of a small thing?”
Hearing him bring up Elena over and over again, I almost laughed.
I really didn’t care anymore. The one who was guilty was him. Lorenzo was usually a man of few words. This was the first time he’d explained so much.
Was he trying to convince himself he wasn’t interested in her? Or just ease his guilt toward me?
My chest throbbed. I said flatly, “Lorenzo, I don’t feel well. I have a doctor’s appointment. I can’t go with you today.”
But he was sharp. His voice tensed up. “Where do you feel bad? Why?”
I heard my own voice shake. “Lorenzo, I have cancer.”
