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After the divorce, everything just got easier. I was myself again, clear-eyed and steady and alive.I'm the wind. No mountain stays in the wind's way for long, and if one does, you go over it.The world was bright and wide, except for one irritating smudge: Victor.I still didn't know what came over him. We were divorced and he refused to let it end there. He chased me across the East Coast, all of it and publicly, like an old sticker that wouldn't peel off, stubborn and irritating and impossible to shake.He called constantly. I blocked him. He started writing letters instead, one after another without stopping. I collected a pile and burned them all. Every holiday, he'd send something thoughtful and extravagant through a middleman. I returned every package.The worst was our old anniversary.He'd bought what seemed like every lily in New York and had them laid out in front of my house, a whole field of them. I finally lost patience, went outside, and confronted him.He was standing t
Victor spun around, fast enough that I could hear the crack of his neck turning.He stared at me, wide-eyed and completely still. He didn't even blink, as if afraid I'd disappear again if he did.A sound caught in his throat, rough, like something dislodging. Then, after a long moment, he finally got a word out."Delora..."I squared my shoulders, pushed my hair back, and kept my voice level. "First. Put down your gun."Victor threw his gun to the floor and kicked it aside without hesitation."Do you have the divorce papers on you?""I do," he answered, almost automatically."Take them out."He reached into his breast pocket with a slightly unsteady hand."Good." I nodded once. "Now sign them."Something clicked back on in his eyes. He went rigid. "No." He shook his head hard. "No. Delora, I was wrong. I know it. Please, give me another chance." He gripped the papers like they were the only thing keeping him upright and looked at me with everything he had left."There are no more chanc
Carlos arranged to meet Victor at the club. I waited in the back room.Victor practically burst through the door."Victor, I've determined who was really behind the—""Skip it." Victor was already scanning the room, breathing hard. "Where's Delora?"Carlos blinked, then tapped the folder on the table. "I'm going to make sure Sophia answers for what she did—""Fine, fine, do whatever you want. I don't care." Victor cut him off again, turning in a slow circle. "Where is she? Tell Delora to come out.""I don't know where she is.""Bull. You saw her. You have to have seen her." Victor's voice spiked and he slammed a hand down on the folder. "You had three years and couldn't find a thing on your own. This information came from Delora. I know it did. Get her out here. I want to see her."I nearly sighed out loud in the back room.Victor was sharp enough to hold the seat he held, most of the time. Even now, he saw right through the scheme in two seconds flat. Yet when it came to Sophia, he'd
My father clapped me on the shoulder. "I had my doubts about you."I was busy cutting into a perfectly marbled ribeye and didn't slow down."But looking at that appetite," he said, "I'm not worried anymore." He smiled. "You're actually done with Victor."I dabbed my mouth with a napkin. "All I want now is to enjoy my life. The happier the better." I shrugged. "Love's not the only way to get there."My father refilled my wine glass. "Victor's been looking for you. He still won't sign the papers." His voice dropped. "Do you want me to handle it?"I took a sip of red wine. "No. This started with me. I'll finish it." I glanced at my watch. "I have someone to meet. I'm heading out."I kissed my father's cheek and went to meet the person I'd been thinking about.At a private club under the Moretti family's umbrella, I found Carlos Reyes. He was in a white dress shirt, collar open, the clean line of his throat leading down to a chest that looked like it was made out of granite.Not bad.Carlo
(Victor's POV)Victor didn't remember leaving the Moretti estate. The divorce papers were folded in his breast pocket, a single sheet of paper, thin as nothing and heavy as a wall.He hadn't signed. He couldn't. There was still a chance. He couldn't sign.He told himself that, drifting, until his feet brought him somewhere on their own: the bedroom, their bedroom.Delora's makeup was still arranged on the vanity, every piece in its place like small headstones. He opened the wardrobe and her clothes hung in a silent row. Everything was here. She wasn't.How bad had it hurt her, to leave without taking a single thing?Victor's chest ached. Then he thought of something and grabbed his left hand, the ring finger.The ring. The ring.Delora had asked for it back. She came back for the ring. It was the only thing she brought along when she left. She still loved me.Victor covered his face, laughing through the pressure behind his eyes. Fortune had given him a second chance. So the only thing
(Victor's POV)Delora was gone, vanished completely, like smoke.Victor turned New York inside out, every button man on the street looking for her, and found nothing. Finally, with nothing left to try, he drove to the Moretti estate. She had to have come home. It was the only place left. If he had to get on his knees and apologize, he would. Whatever it took to bring her back.But the Moretti family left him to sit alone in the reception hall for nearly an hour.When Don Lorenzo Moretti finally walked in, built like a bull with age and authority carved into his face, Victor swallowed his pride."I'm here to bring Delora home." Victor spoke in a hurry, then realising he had been impolite, he added, "Don Moretti."The Don looked him over, slowly. "Delora isn't here. But she left something for you." He slid a set of divorce papers across the table.Delora had already signed.Victor stared at her signature as a slow, heavy grief spread through him from somewhere deep. She wouldn't do this.







