My Boyfriend Made Me Kiss His Brother, So I Chose Him Instead

Then I walked even faster. My heart dropped like a stone, sinking into a place so cold I could barely breathe. So that was what I was to him. Not his woman. Not someone to cherish. Not someone whose dignity mattered. Just a body that could be pushed into a dare, kissed by another man, and brushed off with the words, "It wasn't real." When I got back to the apartment, I locked myself in my room. My thumb found the small pendant at my throat and pressed its edge until the chain bit into my skin. Luca knocked on the door again and again, but I ignored him. I did not want to see him. I did not want to hear his voice. I did not want to listen to another excuse wrapped in carelessness. Then my phone buzzed. It was a message from a burner number. I opened it. The moment I saw the words on the screen, a chill ran down my spine. That was my first kiss. You have to take responsibility. Dante. I stared at the message for a long time, my fingers tightening around the phone. The discomfort I had felt at the social club surged back all at once. His gaze. His trembling body. The way he had looked at me afterward, still and certain, like a man who had just decided something that could not be undone. I did not reply. I simply turned off the screen and decided to handle everything coldly. If I ignored him, perhaps he would lose interest. If I refused to respond, perhaps this disgusting farce would end here. But days passed. Dante did not contact me again. And Luca still showed no sign of remorse. No apology. No explanation. No attempt to truly understand why I was angry. It was as if he believed that once a few days passed, I would naturally calm down and pretend nothing had happened. My heart felt unbearably heavy, like a massive stone had been pressed against my chest. Every breath was difficult. Finally, on the fifth night, Luca appeared at my door with a cup of bubble tea. His expression was awkward, but not guilty enough. He smoothed one hand down his lapel and gave a quick, unnecessary tug at his cuff before he spoke. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't expect things to turn out like that." He handed me the drink. His tone was so casual that it almost made the apology meaningless. I looked at the bubble tea in his hand and suddenly wanted to laugh. Did he think one drink could smooth over the humiliation he had forced on me? Did he think my anger was that cheap? Still, I took it. Not because I had forgiven him. But because I wanted to see whether he had even understood what he had done wrong. I pulled out my phone and showed him Dante's message. "I told you before," I said coldly, "that he had ulterior motives toward me." Luca glanced at the screen. Instead of shock or anger, he frowned. Then he said the words that shattered the last of my patience. "You and Dante aren't on the same level. Stop flattering yourself." My fingers tightened around the phone. Luca continued, as if he were only stating a fact. "He probably just continued the dare after leaving. There's no way he'd actually be interested in you." Those words cut through me like a blade. For a moment, I felt dizzy. Not because Dante might be interested in me. But because Luca had humiliated me again, so naturally, so effortlessly, as if belittling me had become instinct. I looked at him and asked slowly, "So what you mean is, I'm not good enough for him?" My voice was calm, but my chest was burning. I was only a department head at one of the Family's legitimate front businesses, yes. But I had worked for every bit of what I owned. I had my own savings, my own career, my own dignity. And Luca? He was a capo in name, entrusted with the Family's real-estate fronts and a few tribute streams, but he coasted on the Falcone bloodline more than on anything he had built himself. He drifted through his days collecting from properties other men maintained.

Yet he had the audacity to look down on me. Luca seemed to realize he had said the wrong thing. His expression changed, and he hurried to explain. "That's not what I meant. I just thought…" But I no longer wanted to hear it. I had heard enough. Enough excuses. Enough dismissal. Enough of him treating my discomfort as vanity and my anger as overreaction. The argument broke out instantly. Our voices grew sharper and louder, each sentence tearing open cracks that had long existed between us. The sweetness we once had seemed to collapse in that moment. All the tenderness, all the memories, all the promises suddenly felt fragile and false. In the middle of our argument, Dante's wolf-like gaze flashed through my mind again. And for the first time, I wondered if Luca had ever truly failed to see it. Or if he had seen everything clearly from the beginning and simply believed I was not worth protecting. I stood at the entrance of the boardwalk, staring at the crowd flowing past me. Children were laughing. Couples were taking photos. The bright music from the carnival rides drifted through the air, cheerful and lively. But my mood sank little by little. Luca had stood me up again. It was not the first time. Every time, he had a reason. Every time, something "suddenly came up." Every time, I was the one left waiting like a fool. I took a deep breath, forcing down the disappointment and anger burning in my chest. Fine. If he did not come, then I would go in alone. I had already bought the tickets. I had already made time for this. I refused to let another one of his excuses ruin my day. But the moment I walked through the entrance, I saw a familiar figure standing not far away. Dante. He was wearing a casual jacket, one hand in his pocket, the other raised as he waved at me with a bright smile. For a second, I froze. He walked toward me naturally, as if he had been waiting there for a long time. "Luca asked me to come with you," Dante explained. "Something came up at the last minute, and he couldn't make it." A bitter feeling rose in my throat. So Luca could not even be bothered to explain it to me himself. He had simply pushed me onto Dante again. Just like that night at the party. But Dante's smile was warm beneath the sunlight, clean and gentle, so different from the dangerous gaze I remembered from before. For some reason, the heaviness in my chest loosened a little. Since he was already here, I had no reason to turn around and leave. We went on the roller coaster first. As the ride shot forward, screams erupted all around us. The wind rushed against my face, tearing away the frustration I had been holding in. My heart pounded wildly, not from fear, but from a long-lost thrill. For the first time in a long while, I laughed without forcing myself. Dante sat beside me, laughing too. When the ride ended, my legs were a little weak. Dante noticed immediately and reached out to steady me. "Careful," he said. His voice was light, but his hand was steady. I caught the faintest edge of his signet ring pressing cool against my arm where his fingers closed. Later, he bought me cotton candy. The soft pink sugar melted on my tongue, sweet enough to make my mood brighten without warning. We walked side by side through the boardwalk, talking about the legitimate fronts, daily life, and all sorts of small, ordinary things. Two of his men trailed thirty feet behind us, close enough to intervene, far enough to pretend they weren't there. I had learned not to look back at them. To my surprise, the conversation was easy. Dante was not as difficult to approach as I had imagined. Without realizing it, I began stealing glances at him. Under the sunlight, his profile looked unexpectedly handsome.

His jawline was clean, his lashes lowered slightly when he smiled, and there was a lazy warmth about him that made people drop their guard. It was a strange thing, that warmth, coming from a man whose name alone could empty a room. Then, without warning, I remembered the kiss from that night. The way he had trembled. The way his breath had changed. The message he sent afterward on the burner. That was my first kiss. You have to take responsibility. My heart suddenly skipped. I quickly looked away. But Dante seemed to notice. He turned his head and smiled at me. That smile was bright, almost dazzling. For one brief moment, I felt as if I had fallen into a warm, dangerous dream. Later, we rode the Ferris wheel. As the cabin slowly rose, the entire boardwalk spread out beneath us. The roller coaster tracks twisted like ribbons. The lights of the game booths flickered one by one. The crowd below became small and distant. Beyond the rides, the black line of the harbor stretched south, and I could see the warehouse roofs that belonged to the Falcone shipping concern glinting in the last of the light. The sunset painted the sky in soft orange and gold. I sat across from Dante, watching the fading light fall across his face. Neither of us spoke for a while. The silence was not awkward. It was strangely gentle. When the Ferris wheel reached its highest point, Dante lowered his eyes and gently took my hand. His fingers were warm. I should have pulled away. I knew I should have. But I did not. I simply let his warmth wrap around me, spreading slowly through my palm and into my chest. After we got off the Ferris wheel, Dante suggested going to the haunted house. I agreed. Inside, the darkness swallowed everything. Cold air brushed against my skin. Sudden screams echoed from hidden corners. Fake ghosts leaped out without warning, making me flinch again and again. At some point, I instinctively moved closer to Dante. His shoulder brushed mine. His body heat was close, solid, reassuring. When something suddenly dropped from above, I grabbed his sleeve without thinking. Dante looked down at me, amusement flashing in his eyes, but he did not tease me. Instead, he slowed his steps and stayed beside me the entire way. When we finally walked out of the haunted house, the bright light outside made me squint. Then we looked at each other and laughed. It felt as if we had just survived a small adventure together. On the way home, I suddenly realized something. For the entire day, I had barely thought about Luca. Not his excuses. Not his absence. Not the disappointment he had left me with. It was as if Dante had quietly filled all the empty spaces Luca had created. When we reached my door, Dante stopped. One of his soldiers waited by the black sedan at the curb, eyes forward, giving us the illusion of privacy. For a moment, Dante seemed to hesitate. Then he leaned down and gently kissed my cheek. The touch was brief. Soft. Almost careful. Before I could react, he had already stepped back. "Good night," he said with a smile. I stood there, watching him walk away. A faint sweetness rose in my chest, light and unfamiliar. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Luca. Sorry. A friend came back from abroad unexpectedly, and I really couldn't get away. I stared at the screen. For a long time, I said nothing. Then I let out a cold laugh. Another excuse. Always another excuse. He never came when I needed him. He never explained in person. He never cared how many times he left me standing alone. But Dante had been there today. Dante had stayed. Dante had made me laugh. The contrast was so sharp that it almost hurt. I hesitated for a moment, wondering whether I should tell Luca what had happened today. That Dante had come in his place. That we had spent the whole day together. That Dante had held my hand on the Ferris wheel and kissed my cheek at my door.

In the end, I said nothing. I locked the screen and remained silent. A moment later, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was Dante. Did you have fun today? I hope I didn't let you down. Looking at his message, I could not stop the corners of my mouth from lifting. I replied quickly. I had a great time. Thank you for spending the day with me. Dante's reply came almost instantly. My pleasure. I'd love to go out with you again. My heart suddenly began to race. A strange feeling spread through my chest, sweet and restless, like something quietly taking root. I knew this was not right. I knew I was still Luca's girl. I knew Dante was his brother. But emotions were never as obedient as reason. Over the next few days, Dante contacted me more and more often. Every morning, he sent me a greeting. Every night, he asked whether I had eaten, whether work had been tiring, whether I had slept well. We talked about the fronts, about life, about hobbies, about childhood memories, about things I had never even thought to tell Luca. With Dante, conversation never felt like begging for attention. He responded quickly. He listened carefully. He made every ordinary detail feel important. Gradually, I began to look forward to his messages. I would check my phone during work at the restaurant the Family kept on Mulberry Street. I would smile at the screen without realizing it. I would feel disappointed if he replied a little later than usual. And Luca, the man I had loved for three years, seemed to fade little by little into a distant corner of my memory. I knew I was standing at the edge of something dangerous. I knew one more step could ruin everything. But I could not stop myself. Every word Dante sent was like a shot of adrenaline, pulling me deeper into a sweetness I knew I should resist. Sometimes, late at night, I even began to imagine what life would be like if I were with him. Would he show up when he promised? Would he listen when I said I was uncomfortable? Would he protect me instead of laughing while others humiliated me? The thought was dangerous. But also unbearably tempting. Just as I was drowning in those sweet, forbidden thoughts, Dante suddenly sent me a message. There was no text. Only a photo. I opened it. The smile on my face froze. In the picture, Luca was holding another girl in his arms, gently comforting her. I stared at the photo on my phone, my heart tightening as if an invisible hand had wrapped around it and squeezed. In the picture, Luca had both hands on an unfamiliar girl's shoulders. His head was lowered slightly, his expression gentle, patient, and full of concern. He looked exactly like someone comforting the person he cared about most. For a moment, my mind went completely blank. All the trust I had tried so hard to preserve collapsed in an instant. My fingers trembled as I typed a message to Dante. What's going on? Dante replied almost immediately. I'm not sure either. I just happened to pass by Luca's place today and saw this. I stared at those words, my chest rising and falling unevenly. My thumb found the pendant at my throat, pressing its edge until the chain went taut against my neck. After a long while, I forced myself to breathe. No. I could not just sit here and imagine the worst. I had to ask Luca myself. I had to hear his explanation with my own ears. I grabbed my bag and went straight to his place. The Falcone townhouse on Mulberry Street had a soldier posted at the stoop who recognized me and stepped aside without a word. When I pushed open Luca's door, the first thing I saw was the girl from the photo. She was sitting on the sofa, her eyes red from crying, looking fragile and pitiful. Luca was in the kitchen, busying himself as if he were taking care of someone precious. The scene stabbed straight into my eyes.

I stood at the entrance, my fingers curling tightly around my bag strap. "Who is she?" I asked. I tried my best to keep my voice steady, to stop my anger and jealousy from spilling out too obviously. Luca turned around. The moment he saw me, panic flashed across his face. But it disappeared quickly. One hand moved to his lapel, smoothing it flat with a quick, unnecessary tug at his cuff. "Elena?" he asked. "What are you doing here?" Then he glanced at the girl on the sofa and explained, "She's a friend from the old neighborhood. She just came back from overseas." I let out a cold laugh. "A friend?" My voice sharpened despite myself. "So because she's your friend, you held her so closely and comforted her like that?" I took a step forward. "So because she's your friend, you stood me up at the boardwalk that day?" Luca frowned, irritation gradually replacing the guilt in his eyes. "What are you thinking?" His tone made it sound as if I were the one being unreasonable. "Her dog is sick and at the vet. She was upset, so I comforted her. That's all." He paused, then added, "And the other day, her pipe burst. I only went over to help fix it." Pipe burst. Help fix it. For some reason, those words made me laugh. A bitter, mocking laugh. In all the years we had been together, whenever something broke at home, I was always the one who handled it. A leaking faucet. A clogged drain. A broken light. Luca had never lifted a finger. He would either say he did not know how or tell me to call someone. But for this girl, he could suddenly fix pipes. I looked at him and said sarcastically, "So you can fix pipes?" Luca's face darkened. I continued, every word carrying the resentment I had swallowed for years. "I've been with you for so long, and I've never seen you lift a finger for anything at home." His expression turned colder. "What exactly are you trying to say?" he snapped. "Is there something wrong with helping a friend?" The last thread of control inside me snapped. I felt dizzy, as if every doubt, every grievance, and every insecurity I had forced down was erupting at once. "Yes," I said, my voice trembling. "There is something very wrong with it." I raised my voice, unable to hold back anymore. "You hid so much from me. You stood me up again and again. You comforted another woman, helped her with things you never helped me with, and now you expect me to trust you like nothing happened?" Luca's face went completely cold. His eyes no longer held panic or guilt. Only impatience. "Believe it or not," he said, "I don't owe you any explanation." The words struck me so hard that my eyes instantly burned. For a few seconds, I could not say anything. The kitchen faucet dripped once into the silence. The girl on the sofa looked away, and I could feel her stillness like a held breath. Then I turned and left. I did not want him to see my tears. I did not want to look pathetic in front of him. But the moment I stepped out past the soldier on the stoop, my vision blurred. Grievance and anger tangled together in my chest, pressing down so heavily that I could barely breathe. When I got home, I curled up on the sofa alone. The room was silent. The deadbolt I had turned behind me felt like the only solid thing in the world. But my mind kept replaying everything. The girl crying on the sofa. Luca standing in the kitchen. His gentle expression in the photo. His cold sentence. I don't owe you any explanation. The more I thought about it, the colder my heart became. Just then, my phone vibrated. It was Dante. Are you okay? Do you need someone to talk to? I stared at the screen. His message was simple, but in that moment, it felt like a hand reaching toward me from the darkness. Then, suddenly, a bold thought appeared in my mind. Maybe Luca needed to feel what I had felt. Maybe it was time he learned what it meant to be ignored, dismissed, and replaced. My finger hovered over the screen for a long time. My thumb pressed against the pendant at my throat one more time, the thin chain biting into skin. Then, trembling slightly, I typed a message. Dante, I want to see you. Almost instantly, he replied. Sure. I'll be right there. I stared at those words, my heart beating faster. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the chaos inside me. Less than half an hour later, the doorbell rang. I walked over and opened the door. Dante stood outside, his eyes full of concern. He filled the doorframe the way men like him filled any room, but the usual authority in his posture was held back, softened. The moment he saw my face, his expression changed. "What happened?" he asked quietly. His voice was gentle. Too gentle. The emotions I had been holding back all night finally broke apart. Without thinking, I threw myself into his arms. Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably. Dante froze for a moment, then wrapped his arms around me. He patted my back softly, again and again. "It's okay," he whispered. "I'm here." Those three words made my heart tremble. Luca had never said that to me when I needed him most. But Dante did. I lifted my head from his chest and looked into his eyes. They were warm, patient, and full of something I did not dare name. A sudden impulse surged through me. Maybe it was anger. Maybe it was revenge. Maybe it was the loneliness I had endured for too long. I leaned closer. Just as I was about to kiss him, the door suddenly swung open. Luca stood at the entrance. His face was pale. His eyes were filled with anger, shock, and disbelief.