Too Late: The Don's Regretful Pursuit

I sat at the head of the mahogany table, the heavy heirloom emeralds around my neck marking me as the future Queen of the Cosa Nostra.

But the man beside me-Jax Viles, the most feared Don in New York-had his hand resting possessively on the thigh of the woman sitting to his right.

She wasn't his fiancée. I was.

The humiliation didn't stop at dinner. Jax moved her into my home, turned my dance studio into her closet, and when she pushed me down a flight of stairs, he stepped over my broken body to comfort her because she was "shaken up."

He started a bloody gang war just to defend her honor, yet ignored my desperate calls warning him of an ambush.

To him, I wasn't a partner. I was furniture-a fixture that was expected to be silent and useful. He would burn the world to ash for her, but for me, he wouldn't even skip a meeting.

So, while he was out celebrating his victory for her, I didn't wait for him to come home.

I left the engagement ring in the trash can next to the toilet.

On his desk, I left a single note: "I release you from the oath. I hope she's worth the war."

By the time he realized his mistake and came looking for his shadow, I was already gone, ready to become the Queen of my own life.

Chapter 1

I sat at the head of the long mahogany table, the weight of the heirloom emeralds around my neck marking me as the future Queen of the Cosa Nostra. But the title felt like a costume.

The man beside me-the most feared Don in New York-had his hand resting possessively on the thigh of the woman sitting to his right.

She wasn't his fiancée.

I was.

The crystal chandelier overhead cast a fractured light over the dinner service, illuminating the scene with a cruel clarity. Jax Viles, the man who could silence a room with a single glance, was currently leaning in to whisper something into Catalina's ear.

She giggled.

It was a wet, breathless sound that grated against the heavy silence of the room like a serrated blade against bone.

I lifted my crystal goblet and took a measured sip of water. My hand didn't shake. I had been trained for this since birth. As the daughter of the Consigliere, composure was my armor. But armor doesn't stop the bruising; it just hides the blood.

Catalina was supposed to be a guest. A protected witness from a rival territory dispute. That was the official story. But guests don't sit at the Don's right hand. Guests don't wear the Don's suit jacket over their shoulders because the air conditioning is slightly too cold.

Jax didn't look at me. Not once. He was too busy meticulously cutting Catalina's steak for her, a gesture of intimacy that belonged to me.

I looked around the table. My father, the Consigliere, stared resolutely at his plate, his jaw tight enough to snap. The Capos shifted in their seats, exchanging glances that ranged from pity to amusement.

They all saw it. The entire hierarchy of our world was witnessing my humiliation, and Jax was orchestrating it with the casual indifference of a man who believes he owns everything he touches.

Including me.

The memory of our blood oath burned in my mind. We were ten. He had cut his palm with a pocket knife, mixed his blood with mine, and sworn he would burn the world down before he let anything hurt me.

Now, he was the one holding the match.

"Eliana," Jax said, finally acknowledging my existence. His voice was deep, a rumble that usually settled warmly in my bones. Tonight, it just felt cold.

"Pass the salt."

He didn't look up. He was looking at her.

I reached for the silver shaker. My fingers brushed against the fine wool of his sleeve. He pulled away instantly, as if my touch was an intrusion on his private moment with her.

That small recoil hit me harder than a bullet.

I placed the salt near him, my movements mechanical. "Here, Jax."

Catalina smiled at me. It was a sweet, venomous thing. "Thank you, Eliana. You're so helpful. Like a good little assistant."

The table went deathly silent.

Jax didn't correct her. He didn't remind her that I was the future mother of his heirs, the woman who held the codes to the family trust, the only person who knew where the bodies were actually buried.

He just chuckled. "She knows her place, Cat."

My stomach turned to lead. My place.

I stood up. The chair legs scraped loudly against the marble floor, a scream of wood on stone that echoed through the vast hall.

"Is something wrong?" Jax asked, his eyes finally meeting mine. They were dark, void of the warmth they used to hold. They were the eyes of the Don now, not the boy I grew up with.

"I'm not feeling well," I said. My voice was steady. It was a lie, but in this life, truth was a liability. "Enjoy your meal."

I walked out of the dining hall, shoulders back, chin high. I felt their eyes on my back. I felt the weight of the emerald necklace, heavy as a shackle around my throat.

I walked straight to the master bedroom. His bedroom. The room I was supposed to share with him in three months.

Rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows, mirroring the storm that should have been raging inside me. But I felt strangely hollow.

I walked to the vanity and stared at my reflection, hardly recognizing the woman staring back. I unclasped the emerald necklace. The metal was cold against my skin.

I placed it on the dark wood of his desk, right next to his gun.

It was a statement. A resignation letter written in gems and gold.

Downstairs, laughter erupted. His laughter. Her laughter.

I went to the guest room down the hall and turned the lock with a definitive click. I didn't cry. Tears were for people who had hope left to lose.

I had nothing.