The Don Who Called Me Dirty, Begged Me Back Later Chapter 10
The laughter grew louder. Hollow. Mad.
“Heir?” He grabbed the reports off the desk and
hurled them at Mrs. DeLuca’s face. Papers
scattered across the floor.
“See for yourself. See what kind of mongrel that
is.”
Mrs. DeLuca froze. She bent down and picked up
the reports.
Seconds later, her face went white. Her legs gave
out, and she collapsed to the floor.
The winter in Rivermont came earlier and harder
than usual.
In just a few weeks, DeLuca Holdings was on the
verge of collapse. Without Elena, every hidden
crack became a fatal wound. Salvatore was
consumed by the chaos. Rival families circled,
waiting for their chance to strike.
He threw Bianca and her bastard out of Rivermont
like garbage. When she knelt at the villa gates, crying and begging for forgiveness, he did not
even look at her.
He finally understood. The dirty one was never her.
It was his own self–righteous, arrogant, ignorant
heart.
Sterling Heights. It had started snowing.
I stood outside my apartment building, suitcase in hand, ready to head to the airport. Today, Julian
and I were launching a new project.
Today was also the day the court would finalize
my divorce.
A black sedan was parked at the curb. Snow had
piled up on the roof. It had been there for a while.
The door opened. Salvatore stepped out.
He was gaunt. Hollow–eyed. Wearing only a thin
coat, shivering in the snow.
When he saw me, his eyes lit up. He stumbled
toward me. “Elena.”
He stopped in front of me. His knees buckled, and
he dropped onto the snow.
People on the street turned to stare. He did not
seem to notice.
“I am sorry.” He looked up at me. Tears and melted
snow mixed together as they hit the ground.
“I checked everything. You were not lying. I was
blind. I was a bastard.”
“I threw Bianca out. I will give up everything. Elena.
Just give me one more chance. I will spend the
rest of my life making it up to you.”
His hand reached out, trembling, toward the edge
of my coat.
I stepped back.
That single step shattered the last hope in his
eyes.
I looked down at the man I had once loved until I
lost myself. I felt no satisfaction. No pain. Just a
profound, infinite calm.
“Salvatore.” I looked at him from above. “Three
years ago, on our wedding night, you sentenced
me to death.”
“Three years later, I am returning the verdict.”
I took a document from my bag and dropped it
onto the snow in front of him.
The divorce decree, freshly stamped by the court.
“We are even now.”
I turned and walked toward the business sedan
parked nearby. Julian stood by the car, holding a
black umbrella over me.
“Let us go,” he said gently.
I nodded and got in.
The car pulled away. I did not look back at the
man kneeling in the snow, sobbing.
Three hours later.
The flight to Paris climbed through the clouds.
I sat by the window, watching the blinding sunlight.
The light streamed through the clouds and fell on
my left hand.
There used to be a deep mark on that ring finger, where a ring had sat for three years.
I touched the spot gently.
For the first time, I realized it did not hurt anymore.