Prologue
Eight Months Ago
“What’s this?” I ask as August drops a manila file on the table in front of me, and I eye it skeptically.
I thought sneaking up to my parents’ rooftop terrace after brunch, despite knowing I’d be out in the bitter cold, would grant me some alone time.
I should have known better.
Before reaching for the file, I pull my coat tighter around me. The air feels like snow is imminent, despite it being a little too early in the winter. But with the way the sky looks, I wouldn’t be shocked to see little flurries come with the rain.
My eyes meet August’s as my fingertips graze the folder. I shouldn’t give him the satisfaction of even engaging in this conversation, but he somehow knows what buttons of mine to push.
His cocky smirk infuriates me, and I glare at him before returning to the file.
It’s ordinary—the exact type he brought to my apartment when he turned my life upside down. My heart rate accelerates as I hesitate to see what’s inside.
Finally, I flip the cover back. My breath hitches when I’m met with photos of Sly.
Forget the snow—a flurry spins in my stomach. Icy little butterflies come back to life as I look at his face, scattering the pictures to see them all, then pick up the one on top to study it closer.
Sly is crossing the street in a city I don’t recognize, with a cigarette dangling from between his fingers. It’s strange to see—smoking is not a habit I knew him to have.
Maybe it’s new.
Setting the picture down, I pick up another while fighting back tears.
Sly’s walking out of a building, but it”s hard to distinguish where he may be from the way the photographer obviously zoomed in on his target. In the window to his left, a neon sign that reads ‘too’ is visible.
My brows scrunch as my eyes trace over every inch of his body—searching for any sign, any clue. They catch on something wrapped around his upper arm, sticking out from his t-shirt.
Is that…plastic wrap?
Placing the picture down, I continue looking through the pile, sliding them around so they’re all visible.
Looking up at August, I hold his gaze, hoping to distract him long enough to carry out a crazy, impulsive thought.
“Where is he?” I seethe, my voice surprisingly steady as I continue rifling through the photos, though this time it’s for show.
When his gaze is locked on mine, his overly confident smile pinned on his face, I act.
As inconspicuously as possible, I push one of the pictures into the sleeve of my jacket. The air in my lungs constricts under August’s heavy gaze and the fear of getting caught, but his eyes never dip to the movement of my fingertips.
When I’m sure the picture is safely tucked away, pushed deep into my sleeve, I drop my focus back to the table.
For a moment, I consider that August is lying. That these pictures are somehow fake, or old.
But my gut says they’re recent.
August knows where he is.
It’s been two weeks since Sly left.
Two weeks since I lost a piece of myself and signed my life over to the devil.
It’s to keep him safe, I remind myself. Everything is worth it as long as he’s safe.
But I haven’t stopped loving him. I haven’t stopped thinking about him every second of every day, keeping him with me in my heart.
August chuckles and plucks the photo from between my fingers, placing it back in the folder. He pushes the rest of the photos back in and closes the cover. Resting his palm on top of it, he looms over me, trying to make me feel small as he does.
“Oh, my lovely fiancée. Do you think I’m idiotic enough to tell you where your boyfriend is?” August sneers, tsking as he picks up the folder. Waving it in between us, his smile gleams. “This right here is my insurance policy. You will obey me, Vinnie. You will be a doting fiancée and wife, and in return, I’ll let him live.”
“Why are you doing this, August? You still haven’t explained.”
“And I don’t need to, but if you must know, you’re the picture-perfect bride, and I want you on my arm. Plus, you have something else I want.”
“Which is?”
His smile widens. “You’ll find out in due time, sweetheart. All you have to do is keep being the perfect little wife and everyone wins.”
Emotion lodges in my throat, but I force it down, refusing to let August see the pain he’s causing me. “And how can I be sure you’ll uphold your end of the deal? I marry you, and Sly won’t be harmed, or so you say. How will I know he’s alive?”
August crosses his arms over his chest, clutching the file in his hand still. “I thought you might ask. It’s a pity you have a brain inside that pretty little skull of yours. How do monthly photos sound? Proof of life, and whatnot.”
“Bi-weekly,” I counter immediately. The only way I’ll get through this is if I know he’s out there living his life.
Narrowing his eyes, August thinks about it for a moment—I’m sure just to see me squirm. “Okay. Bi-weekly,” he finally agrees.
A rush of air leaves my lungs in relief.
“We have dinner scheduled with the mayor on Thursday night, and the New York Times has been calling, wanting to interview us, so I’ll be in touch,” he taunts as he walks away. “Now, where’s your smile, wife? Oh, and put your ring back on.”
“I’m not your wife yet,” I mutter, more to myself than him because he’s already across the rooftop.
The door slams shut behind him, and once again, I’m alone.
But now, instead of finding solace in the quiet, my mind is filled with worry and regret.
Instinctively, I look around and make sure I truly am alone before I pull out the photograph still safely hiding in my sleeve, and stare down at it.
My fingertips trace Sly’s face as a lone tear falls from my eye onto the image.
I’m overtaken with emotion as a single Shakespeare quote pops into my head—one from Romeo and Juliet, the play that holds uncanny parallels to my reality. The quote brings me little comfort, if any, still I repeat it in my head again, as I so often do.
“Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow. That I shall say good night till it be morrow.” William Shakespeare.
But there’s nothing sweet about our parting, only sorrow. The only thing I can hope for, though it may not be tomorrow, is that I’ll get to see Sly Lucchetti again one day, and hopefully, when that day comes, he will be happy, safe, and living his life as fully as he can.
That’s the only thing that will make this hell I’m willingly marrying into worth it.