Chapter 1 - The Ring I Never Chose
The first thing I heard when I came back from the dead was a machine counting the seconds for me.
Beep.
Pause.
Beep.
Pause.
I tried to open my eyes, but even that felt like lifting something impossibly heavy. My body didn’t feel like mine. My chest burned. My throat felt scraped raw. Something tugged at my arm. Something else pressed against my ribs.
Then I moved my left hand.
Pain shot through my fingers.
And something cold touched the skin of my ring finger.
I forced my eyes open.
White ceiling.
Dim blue light.
A clear IV bag hung beside me. Machines glowed with green lines and numbers I couldn’t understand. My vision blurred, sharpened, then blurred again.
I raised my hand barely two inches off the blanket.
There was a gold ring on my finger.
Not a hospital band.
Not cheap costume jewelry.
A wedding ring.
My heart monitor immediately betrayed me.
The beeping accelerated.
A nurse hurried into the room.
“Easy. You’re safe.”
I tried to speak.
Nothing came out except a rasp.
She reached for water but stopped when the door behind her opened.
The nurse’s entire posture changed.
I knew who had entered before I managed to turn my head.
Dominic Rossi stood in the doorway.
He wasn’t wearing the midnight tuxedo I remembered from the Aster Crown Hotel. Now he wore a black shirt beneath a dark charcoal jacket. His hair was pushed back from his face, though exhaustion had loosened several strands over his forehead.
He looked like a man who had not slept in days.
There was a fading scratch near his left cheek.
And he was staring directly at the ring on my finger.
I swallowed against the pain in my throat.
“What…”
The word came out cracked.
The nurse leaned closer. “Don’t strain yourself.”
I ignored her.
My eyes stayed on Dominic.
“What happened?”
His expression barely moved.
“You were shot.”
Images slammed into me.
Crystal breaking.
Guests screaming.
A gun.
Isabella Rossi’s silver hair disappearing beneath me as I drove her toward the marble floor.
The first impact in my ribs.
Then another.
Then another.
My own voice asking whether Isabella was alive.
After that, darkness.
I looked at Dominic again.
“How long?”
“Five days.”
Five days.
My breath came faster.
“My mother.”
“She’s alive.”
I tried to sit up.
Pain ripped across my torso so violently that the room seemed to tilt.
Dominic moved before the nurse did.
His hand closed around my shoulder—not roughly, but firmly enough to keep me against the mattress.
“Don’t.”
I stared at him.
“My mother is in Cleveland.”
“I know.”
Those two words stopped me.
The nurse adjusted something on my IV, gave Dominic a wary glance, and quietly left the room.
The door clicked shut.
Silence settled between us.
I looked at the ring again.
Then at him.
“Why am I wearing this?”
Dominic didn’t pretend not to understand.
“Because we’re married.”
For several seconds, I thought the medication had damaged my hearing.
“You’re what?”
“We’re married.”
I stared at him.
“You and me?”
“Yes.”
“You married me?”
“Yes.”
“While I was unconscious?”
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
I almost laughed.
It would have hurt too much.
“You’re insane.”
“That’s possible.”
“Take it off.”
He didn’t move.
“Dominic.”
His gaze hardened slightly at hearing his name from me.
“Take the ring off.”
“You can take it off yourself.”
“I can barely lift my hand.”
“Then wait until you can.”
Anger gave me strength painkillers couldn’t.
“What kind of man marries an unconscious woman?”
“The kind who needed everyone in this city to understand that killing you would mean declaring war on him.”
I froze.
Dominic stepped closer.
“The man who shot you worked for Victor Costa.”
The name meant nothing to me.
My face must have shown it.
“Who?”
“A man you never want to meet.”
“I didn’t even know the shooter.”
“He knows you survived.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“It became your problem when you saved my mother.”
My eyes narrowed.
“So this is about Isabella?”
“At first.”
At first.
I hated those words immediately.
“What does that mean?”
Dominic looked toward the machines beside my bed instead of answering.
That frightened me more than anything he had said.
The Dominic I remembered from the ballroom didn’t appear to be a man who avoided questions.
I remembered the moment he had steadied my champagne glass.
You’re new.
Is that a crime?
I had thought he was arrogant.
Dangerous, maybe.
But I had known men who wore expensive suits and believed the world existed to make their lives easier.
I had assumed Dominic Rossi was simply one more.
Now the most feared man in New York was standing beside my ICU bed telling me I had become his wife.
“Who signed anything?” I asked.
“The paperwork was handled.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one I can give you today.”
“Then today you can leave.”
His eyes returned to mine.
For one instant something moved behind them.
Not anger.
Pain.
Then it disappeared.
“I will when the doctors say you’re stable.”
“I’m not your responsibility.”
“You are now.”
“No.” My voice cracked harder. “You decided that while I couldn’t speak. That doesn’t make it real.”
He took the accusation without defending himself.
That surprised me.
Finally he said, “You’re right.”
I stared at him.
“I’m right?”
“You didn’t choose it.”
“Then annul it.”
“When you’re safe.”
“I want it done now.”
“When you’re safe.”
The calm certainty in his voice made me want to throw the water cup at him.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t lift it.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“No,” he said. “But Victor Costa decided to put a price on you three hours after surgery.”
Cold spread through me.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“You’re lying.”
Dominic reached into his jacket.
I flinched before I could stop myself.
He noticed.
Slowly, deliberately, he removed a folded sheet of paper and placed it on the bed.
It was a printed security photograph.
My face.
Taken at the hotel.
Below it were words in Italian and English.
ALIVE IF POSSIBLE.
The rest of the page had been blacked out.
I felt sick.
“Why alive?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
Another lie.
Maybe not completely.
But enough.
Dominic Rossi already knew.
I felt it in the way he watched me.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
He went still.
That was answer enough.
Before I could push further, the door opened.
Isabella Rossi walked in carrying a rosary.
I almost didn’t recognize her without diamonds and evening makeup.
She wore a simple cream sweater and dark pants. Her silver hair was pulled back. Her eyes filled immediately when she saw mine open.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
She crossed the room faster than Dominic could stop her.
Her hands hovered over me, uncertain where she could touch without hurting me.
“You’re awake.”
I managed a weak smile.
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
Tears gathered in her eyes.
“You saved my life.”
“I ruined a very expensive tray.”
She laughed through a sob.
Dominic looked away.
Isabella gently touched the side of my hand.
Then she noticed my expression.
“You told her?”
Dominic said nothing.
Her gaze dropped to the ring.
“Oh.”
I looked between them.
“You knew about this?”
Isabella sighed.
“I knew my son had lost his mind.”
“Mother.”
“You married a woman who could not even tell you whether she wanted chicken or fish.”
“It wasn’t a reception.”
“That is not the point.”
For the first time since waking, I almost smiled.
Isabella turned back to me.
“I told him it was wrong.”
“Thank you.”
“I also told him I understood why he did it.”
My smile disappeared.
She sat beside me.
“There are rules in Dominic’s world. Ugly rules. But rules nevertheless. A woman under his personal protection is one thing. Dominic Rossi’s wife is another.”
“I’m not part of his world.”
“No,” Isabella said softly. “You weren’t.”
Weren’t.
Again, that terrible tense.
I looked toward Dominic.
He was watching the floor.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
Isabella opened her mouth.
Dominic interrupted.
“Not yet.”
She turned on him.
“She took seven bullets for me.”
Seven.
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
Isabella’s face changed.
Dominic closed his eyes briefly.
“No one told her?”
“Told me what?”
Isabella squeezed my fingers.
“Seven rounds struck you.”
I stared at the ceiling.
Seven.
One for every rent notice I had ignored last month.
One for every hospital bill waiting on my kitchen counter.
One for every stupid shift I had agreed to work because Ellen’s treatment cost more than I could earn.
Seven pieces of metal had entered my body because, for ten seconds at a ballroom, I had decided a kind woman shouldn’t die.
“Did they get them out?”
“Most,” Dominic said.
“Most?”
“One remains too close to remove safely right now.”
I closed my eyes.
I wanted my mother.
I wanted my tiny Queens apartment.
I wanted the diner where the coffee tasted burnt after noon.
I wanted the life I had complained about every day.
Anything but this.
Isabella brushed hair from my forehead.
“Your mother knows you were hurt.”
My eyes opened.
“You spoke to her?”
Dominic answered.
“I did.”
“When?”
“The night of the shooting.”
“How did you know where she was?”
Silence.
Isabella looked at him sharply.
I felt the room change.
“Dominic.”
His eyes met mine.
“You said you knew my mother was alive. You knew Cleveland. You contacted her the night I was shot.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
He didn’t answer.
Something cold moved through my stomach.
“My employee file?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
A voice sounded from the doorway.
“Boss.”
A man in a dark suit entered. Lean. Mid-thirties. Sharp eyes.
Enzo.
I remembered him standing behind Dominic at the gala.
He handed Dominic a phone.
“Something you should see.”
Dominic glanced at the screen.
His expression changed.
Not much.
But enough.
“What?” Isabella asked.
“Nothing.”
Enzo looked at me.
Then away.
That frightened me.
“Give me the phone.”
Dominic ignored me.
“Give me the phone.”
“No.”
I tried to reach for it and nearly screamed when my side pulled.
Dominic immediately stepped toward me.
“Stop.”
“I’m not a dog you can lock in a room while you decide what I’m allowed to know.”
His face hardened.
“And you’re not strong enough to survive the consequences of knowing everything today.”
“Try me.”
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then Enzo quietly said, “She deserves to know someone accessed her medical records.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
Dominic turned his head slowly.
Enzo didn’t back down.
“What records?” I whispered.
Enzo looked at me.
“Yours.”
“From here?”
“No.”
“Then where?”
He hesitated.
“Cleveland.”
My mother.
I pulled against the blanket.
“Ellen?”
“Her treatment center was hacked this morning.”
My heart monitor accelerated again.
“Why?”
“That’s what we’re finding out.”
Dominic handed the phone back to Enzo.
“No one gets near her.”
“Already doubled security.”
I stared at Dominic.
“You already had security on my mother?”
There it was again.
That silence.
He had known.
Before the shooting.
Maybe before I walked into the ballroom.
My skin went cold.
“How long have you known who I am?”
Isabella slowly rose from the chair.
Dominic’s expression became unreadable.
“Rest.”
“No.”
“I’ll explain when—”
“No.”
My voice was weak, but something in it stopped him.
“How long?”
He looked at me for what felt like a full minute.
Then he reached inside his jacket again.
This time he removed a small leather wallet.
Not his.
Old.
Worn at the corners.
He opened it and pulled out a photograph.
He placed it on the blanket.
My breath stopped.
My mother stood in the photograph.
Twenty years younger.
Beside her was a man I had only seen in three childhood pictures.
My father.
And standing several feet behind them was a teenage boy with black hair and dark, serious eyes.
Dominic.
I looked up at him.
“You knew my father?”
His face went pale.
Before he could answer, I noticed handwriting across the back of the photograph.
My father’s handwriting.
I knew it immediately.
Three words.
PROTECT MY DAUGHTER.
Then my name.
My full name.
Dominic had known exactly who I was.
Long before the first bullet was fired.
May you like
And whatever had happened between him and my father had been waiting twenty years for me to wake up.
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