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To The Woman I Love
I can’t believe it’s already been two weeks since I saw you. I miss you like crazy. —Enzo
Enzo
I’vebeeninlovewith the same woman since we were kids—two troublemakers, climbing trees and daring the world to catch us.
Isolde was always beautiful, but not just on the outside. Her kindness, her fire—it drew me in long before I understood what it meant to want someone, trulywantthem.
I haven’t seen her since I was fourteen. That’s the year my papa dragged me into his world of bloodshed and corruption, tearing me away from everything pure and innocent. I’m not the boy I was then—too stained, too broken. I can’t touch her with these hands. Not when I’m tainted by the things I’ve done, bythe monster I’ve become.
I’ve watched her from the shadows all these years, just enough to make sure she’s safe, that she’s still out there in the world, living her life. But when I found out she was engaged, something inside me shattered. I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep torturing myself by looking at a life that’ll never be mine.
She’ll get the life she deserves—the one I could never offer her. The white picket fence, the husband who can look her in the eyes without secrets lingering between them, the certainty that she’ll always be his number one. As for me? I’m condemned to a life of solitude, drowning in blood and violence, always wondering what it would feel like to be truly loved.
“You look miserable,” Dante drawls, clapping me on the back as he takes a seat next to me at the bar. The music pounds in my ears, and drunkards stumble around me, but it barely registers. All I can focus on is the pain I feel inside.
I grunt at him which just makes him chuckle then order a round of shots.
“What sorrows are you drowning?” He slides a shot glass towards me, which I take, knocking back the liquid immediately. It burns on the way down, the sensation a slight reprieve from my mind's woes.
I don’t answer, just indicate for him to pass me another.
He wouldn’t understand even if I could tell him. Which I can’t. No one can ever know that the infamous Russo is hopelessly in love with a woman he can never have. They can’t know that I’m drowning myself in booze because today is the day before she gets married.
I told myself I’d stopped keeping tabs on her. And for the most part, that’s true. It’s been over a year since I actively sought out any information about her. But the wedding invite I received a few weeks ago burns a hole in my pocket.
Lucas Delaney and Isolde Romanojoyfully invite you to celebrate their union in marriage.
Date:11/10/2025
Time:2pm
Location:The Grand Verizon Hotel
Please join us for an evening of love, laughter, and celebration.
Kindly RSVP by 11/10/2024
We look forward to sharing this special day with you!
With love,
Lucas & Isolde
I’m not sure why the invite only turned up a few weeks ago when the RSVP was last year. Perhaps it got lost in the post for a while. Perhaps I was an afterthought. Either way, I’m obviously not going.
“You need to get laid, man. When was the last time you got any action?”
I scowl at Dante’s words. The answer to that would be too long.
It’s not like I’m a virgin. I’m a thirty-five-year-old man, for Christ's sake. I have meaningless, no strings attached sex, never fucking the same woman twice. All the while, wishing that each and every one of them washer.
It doesn’t matter that she’s getting married. That she will never be mine.
I grew up in Italy with my mamma. Isolde and I spent our childhood in an expat-heavy neighborhood, where Italian and English blended effortlessly in the air. When I was fourteen, Papa appeared out of nowhere and uprooted me, dragging me to the States to train me for his world—a world of blood and power. By fifteen, I had taken my first life. By eighteen, I was a Capo.
