We don't go back to the ballroom. Don't say goodbye to anyone. Just head straight for the exit, past the valets, to where Tony's waiting with the car.
"Boss?" He sees my face. "Where to?"
"The rooftop." Not home. Not my father's. The private one I bought three years ago. The one I go to when I need to think without anyone watching. "The one in Tribeca."
"Yes, sir."
Bianca doesn't speak during the drive. Doesn't look at me. Just stares out the window at the passing lights, her reflection ghostly in the glass. She’s shivering though, even though it’s hot out tonight, her teeth clatters and I see her bite down on her tongue to stop it.
I want to say something. Want to tell her it's going to be okay, that we'll figure this out, that I don't care about her past.
But I can't. Because I'm too busy calculating.
Caterina has copies. Digital evidence. Multiple witnesses. If she releases it, the story will spread like wildfire. Every news outlet, every gossip blog, every person in our world will know within hours.
And my father is right, they will question me. My judgment. My fitness to lead. Matteo will have to distance himself from me to protect the family. Deals will fall apart. Alliances will crumble.
Everything I've built could disappear.
Because I chose her.
Fucking hell.
The rooftop building is quiet this late. We take the private elevator that goes straight to the top. Bianca follows me in silence, her heels echoing on the marble floor.
We step out onto the roof. The city spreads below us—a sea of lights and possibilities and danger. The same view I've used to make every major decision in my career.
The same view where I have to decide now if I can keep her.
"Say something," Bianca finally speaks. Her voice is small. Broken. "Yell at me. Tell me I'm exactly what your father called me. Just—say something."
I stand still for a while, choosing my words wisely because a lot can be damaged or repaired tonight through words we aren’t thinking through.
When I mull over everything in my head, the strongest question that remains is. "Why didn't you tell me?"
I hear her soft intake of breath at that question, and she stays so silent that I think she’s going to ignore me.
"Because I was ashamed." She finally whispers, wrapping her arms around herself. "Because I knew this would happen. That someone would recognize me. That it would ruin everything."
"You should have told me anyway."
"Why? So you could judge me? Look at me the way your father did? The way Caterina did?"
"So I could protect you!" The words explode out of me. "So I could prepare for this. Plan for it. Do something before Caterina fucking got her claws in."
"There's nothing you could have done." She turns to face me. "The past doesn't go away just because you want it to. I was anescort. I slept with men for money. That's the truth. And now it's going to destroy both of us."
"How long?" I force myself to ask. "How long were you?—"
"Three years. Starting when I was twenty. I quit when I met Adrian, when he promised to help with my mother's bills." Her laugh is bitter. "Look how that turned out."
"And you never—" I stop myself.
"Never what? Enjoyed it? Wanted to do it? Of course not. I did it because the alternative was watching my mother die." Her eyes are dry, but there's devastation in them. "I did what I had to do. We all do. And I'm not going to apologize for surviving."
I should say something. Should tell her I understand, that I don't judge her, that her past doesn't change how I?—
How I what?
