Chapter 2

The CEO blinked, then his face lit up with surprise and pleasure. “Even better. I'll announce it to the board immediately.”

His eyes peered at me over the rim of his glasses with a touch of something wistful.

“Three years ago, Chairman Vincenzo was determined to keep you here. Pity Miss Delores had a better offer at the time.”

He paused. “Would you like me to arrange a meeting? Old friends catching up, nothing more.”

I lifted my brows, then shook my head with a small bitter smile.

Three years ago, Vincenzo had pulled every string he could to keep me at his side, and in the end, I'd chosen Raymond.

After everything that had happened, I couldn't look him in the eye.

The CEO walked me out personally, and as we parted he offered one more compliment.

“Three years gone, and Miss Delores is exactly the same. Sharp as ever.”

He made a slicing motion with his hand. “The world is butter, and you're the hot knife. Cuts clean through with that satisfying sizzle.”

I smiled and waved him off.

I'd barely stepped out in front of my hotel when a familiar voice stopped me cold.

“Delores!”

It was Raymond.

He was darting across the street with one hand thrown out to stop traffic, the horns and shouted curses from drivers chasing him all the way to my feet.

I took a deep breath and slapped him across the face with everything I had.

My hand throbbed and stung, the same as my heart at that exact moment.

The blow turned his head sideways. He held there a second, then slowly straightened and adjusted his tie on the way back up, his face dark as a thundercloud.

“I rushed all the way here to explain myself, and you hit me?”

His voice was quiet, almost gentle, like the air right before a storm breaks.

“There's nothing to explain,” I bit out. “That slap was for the lying.”

“I heard them clearly. Your men were calling Raffina Donna.”

He lit a cigarette and exhaled the smoke straight into my face.

“And? It's just a title.”

“The estate is in your name. I've given you full authority over the family funds. You control everything.”

“Raffina is alone out here. She needs the protection. What's the harm in a title?”

“The family's a ship. I steer, you run the sails, you keep us supplied. What difference does a title make?”

I was so stunned by his nerve that I just stood there, unable to get a word out.

He stomped his foot hard, like he was crushing something underfoot.

“Del, we're both reasonable people. Reasonable people look at substance, not surfaces.”

“The substance is that I love you, and you know it. So don't throw a little-girl tantrum at me.”

He let out a small laugh and tilted his chin up, looking down at me from on high.

“Besides, I handed you the entire Carraso fund portfolio. That's trust. You really want to pick a fight over something this small?”

What a joke.

Three years of loyal service, three years of bleeding for him, and to everyone else I was nothing but his dog.

The promised wife's position had been handed to someone else overnight, and now I was the one being unreasonable?

I held my hand out, palm up.

“Fine. Three years of work for the Carrasos, and I didn't take a single cent.”

“Now I'm taking back what I'm worth.”

I turned to go.

His eyes flickered, then his hand shot out and seized my arm, his face going gray.

“Where do you think you're going? I'm not letting you leave.”

“What gives you the right? Are we legally anything to each other?”

My eyes traveled across his face, flattening every last trace of his arrogance.

Irritation crawled up his face like vines, slow and spreading.

He took a deep drag on the cigarette, and the ember flared bright, throwing shifting light across the side of his face.

“I know you have a temper. That's why I made up the story about getting shot, so I could stay here and handle this mess.”

“I already told you I'd give you what you're owed before the baby comes. Can't you wait even three more months?”

I shook his hand off and smoothed the wrinkles he'd put in my sleeve, my face cold.

He watched me, his patience visibly fraying.

“Del, I'm a Don. Everything I do is for the family. I have my reasons.”

“Just three more months, okay?”

I'd heard this speech too many times.

And the end of it was always the same: another woman with the title of Donna.

I gave him a small, dry smile. “Raymond, you can have your reasons, and I can have my choices.”

His jaw locked. He didn't say a word, but he didn't move out of my way either; he just stood there like a wall.

That was when a small boy, maybe three years old, came toddling over.

He launched himself at Raymond's leg, wrapped his arms around it, tilted his head up and called out, sweet as honey,

“Daddy.”