After 7 Years of Going Dutch, I Returned Home as a Mafia Heiress Chapter 10
We sat across from each other in a private room at a high-end Italian restaurant owned by my family. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, dusk was settling in.
I chose this place because every waiter here would politely escort anyone out the moment I raised an eyebrow.
When I arrived, Arthur was already sitting in the room.
An open bottle of Barolo, two empty glasses.
“Vivian, I know very well that the stupid decision I made three years ago was entirely wrong.”
“I admit all of it.”
“I want to use everything I have to make it right.”
I picked up the glass of water in front of me, took a sip, and set it down.
“Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”
“Shares, real estate, equity in any company I own… as long as you say the word, I’ll give it all to you.”
I looked straight into his eyes. “Arthur, if I wanted what you have, I wouldn’t need you to give it to me. I’d take it.
Do you still see yourself as the man on high, here to grade my performance?”
“Even now, you don’t get it. You never understood what I really wanted.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Tell me.”
“What I wanted was the Arthur from those years who would drive across half the city just to pick me up after I finished negotiating a contract.”
“The Arthur who held me and said, ‘I will protect you.””
“Not the Arthur who gave me a C, who told an entire floor of people ‘we have no personal relationship,’ who left me soaked from head to toe in the pouring rain.”
“And the man I once loved… you killed him.”
“You talk about paying any price, but you have no concept of the debt you truly owe.”
The color drained from his face inch by inch.
“You owe me seven years.”
“Seven years of a secret relationship that couldn’t see the light of day. Seven years of meticulously splitting every bill. Seven years of swallowing my grievances just to prove my innocence. Seven years of walking on thin ice, constantly stepping back.”
His lips trembled, but no sound came out. An intense wave of despair and regret flooded his eyes.
“You gave your utmost tenderness and privilege to Jessica.”
“You thought she was fragile, that she deserved preferential treatment.”
“Then what was I? Did I just deserve to be scrutinized and punished by you? You sentenced me with your arrogance.”
He stood up abruptly. The wine bottle was knocked over, and the dark red liquid bled across the white tablecloth.
“Arthur, when I gritted my teeth, hid my identity, and struggled alongside you, it wasn’t because I was born to suffer and couldn’t feel pain.”
I looked up at him.
“It was because I loved you, so I felt I could ignore all of it.”
“Later, I finally understood. With your paranoia and twisted logic, you were never going to listen to my explanations.”
“So now, I won’t. Because you no longer deserve to hear it.”
His eyes were completely red, tears practically ready to fall.
“Vivian, please give me one last chance. Just one,” he begged, his voice cracking.
“A chance to do what?”
“To give me a C again?”
“To throw me out in front of the whole company to ‘avoid suspicion’ again?”
He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
“I know you probably want to kill me.”
“Arthur, where there is hate, there must be love.”
“I stopped caring about you a long time ago.”
He froze, looking as if the soul had been drained from his body.
“If I never bother you again-”
“Then leave right now,” I cut him off immediately.
“If one day you look back-”
“Not in this lifetime.”
“Arthur, I’m not the girl you left behind, waiting for you to come back.”
“I am the woman who walked away.”
Holding onto the edge of the table, he slowly stood up straight.
When he reached the door of the private room, he stopped dejectedly.
“Vivian. If…”
“There are no ‘ifs’,” I said, shattering the fantasy.
As I drove away from the restaurant, a text message from him lit up my screen:
[I will wait for you for the rest of my life.]
