After 7 Years of Going Dutch, I Returned Home as a Mafia Heiress Chapter 09
When the banquet ended, I waited for my car at the back entrance of the club.
Arthur’s tall frame approached. The scent of alcohol clung to him.
He was always so controlled, never drinking to excess. In seven years, I’d never once seen him drunk.
Tonight, he had drunk a lot.
“Vivian.”
I turned my head.
The wall lamp in the back alley shone on his face-half in light, half in shadow. He stood on the top step, the wind blowing the hem of his coat.
“Come back to me.”
His voice was pitched low, as if he were afraid of startling something.
“Let’s start over. Okay?”
I looked into his eyes.
Those were the same deep eyes I remembered from under the cherry blossoms in Central Park, seven years ago. The kind that had once promised to hold my entire world.
Except three years ago, when he looked at me, there was nothing left inside but judgment.
But now, the pleading in his eyes had come far too late.
I laughed a little and looked down.
“Arthur.”
“Three years ago, you called me ‘unprofessional,’ and I accepted it.”
“Then I spent three years clawing my reputation back, contract by contract, piece by piece.”
“You publicly erased seven years of my credibility. And now, everything I have, I built myself. None of it came from you.”
Enzo stood two steps away, his right hand already drifting toward the inside of his suit jacket.
I lifted my chin, signaling him to stand down.
“Tell me, why should I look back?”
Arthur’s lips moved, but no sound came out.
“You used to say Jessica always looked up, that she never blamed anyone.”
“It’s the same for me now.”
“I don’t blame you anymore, Arthur. Really.”
“And I’m no longer in love with you.”
My bulletproof SUV glided to a stop in front of me, and I got in.
The moment the door clicked shut, I glanced in the rearview mirror.
Arthur was still standing on that step. The streetlights stretched his shadow incredibly long, dragging it all the way to the end of the alley.
In the months that followed, Arthur began to leverage his empire, frantically funneling top-tier, legitimate financial clients to my family’s businesses.
The first major client was introduced by his secretary, claiming they admired our security capabilities.
I ran a background check; the money was clean and highly profitable. I signed it immediately.
The second one was the same.
The third one landed just as smoothly.
By the fourth one, my assistant placed the file in front of me with a barely detectable smile. “This is Mr. Whitmore’s fourth one this month.”
I closed the folder.
I picked up my phone and dialed the number I had deleted and saved again.
He answered after two rings.
“Vivian.” His voice immediately tightened.
“What is the meaning of this.”
“What do you mean?”
“These past few consortiums… you’ve been funneling them to me.”
“Their capital is perfectly clean. It doesn’t matter who they choose for backing.”
“Arthur, my territory doesn’t need your charity.”
The other end went quiet for a moment. All I could hear was his heavy breathing.
“Vivian, I know you are incredibly powerful now and don’t need me at all. I just…”
“Just want to do what?”
“I just want to do something for you.”
I turned to look out the window. Rain was falling over the port, coming down in sheets that blurred the lights on the docks.
“Arthur, the best thing you can do for me is to disappear from my life. Completely.”
“That lesson you taught me three years ago? I haven’t forgotten it for a single second. And I never will.”
The other end of the line went silent.
A long time passed before he muttered in a low voice:
“You still blame me.”
“Shouldn’t I blame you?” I asked with a laugh.
“Arthur, you give yourself far too much credit.”
“Not everything is about you.”
But he wouldn’t give up. He begged for one last meeting.
