The Villainess Wants a Divorce Chapter 10
Once the ship left port, it was my turn.
“Renato, you forced my hand.” I adjusted the pillow behind me. “You have three minutes.”
He looked at me.
“Your ship just left the dock. One of the containers is carrying arms I had smuggled on board.”
“Sign the papers, and when the ship returns to port, my people will have that container off the boat before anyone knows it’s there.”
“Don’t sign, and I make one phone call to the port authority.”
He went still.
Then, through his teeth: “You’d go to the feds? You’d break omertà?”
I shrugged. “Omertà works when people respect each other. All I’m asking for is my freedom. That’s a
basic courtesy. Signing is how you show you respect that.” I glanced at my wrist. “Two and a half minutes.
#1
“I’ll have that container sunk before your people can find it!”
“Sure.” I nodded pleasantly. “You’ve got about two minutes to locate one unmarked container on a ship that’s already at sea. Good luck.”
He grabbed the chair and dropped into it, the fight going out of him all at once.
“Does it really have to be like this?” He hunched forward, forearms on his knees, like a man at confession.
“Twenty-five years. Twenty-five years, Gianna. And you just-”
His head came up. Tears ran down his face.
“What am I to you?”
I kept my expression very still.
I wasn’t as untouched as I looked. I was a human being, and my heart was a muscle that had twenty-five years of memory stored in it. Those years hadn’t turned to nothing. Even in ruins, they still had sharp
edges.
If I’d had the choice, I would have gone back to eighteen, to the night after prom, before the story found us.
But I didn’t have that choice.
“Renato, get this straight: you’re the one who threw this away. Not me.”
“The past is heavy. But you don’t make decisions based on sunk costs.”
“Made up your mind yet?” I looked at the clock. “One minute.”
He watched me, tears welling up like a storm behind his eyes.
I really was worried he’d dehydrate.
Time was up. I picked up my phone and dialed 911.
“All right.” His voice came from somewhere deep and far away. “I’ll sign. I respect you. I’ll sign.”
He pushed himself to his feet and walked toward me, unsteady, like a man who’d just learned to walk.
I nodded and ended the call before it connected.
Whatever else he was, he was Don Gatti. He’d keep his word.
“The papers will come tomorrow.”
His voice was muffled, like it was coming up through water.
“You treated me with respect. I’m asking for the same from you.”
“Fine.” I kept my tone light. “As a bonus, I’ll cut you a percentage of the shipment’s profits. You’re not doing this for free.”
He looked at me for a long, heavy moment, as if it took visible effort to hold my gaze.
“You chased me for twenty-five years. Now it’s my turn.”
“I’ll send roses. I’ll stand outside your window with a guitar. I’ll write you letters, as many as it takes.”
“If twenty-five years isn’t enough, I’ll spend thirty-five. Forty-five. However long it takes for you to come back.”
I would rather have a bullet put straight through my forehead than endure this.
“Renato,” I said gently. “Save your energy.”
I looked at him without flinching. “No matter which road I take from here, you won’t be on it.”
He didn’t seem to hear me. He turned and walked out, swaying slightly, a single figure moving into the dark beyond the door.
