“There’s nothing to admit!” The words explode out of me. “And it wouldn’t fucking matter anyway. I have to marry an alliance for the family.”
“Fuck an alliance.”
“If I don’t marry an alliance, it’s going to fuck up all the work we’ve done. We’ll lose the ports. We’ll lose everything.” I exhale hard. Shit, I haven’t told Matti and Tommy yet about the contract with the Irish for my marriage to Ashlyn.
“Wait what? What are you talking about?”
“Just give me the fucking supplier.”
Matti is quiet for a long moment. “I don’t want to watch you destroy your life and do anything you don’t want to do. If you want Sophie—”
“I’m not destroying my life. I’m doing what needs to be done.”
“By pushing away the only woman who’s ever made you happy?”
I don’t answer. Because he’s right, and we both know it.
He sighs. “I’ll text you the supplier info. But Vin? This doesn’t fix what you did to her. Money doesn’t fix that kind of humiliation.”
“I know,” I say again, and hang up before he can say anything else.
**
The furniture supplier arrives at the building the next day to take measurements. I’m there, waiting, Sophie’s picture pulled up on my phone.
“This is the owner,” I tell him, showing him the photo. It’s one I took without her knowing: Sophie at the stove, her hair in that messy bun, a soft smile on her face as she tasted something from a wooden spoon. So fucking beautiful.
The supplier studies it. “Pretty lady. She have good taste?”
“The best.” My voice is rough. “Elegant but warm. Nothing too flashy. She’ll want her customers comfortable, like they’re eating in someone’s home. But classy. Upscale.”
He nods, making notes. “I can work with that. When can I meet with her to discuss—”
“You can’t. You’re finalizing with me. Any updates send to her after I’ve paid the bill. If she wants to change anything, let her and bill me.”
“You’re paying, but she’s in charge of the restaurant?”
“That’s right.”
He gives me a look I can’t quite read. “That’s… unusual.”
“Yeah, well. She’s unusual.”
His expression softens. “Lucky woman.”
“No.” I pocket my phone, that image of Sophie still burned into my mind. “I’m the lucky one.”
By the end of the week, I’ve set up everything. Bank account with enough to cover salaries for a full staff for five years. Stocked emergency fund. Accountants. Utilities paid in advance. New car registered in her name, something reliable and safe, not flashy. Insurance. Permits. Licenses. Everything she needs to make her dreams come true.
Everything except me.
I’m sitting in my car outside her new restaurant when my phone rings. It’s the kitchen equipment supplier.
“All set, Mr. Demonio. Installation complete. Ms. Bellamorte should be able to start cooking immediately.”
“Good. Send the final invoice to my office.”
“Already done. Oh, and Mr. Demonio? I told her about the equipment when she stopped by earlier. She seemed confused. Asked who authorized the order.”
