I had just returned to the villa in my wine-soaked clothes when the lock turned.
Mattia was home.
He walked straight up to me and pressed a cold hotel keycard into my palm."Catalina, stay at a hotel tonight."
He paused. "Ginevra is moving in tomorrow. I don't want her to see anything of yours. It'll upset her."
Then he added, "I know this is hard on you. I'll make it up to you later, I promise."
Later? Our future had just been sold off at that auction for 15 million dollars with a price tag attached. I walked past him to the nightstand and calmly picked up the framed photo of us.
Mattia must have thought I was feeling sentimental, because his expression softened. "Don't be difficult, Catalina. Now's not the time."
"There won't be a later." Right in front of him, I threw the frame into the trash bin.
Mattia froze. Fury flashed across his face. "Catalina! What the hell is wrong with you?"
I ignored him and opened the closet, tossing my meager belongings into a suitcase. It had been five years. Everything I owned fit into a 20-inch bag.
He'd probably never seen me like this before, cold and unyielding. For once, he had nothing to say. I pulled my suitcase past him and walked out.
The taxi drove through the empty late-night streets. I'd just given the driver the hotel address when a deafening roar erupted from behind us.
Several motorcycles forced our car off the road. A group of thugs swarmed around us, leering at me.
The leader, a guy with bleached hair, banged on the window and whistled at me. His words were crude and arrogant.
"Hey there, pretty thing. Don't be scared. Ms. Bellini wants us to take really good care of you and snap some nice pictures for Mr. Vitale. Let him enjoy the show too."
The driver's face went white, his hands trembling on the wheel. I stared at those disgusting faces through the window, ice forming in my chest.
Ginevra really couldn't wait. I pulled out my phone and called Mattia.
"Mattia, help me. Some men stopped my car. I'm scared."
My voice shook, but my eyes stayed flat as I looked out the window.
On the other end, Mattia's tone was impatient. "Catalina, are you that addicted to playing victim? Stop pulling these pathetic stunts for attention. I'm sick of it."
It was a life-or-death situation, and all he could think was that I was begging for attention. He'd crushed this last chance himself.
Before I could say anything else, a cloying female voice slipped through the line, breathless and suggestive.
"Matt, stop worrying about that bitch. Focus on me."
It was Ginevra.
Mattia hung up. I stared at the screen, at that final call record, and slowly wiped the tears from my eyes.
Outside, the men were still shouting. When I didn't react, they started pounding harder on the window.
I took a deep breath.
The game was over. I pushed the door open and stepped out.
The thug grinned when he saw me emerge. "That's more like it. Cooperate early, and we'll be real gentle with…"
His expression froze mid-sentence. Four black sports cars emerged from the darkness and surrounded us silently. Headlights blazed to life, blinding the thugs.
Car doors opened in unison. A dozen men in black suits stepped out and slammed the thugs to the ground in seconds.
The leader, so arrogant moments ago, now had his face pressed against the asphalt, letting out muffled groans of pain. I walked over and looked down at him.
"Which hand did you use to bang on my window?"
He trembled. The smell of urine hit the air.
I stepped back in disgust. Turning to the leading man, I said, "Return this gift from Ms. Bellini. With interest."
"Yes, Principessa."
I slid into the back seat of one of the sports cars. Behind me, screams tore through the night.
