Page 45 of The Strength Of A Woman

I don’t know many people who would’ve waited quietly to get back in the game and then picked up where they had left off.

It feels like it was yesterday when we buried Bianca, and Leilani thought it was a good idea to wear something outrageous and drive everyone up the wall.

Her cry for attention was as much childish as it was rebellious. It worked, but it also drew the attention of those who weren’t on her side.

Her own mother didn’t have her back.

Enough said.

So seeing her today wasn’t exactly a surprise.

But seeing her all flushed, emotional, living on the edge, and fearing the future was more than unexpected.

It was transformational as it touched a chord with me and made me see her for who she truly was.

The stupid stunt she pulled with Maclean, on the other hand, drove me mad. I knew why she did it, but I still had a hard time swallowing it.

He and I haven’t talked since.

I can’t speak to him without letting out how I feel about her. I’ve already revealed too much.

It still makes me grind my teeth at the idea that she rubbed herself against my friend.

I see red every time I recollect that moment. Long legs, tiny shorts, her eyes seductive pools of madness.

She could’ve made men commit crimes. We were that close to that happening that night.

I liked her better today. She was all mine.

There was no distraction. No Maclean, no games. No provocations. Sex hadn’t been mentioned or suggested.

No territorial disputes.

It was clean.

Only she and I.

I loved that dress on her, the way she wore her hair, the way her eyes sparkled with tears, and her emotions.

She looked like a frightened little thing, and she broke me a little. There was nothing about her that I didn’t like.

In fact, nothing in my head could replace that image.

Her image stayed with me as I finished dinner, had social conversations at the restaurant, and drove Vittoria home.

Vittoria and I have never been what people think we are. It served both of us well and stopped people from talking rubbish.

As the wind sweeps the terrace, I’m still indulging in the innocent face of Leilani.

I see her as if she were here with me.

A few strands of hair blown by the breeze, a few tears scattered in the wind.

It pains me to admit that she is, unfortunately, an impossible dream at this point.

I don’t know what Giorgio plans to do with her, but it won’t serve her well.

Women are trading chips in this business.