Where Red Roses Wither
The year I turned twenty-eight, my husband, Vincent Falcone, became the Don of the Falcone family.
And I, Elara Falcone, was finally pregnant with the child we had longed for.
Power, family, love—everything was perfect.
But before I could share the news, everything shattered. He was accused of rape by the daughter of our family's Consigliere.
I rushed to the scene, convinced it was a plot by a rival family.
Instead, I found a smug young girl wearing a custom wedding ring identical to mine, grinding the memorial photo of our dead daughter, Lily, under her heel.