The Don Who Called Me Dirty, Begged Me Back Later Chapter 02
“Send me the report when it is done.”
I thought it was the last hurdle before marriage. If I could prove myself, he would finally love me.
Later, I realized it was only the beginning of three years of humiliation.
“Alright. I understand.” I looked away and stared out the window again.
Salvatore seemed satisfied with my compliance. For once, his tone softened. “Tomorrow is Saturday. I will take you to buy that necklace you have been wanting.”
“Do not bother.”
He did not insist. He dropped me off at home and left again in a hurry.
I pulled out my phone and called my assistant. “Draft the divorce papers tonight. Also, prepare my resignation from DeLuca Holdings.”
At eleven that night, the villa door lock clicked.
Salvatore pushed the door open, carrying a dead-drunk Bianca in his arms. “She was drunk. It is not safe for a girl to stay in a hotel alone. I brought her home.”
He laid Bianca on the couch and turned to me, standing on the stairs, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Go make her something for her hangover.”
“There is no medicine in the house,” I said.
Salvatore’s brow furrowed deeper, a note of reproach in his voice. “Then make her some warm porridge. Her stomach is weak. Is not that what you are best at?”
He took off his jacket and draped it over Bianca, his movements gentle. “Hurry up. Do not let her suffer too long.”
I turned and walked into the kitchen.
After we got married, I chose every curtain, every dish set, every candle myself. I thought if I made this place warm enough, Salvatore would eventually come closer.
For three years, I ate alone. Worked late alone. Waited in this empty house alone.
And now a stranger was moving in without a second thought.
By the time I brought the porridge out, Salvatore was crouched in front of the couch, using a warm towel to wipe Bianca’s face. His movements were impossibly gentle, as if afraid of hurting her.
“Leave it on the table. Go to bed.” He did not turn around. All his attention was on her.
I set the bowl down and went upstairs.
That night, I lay in the master bedroom’s enormous bed.
In the middle of the night, I woke to faint sounds. I got up and pushed open the door.
The guest room door at the end of the hall was slightly ajar. Warm light spilled out.
“Sal, my head hurts so much.”
“Easy, sweetheart. Drink some water. I told you not to drink so much, but you never listen.”
His voice was low and gentle. A patience and tenderness I had never heard from him before.
I stood there until my legs went numb, then turned back to my room.
The next morning, when I came downstairs, Bianca was sitting at the dining table eating breakfast.
She was wearing my silk nightgown. The one I bought last month and had not worn yet.
“Good morning, Donna.” She stirred her porridge, her smile innocent. “My clothes got dirty last night. Sal found me one of yours. You do not mind, do you?”
I walked past her and poured myself a glass of water. “If you like picking up my leftovers, I will write it off as charity.”
Bianca’s smile stiffened for a moment, then returned.
Salvatore walked out of the study, car keys in hand. He glanced at me. “Elena, take Bianca to the hospital for a checkup later. I have an important meeting this morning.”
My fingers tightened around the glass. “What kind of checkup?”
Salvatore paused for two seconds.