CHAPTER 1: THE DISCOVERY
The smell of garlic and basil filled my car as I drove through the empty streets. Midnight shift at the warehouse had finally ended, and all I wanted was to see Sofia's face light up when I walked through her door with Angelo's Italian—her favorite.
I'd grabbed extra breadsticks. She always complained I ate them all.
My phone buzzed. A text from Mom: Mijo, when are you coming for dinner? Isabella misses you.
I smiled and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. This weekend, I'd tell them. This weekend I'd show Mom the ring I'd been hiding in my glove compartment for three weeks. Three years with Sofia, and I was finally ready.
The lights were on in her apartment when I pulled up. Good. She was still awake.
I used my key—the one she'd given me on our anniversary with that shy smile of hers—and pushed open the door quietly. Maybe I could surprise her, make her laugh like I used to before the double shifts started wearing me down.
The living room was empty. TV off. Her shoes by the door—the red heels I'd bought her for her birthday.
Then I heard it.
Laughter. Low and throaty. Coming from the bedroom.
My hand tightened around the takeout bag.
"Dante, stop—someone might hear—"
My brain went blank. Just white noise and the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.
I walked down the hallway. Each step felt like moving through concrete. The bedroom door was cracked open, light spilling out into the hallway.
I should've left. I should've walked away right then.
I pushed the door open instead.
Sofia was on the bed. Naked. Straddling a man I'd seen on the news a hundred times—Dante Morales. Tattoos covered his chest and arms. A snake wrapped around his neck. His hands were on her hips, and she was moving against him, her head thrown back, making sounds I'd never heard her make with me.
The takeout bag hit the floor.
They both froze.
Sofia's eyes went wide. "Marcus—"
"Get off him."
My voice didn't sound like mine. It was cold. Dead.
She scrambled off the bed, grabbing a sheet. "Marcus, what are you doing here—"
"GET. OFF. HIM."
Dante sat up slowly, completely unbothered by his nakedness or the fact that I'd just caught him. He smiled. Actually smiled.
"You must be Marcus." His voice was smooth, educated. Nothing like the street thug I'd expected. "Sofia's told me about you."
The door burst open behind me. Two men in suits rushed in, guns already drawn and pointed at my head.
I didn't care.
I lunged.
My fist connected with Dante's jaw before his guards could grab me. The crack of bone on bone. The shock traveling up my arm. He went down hard, blood spraying from his mouth onto Sofia's white sheets.
Hands grabbed me from behind. I thrashed, but they were professionals. They had me on the ground in seconds, my arm twisted behind my back so hard I felt something pop.
"STOP! STOP IT!" Sofia was screaming, the sheet wrapped around her body.
Dante pushed himself up slowly, working his jaw. Blood dripped from his split lip. He stared at me for a long moment, then started laughing.
"Let him up."
"Boss—"
"I said let him up."
The pressure on my arm released. I staggered to my feet, breathing hard. The guards stepped back but kept their guns trained on me.
Dante walked over to Sofia's dresser and grabbed a tissue, dabbing at his mouth. "You've got a decent right hook. Stupid, but decent."
"Marcus, you need to leave—" Sofia's voice had changed. No tears. No shaking. Just cold.
I looked at her. Really looked at her. The woman I'd planned to marry. The woman I'd worked sixty-hour weeks for so we could save up for a house. The woman who'd told me she loved me three days ago.
"How long?"
She pulled the sheet tighter around herself. "What does it matter?"
"HOW. LONG."
"Eight months." She said it flat. No shame. No regret.
Eight months. I'd been planning our future while she was here, with him.
"The baby," I said. My voice cracked. "You told me you were pregnant two months ago. You said—you said it was mine. We celebrated. You cried happy tears. I called my mother—"
Sofia laughed. Actually laughed. "Oh my God, Marcus. You really thought that baby was yours?"
The world tilted.
"What?"
"It's Dante's. Obviously." She walked over to her dresser and started putting on a robe—silk, expensive. I'd never seen it before. "Did you seriously think I'd keep your baby? A warehouse worker's baby?"
"You told me—"
"I told you what you wanted to hear." She tied the robe and turned to face me. Her eyes were different now. Hard. Like I was looking at a stranger. "You were so pathetic about it. So excited. It was actually sad."
"Sofia—"
"Do you know what Dante gave me when I told him I was pregnant?" She held up her wrist. A diamond bracelet caught the light. Had to be ten thousand dollars minimum. "This was just because he was happy. When the baby's born, he's buying me a house. An actual house, Marcus. Not some shitty apartment in Queens you've been 'saving up' for."
Each word hit like a fist.
"Three years," I said. "We were together for three years—"
"And I was bored for two and a half of them." She sat down on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs. Comfortable. Like we were discussing the weather. "Do you know what our dates looked like, Marcus? Angelo's Italian takeout. Walks in the park because you couldn't afford anything else. That disgusting bar where your friends hang out. You took me to Coney Island for my birthday. Coney Island. I'm twenty-six years old, not twelve."
"You said you had fun—"
"I lied. I smiled and pretended because I thought you'd get promoted. I thought you'd eventually make something of yourself. But you're still in the same position you were three years ago, making the same pathetic salary, driving the same piece of shit car."
Dante was watching us now, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Enjoying the show.
"I loved you," I said.
"You loved the idea of me." Sofia stood up and walked over to Dante, pressing herself against him. He wrapped an arm around her waist. "You loved having a pretty girlfriend to show off to your broke friends. But love doesn't pay bills, Marcus. Love doesn't buy me the life I deserve."
"I was working overtime—"
"To buy what? That sad little ring you've been hiding in your car?" She smirked. "Yeah, I found it two weeks ago when I borrowed your car. I almost felt bad for you. Almost. Do you know how much Dante spent on the earrings he gave me last week? Twelve thousand dollars. Your ring probably cost what, three? Four thousand?"
"Four," I whispered.
"Four thousand dollars." She shook her head. "That's exactly my point. You saved up for months—months—to buy me a ring that Dante wouldn't even notice missing from his account. You were so proud of yourself too. I could see it in your face when you thought I wasn't looking. Checking the glove compartment like it was the Hope Diamond."
"Sofia, that's enough," Dante said quietly.
"No, he needs to hear this." She pulled away from him and walked toward me. "You want to know the truth, Marcus? Even if that baby was yours—and thank God it's not—what kind of life would you give it? Hand-me-down clothes? Public schools in the worst neighborhoods? No college fund? No future?"
"I would've provided—"
"Provided what? The bare minimum? Food and shelter? Congratulations, Marcus, that's what the government does for people in poverty. You want a medal for doing the legal minimum requirement of being a parent?"
"I loved you," I said again, because I couldn't think of anything else to say.
"You loved someone who doesn't exist." She was right in front of me now, looking up at me with those dark eyes I'd stared into a thousand times. "The Sofia you loved was an act. A performance. I played the part of the sweet girlfriend who was happy with cheap dates and empty promises because I was waiting for you to level up. But you never did. You're the same broke, unambitious warehouse worker you were when we met."
"Then why didn't you just leave?"
"Because I was comfortable." She shrugged. "You paid for things when Dante was busy. You were there when I was bored. You served a purpose. But then I met a real man—a man who owns restaurants and car dealerships and half the west side. A man who takes me to real places. Five-star hotels. Private clubs. Last week he flew me to Miami on a private jet just because I mentioned I was cold."
"I can't compete with that—"
"Exactly. You can't. You never could. And honestly, Marcus, you should be thanking me."
"Thanking you?"
"For not wasting more of your time. Now you can find some girl who's okay with being poor. Someone who doesn't mind shopping at discount stores and eating leftover takeout. Someone with low standards." She smiled. "There's someone out there for everyone, right? Even broke warehouse workers."
I stared at her. This woman I'd given three years of my life to. This woman I'd planned to build a future with.
"You're a bad person," I said quietly.
"I'm a realistic person." She walked back to Dante and took his hand. "I want nice things. I want to live well. I want my child to have every advantage in life. You can't give me that. Dante can. It's not personal, Marcus. It's just practical."
"The Sofia I knew—"
"Never existed. How many times do I have to say it?" She sighed, bored now. "Look, I'm sorry your feelings are hurt. I really am. But you'll get over it. Find some nice girl who works at Target or wherever. Get married. Have your boring little life. Just do it somewhere else."
Dante finally stepped in. "That's enough, Sofia."
"I'm just being honest—"
"I said enough." He looked at me. "You need to leave, Marcus. Walk away while you still can."
I looked between them. Dante in his expensive clothes, his tattooed arms, his casual confidence. Sofia tucked against him, wearing a robe that probably cost more than my rent.
"Or what?"
Dante's smile disappeared. "Or I'll have my men put a bullet in your head and dump you in the river. I'm being generous here because Sofia asked me not to hurt you. But my generosity has limits."
"Dante, please—" Sofia grabbed his arm. "Just let him go."
He shook her off without looking at her. "Go home, Marcus. Forget about her. Forget this ever happened. Move on with your life."
"Move on?" I laughed, and it sounded insane even to my own ears. "You think I can just move on?"
"Men do it every day. She was never yours to begin with. Women like Sofia—they're made for men like me. Not working-class heroes breaking their backs in warehouses for forty thousand a year."
I wanted to kill him. I wanted to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until his eyes bulged out of his skull.
But his guards were watching. Guns ready.
I looked at Sofia one last time.
She wasn't crying. Wasn't sad. She looked irritated. Like I was a door-to-door salesman who wouldn't leave.
"Goodbye, Marcus," she said. "And seriously, lose my number."
I turned and walked out. Past the guards. Past the takeout bag spilled across the floor—marinara sauce seeping into her carpet. Past the framed photo of us at Coney Island, both of us smiling like idiots.
That photo was a lie too.
All of it was a lie.
I made it to my car before my legs gave out.
I sat there in the driver's seat, hands shaking, staring at nothing. The ring was still in the glove compartment. I pulled it out. The diamond caught the streetlight, throwing tiny rainbows across the dashboard.
Four thousand dollars. Three months of overtime. Saving every penny instead of buying new work boots even though mine had holes in them.
Pathetic. She was right. It was pathetic.
I threw the ring out the window and drove.
I don't remember the drive. One minute I was in her neighborhood, the next I was at the industrial docks on the east side. The place where I used to fish with my dad before he died. Before everything turned to shit.
I parked and walked out onto the old pier. The wood was rotting, creaking under my feet. The water below was black, reflecting nothing.
My phone buzzed. Mom calling.
I stared at her contact photo. Her smile. The same smile Isabella had.
How was I supposed to tell them? "Hey Mom, remember how excited you were about being a grandmother? Yeah, turns out I'm just a broke idiot who got played."
I couldn't do it.
I let it ring until it went to voicemail.
The night was quiet except for the water lapping against the pier supports. Cold wind cut through my jacket. I sat down on the edge, legs dangling over the water, and put my head in my hands.
Three years. Three years of my life.
Everything Sofia said played on repeat in my head. Every word. Every insult. Every truth I'd been too stupid to see.
She was right. About all of it.
I was broke. I was going nowhere. I couldn't give her the life she wanted. I couldn't even compete.
What was I thinking? That I could marry her? Build a future? Raise a kid on warehouse wages?
I heard the cars before I saw them. Engines rumbling. Multiple vehicles.
I turned around.
Three black SUVs pulled up behind my car, blocking it in. Doors opened. Men got out. Six of them. Seven. All wearing suits.
I stood up slowly.
Dante stepped out of the middle SUV. He'd changed clothes. Black shirt. Black jacket. He looked like he was going to a funeral.
Maybe he was.
"Marcus Rivera." He walked toward me, hands in his pockets. "You're a hard man to let go."
"I'm not looking for trouble."
"No? Because you broke my nose tonight. That's trouble in my world."
His men spread out, surrounding me. The pier was behind me. Water on all sides. Nowhere to run.
"Sofia called me crying," Dante continued. "Begging me not to hurt you. She says despite everything, she doesn't want you dead." He stopped a few feet away. "Isn't that sweet? Even after humiliating her by showing up uninvited, punching me in her bedroom, she still cares enough to beg for your worthless life."
"Then kill me. Get it over with."
I meant it. Right then, standing there with everything I'd built destroyed, every word Sofia said still echoing in my head, I actually meant it.
Dante studied me for a moment, then smiled. "No. Death is too easy. Too quick."
He nodded to his men.
A hood came down over my head. Hands grabbed my arms. I tried to fight, but there were too many of them.
Something hard hit the back of my skull.
Then everything went black.