On the day Dante Moretti was supposed to marry me, his convoy exploded on the Brooklyn Bridge. I was pregnant with his child, and everyone told me the man I loved was dead. I spent months grieving—until Dante’s so-called twin brother showed up, looking exactly like him and offering to take care of me. Then one night, I heard a familiar voice behind a closed door. Dante had never died. He had abandoned me for another woman and expected me to quietly wait for him. He thought I’d forgive him when he came home. But he had no idea what I was about to do.
