For seven years, I believed Spencer was the man I would marry. On the day we were supposed to get our license, he handed me his marriage certificate—with my own sister Lexi, who was carrying his child—and told me to wait a few more years for him.
I walked away that night and accepted the marriage my family had arranged. Five years later, I returned to Los Angeles pregnant with my second child as the wife of Don Vincenzo Bellini—the new Godmother of the Bellini family. The nephew sent to pick me up at the airport was Spencer.
He and Lexi thought I had come crawling back. They mocked my clothes, called the Godmother's heirloom necklace around my neck a fake, slapped me, and at the family banquet tried to force me to cut off two fingers. Then Vincenzo walked in and shot the knife from Spencer's hand.
Once my identity was exposed, Spencer's arrogance turned into panic and regret. He later slipped into my hospital room and begged me to return, insisting Vincenzo was only a tool I had used to forget him. I answered by kissing my husband and telling him the truth: Vincenzo was the man I loved.
Back home, I discovered Vincenzo had loved me long before our marriage. Years earlier, I had unknowingly saved his life, and he had never forgotten me. Spencer spent seven years taking my love for granted; Vincenzo spent years believing he did not deserve it. I chose the man who had always chosen me—and never looked back.
