Chapter 9
As Vincent stepped out, his phone buzzed once.
It was an official letter from Isabella’s family lawyer.
He skipped past the lengthy opening clauses, his gaze locking on the jarring, out–of–place entry: [Mental Distress
Compensation: The husband shall pay the wife the sum of exactly one US dollar.)
Vincent chuckled lowly.
As he laughed, his eyes stung and flushed red at the corners.
“Isabella,” he whispered into the empty air. “you are so fucking cruel.”
She wanted him to admit that he–was worth exactly one lousy dollar.
The court’s divorce decree was delivered to Vincent’s office far sooner than he had anticipated.
His assistant placed the document on the desk carefully, head bowed slightly. “Don, all property transfers were finalized
and filed yesterday.”
Vincent did not so much as glance at the papers.
He stared fixed at the live press conference streaming on his computer screen.
Caesars Palace, Las Vegas.
The official announcement for the marriage alliance between the Rosetti family and Chicago’s De Luca family.
Isabella stood beside a tall, composed man.
That was Luca De Luca, eldest son of the De Luca clan, the most powerful mafia heir in Chicago,
-He was the very suitor she had rejected all those years ago to be with Vincent.
Over the years, the two had led entirely separate romantic lives.
No one could have predicted that after all the twists and turns, they would circle right back to this arranged alliance.
The camera zoomed in for a tight close–up of their clasped hands.
Vincent recognized the pair of sapphire bracelets circling Isabella’s wrist instantly.
They were the Rosetti family heirloom. Her father had once told her, I’ll give these to you when you stop acting like a brat and grow wiser,” and she had snapped back petulantly, “I don’t want them.”
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Now she wore them, smiling serenely in front of cameras broadcasting to every corner of the world.
“Don” the assistant’s voice went tight with barely concealed tension. “we just got calls from three family Capos, saying
saying they won’t renew their contracts when they expire at the end of the year.”
Vincent finally lifted his cold gaze. “Reason?”
They didn’t specify. But I ran full checks–all three have longstanding ties to the Rosetti family.” The assistant swallowed
hard. Adam’s apple bobbing. “Also, the West Coast arms trafficking project… the lead investor officially pulled out this
morning.”
“Which investor?”
“The Swiss Firchli Fund. The assistant paused, hesitant to continue, “Its managing director is Luca De Luca’s cousin.”
Vincent’s fingers clenched so hard his knuckles blanched white.
He remembered Isabella had brought it up once, offhand. “My dad has an old family friend’s son working in finance in
Chicago–should we reach out to him?”
So that old family friend’s son was her former arranged suitor.
He had been pissed off over some random, meaningless fling back then, and had snapped at her sharply. “Your dad?
What the hell else can he give me besides calling me a useless fuckup?*
She never mentioned it again. She just quietly carved out new paths and expanded their network all on her own.
“Also…” The assistant’s voice dropped to a near whisper, barely audible, “The bank just notified us our credit line has been
slashed by 60 percent. The bank president let it slip privately that Don Rosetti put in a word.”
Don Rosetti.
The man who had bashed his forehead open with a cane seven years prior. The man who had snarled, “My daughter’s
blind, but I sure as hell am not.”
Vincent suddenly burst out laughing, the sound sharp and bitter.
“I see now…” He leaned back in his leather executive chair, every word laced with brutal self–mockery. “Every step I
climbed these seven years, every rung I stepped on, was padded with her reputation, her connections, the opportunities
she begged for on her knees for me.”
The assistant dared not make a single sound.
‘Get out.”
After the door clicked shut behind him, Vincent pulled out his old beat–up cell phone–the one he had used in the
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Chapter 9
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
