My Mafia Ex-Boyfriend Went Crazy After Learning of My Death Chapter 02

My Mafia Ex-Boyfriend Went Crazy After Learning of My Death Chapter 02: A Ghost’s Point of View
I floated near the crystal chandelier in the ballroom, still wearing that wrinkled hospital gown stained with blood.

No one could see me.

I was dead.

No one knew that the woman who’d betrayed Dante three years ago was right there, watching them drink and toast.

The party went on. Dante kept his arm around Sophia’s waist, nodding at every family member who came to offer a toast.

He didn’t smile. Or rather, that polite coldness on his face was more chilling than any smile.

I looked at the white bellflower pinned to his chest, and my chest clenched.

Bellflowers were my flower.

The first time I saw him in Little Italy, he’d just come out of an underground fight club. His nose was broken, blood all over his face.

I handed him a wildflower I’d picked by the roadside. White, shaped like a bell.

He asked my name. I said Nora.

He said, “I’m Dante. That’s a pretty flower.”

That was the start of our story.

Later he became a regular at the underground fight club. Every fight was for money.

One night a drunk gambler cornered me on the street and started saying filthy things.

Dante came charging out of an alley and beat him until the guy was on his knees begging for mercy. Three teeth knocked out.

After that, everyone on the block knew I was his girl.

We loved each other for three years.

When his boxing gloves wore out, I sewed them. When I couldn’t afford textbooks, he stole secondhand ones from other students. We were so broke we split one plate of pasta, but we went to sleep smiling every night.

Until the doctor told me: terminal stomach cancer. With chemo, maybe a year. Without chemo, six months.

I folded the report into a paper airplane and threw it off the hospital roof. Then I called Dante and asked him to meet me at the pier where we’d had our first kiss.

That day I said the cruelest things.

I told him I’d fallen for someone else. A rich thug who could buy me Birkin bags while Dante couldn’t even pay rent.

Dante dropped to his knees on the concrete pier. His knees bled. He said he was about to go to Italy and take over his family, that he’d be rich soon, just wait for him.

I said, “In your dreams.”

He chased after me for fourteen days. I cursed him out fourteen times.

On the fifteenth day, he stood outside my apartment door. His eyes were red as a rabbit’s. “I’m leaving,” he said.

I leaned against the door, bit my lip until it bled, and said in the coldest voice I could muster, “Good for you.”

The second the door closed, I heard him cry. I cried too.

Three months later, I died.

His plane took off that day. My heart stopped that day.

That’s our story.

Near the end of the gala, Dante put his arm around Sophia and walked to the microphone.

“Next month, Sophia and I will get married at the beachfront estate in Long Island. I hope you’ll all come.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room. His voice was flat, like he was reading a contract.

“Oh, and if anyone can get in touch with Nora Rossi, please invite her for me. Sophia and I would really like her blessing.”

The room went quiet for a few seconds, then a smattering of murmured agreement.

I smiled bitterly.

Dante, you’ll never get my blessing.

Because the only person you should be marrying is me.