No More Leftovers

Someone knocked on my door.

Luca stood outside and spoke as if he were asking for a minor favor. "Elena, Bianca's award only happens once. It starts at ten, and the press will be everywhere. She can't handle it alone."

I looked at him. "So?"

"Can we move our wedding to the evening? We'll skip the pickup and family toasts and go straight to the banquet."

I almost laughed. How many times did he think a wedding happened in a lifetime?

A maid downstairs muttered, "First weddings don't happen at night in Chicago. That sounds like a makeup wedding."

My mother snapped, "Nonsense. It's a modern world. Don't bring old wives' tales into this."

Luca stepped into my room. His eyes were gentle and certain. "Elena, is that okay? You're the understanding one."

I looked at him and remembered a day from childhood. I once won second prize in an art show, but my parents went to Bianca's violin solo. Luca promised he would come, then went to Bianca's concert too. I stood alone on the stage, facing other people's parents and applause.

Now I was still alone. "Fine. Move it to the evening."

It’ll save me the trouble of coming up with an excuse to delay the wedding.

After my answer, they completely relaxed. Celebration resumed downstairs. Laughter rose again and again, and champagne corks popped like distant gunshots.

Late that night, Luca got drunk. He leaned against the terrace rail with his tie loose. The Chicago wind carried the cold of the lake between us.

I asked, "Luca, are you looking forward to our wedding?"

He didn't answer.

"Why did you confess to me back then?"

I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear it from him. I needed the final sentence of my own verdict.

When he finally spoke, his voice was drunk and cruel. "I didn't plan to treat you badly. You're quiet and obedient. You stay where I leave you. Bianca is different. If something happens to her, both families get dragged in."

"So she'll always matter more. Is that it?"

Luca looked into the distance. "I thought you understood. Elena, you've always been reasonable."

The wind stung my eyes.

The truth was worse than I had imagined. Maybe he did love me a little. He loved the version of me who waited in the back and never made him choose. But the moment Bianca reached out, he put me down.

On the wedding morning, the Bellini estate woke before dawn.

Everyone prepared for Bianca's ceremony. My mother chose her pearls, my father checked the convoy, and Luca reviewed Bianca's speech.

I came downstairs fully dressed. "I won't go to the ceremony. The wedding hotel still needs me."

Luca didn't look up. He was fastening Bianca's bracelet. "Fine. Go ahead and don't neglect the guests. We'll come after this ends."

I carried one small bag to the wedding hotel. No one walked me to the door.

The driver asked, "Miss Elena, should I wait for Mr. Moretti's convoy?"

I looked at the gray-blue morning sky and smiled politely. "No. He has somewhere more important to be."

At the hotel, the bridal suite smelled of roses and expensive hairspray. I dressed alone, fastened my own veil, and walked into a ballroom filled with Moretti men, Bellini cousins, and political guests who immediately understood the groom was missing.

Whispers moved under the crystal chandeliers. Some people pitied me. Some enjoyed the show. I stood beneath the white floral arch and accepted every stare without lowering my head.

The promised hour came and went. Luca's place beside me stayed empty. Then my phone buzzed.

[Bianca has too much press here. I'll be late. If guests ask, just smile for me. Be good.]

I read the message twice. Then I laughed softly, because the last thing he gave me was still an instruction to wait.

I took off the Moretti engagement ring, the ring that had marked me as his woman for a year, and laid it on the guest book.

The planner whispered, "Miss Bellini, Mr. Moretti will be here soon."

"No," I said. "He won't."

A sharp crack split the ballroom before anyone could answer. The glass wall behind the arch burst inward, and the chandeliers swung as screams swallowed the music.

Someone shouted the Rossettis' name. Moretti guards reached for their guns. I saw white roses scatter across the floor like torn paper.

Then the room went white.

...

Luca's convoy tore away from Bianca's award ceremony.

He sat in the back seat while Bianca's silver trophy case knocked against his knee. He had already typed another message to Elena, then deleted it because he was sure she would be waiting.

His phone rang before the hotel came into view.

"Put Elena on," Luca said the moment he answered. "Tell her I'm almost there. Have her hold the ceremony for ten more minutes."

No one answered him. Screaming filled the line, followed by a hard blast that made the speaker crackle.

"Boss!" Marco, one of his captains, shouted over the chaos. "The Rossettis hit the ballroom. It was an ambush. They came through the lake-side glass."

Luca's blood went cold. "Where is Elena?"

"The strike team was aiming for your entrance, but you weren't here. She was under the arch when it started. Her status is unknown!"

For one second, Luca couldn't breathe.