GIANNI
“I wouldn’t mind going through the motions, if I didn’t know it’s a waste of time,” I grumble on my way through the large glass doors of the lawyer's office. It's no surprise to find so many associates working at this hour of the night, chugging lattes and energy drinks at nearly nine o’clock. Roger and I wait at the front desk while he texts Bob to let him know we’re here. The receptionist has gone home, I assume.
“Do you think she's here yet?” Roger mutters, now changed from the dark clothes he wore only an hour ago into a suit that’s slightly more in line with a visit of this nature. Nobody would ever know he’s fresh off a home invasion.
Another reason to hate my ex with all of me: I want to be home, watching the feed from Caterina's room, not arriving at my lawyer's office for a late-night meeting I’m sure will get us absolutely nowhere.
“Of course she isn't,” I mutter in reply, lifting a hand when I see Bob striding our way past a row of offices. “It was her great idea to have the meeting this late, to begin with. Now she's going to make sure we wait even longer for her to show up. This is her MO. If the ball isn’t in her court, then she steals it.”
At times like this, it's damn near impossible to remember what I ever saw in her. Aside from her looks and her body, what was it? What made me stick around after we fucked and before Tatiana came along? Why the fuck did I marry her? What made me believe there could be something real?
It was a turn-on. I had never met a woman like her before. She wasn’t satisfied with simply taking my money and leeching off my success. She wanted that success for herself, for both of us. She drove me to be bigger and better than I was, the poor kid whose father still lived and worked in a tiny go-nowhere town.
In some ways, I have her to thank for what I've accomplished, because she encouraged me. Her cutthroat attitude helped guide me to where I am today. I know now there was no love behind that encouragement, no genuine desire for me to be better since she knew I was capable of big things. She wanted it for herself, was all, and spotted a willing tool already on his way up in the ranks.
We were supposed to build an empire together. For us. A life, a family, a legacy.
Unfortunately for her, she couldn't leave well enough alone.
Just like then, tonight is yet another act of manipulation. Bob winces when he reaches us, shaking our hands. “Sorry we couldn’t talk her down to an earlier meeting time,” he offers. Amazing to think of a time when I didn’t know this man. Amazing to remember believing—innocent, naïve as I was—that our relationship would be a short one.
“I’ve learned to expect the worst from her,” I assure him. “I know you did your best.”
He looks visibly relieved at my acceptance. I guess working for a known arms dealer with a violent reputation could give a guy an ulcer or two. “Can I offer either of you something to drink?” he asks, leading us back to the conference room. “Amalia and her team are also running a few minutes late.” Roger and I exchange a knowing look behind him.
“Did any of her team give you an idea of what she feels is so important that we have to get together at nine o'clock on a Wednesday night?” Roger asks, his eyes sweeping the conference room. An act of habit, making sure everything's safe. I doubt there are many safer places we could be, yet that doesn't stop him from surveying the room, then sweeping his gaze over the buildings on the other side of the windows lining one wall. Bob frowns when Roger begins lowering the shades, although he offers no argument.
“No, only that she felt it was imperative to meet.” He offers me a pained, sympathetic look. “Of course, the hope is she's come around.”
Yeah. And I still hope Santa Claus will come down the chimney, but it will never happen.
It's five past nine when a team of men in suits come marching toward the glass-walled room, and in the center of the cluster is none other than the venomous snake I made the mistake of marrying at a young age, too stupid to know better. She's sleek, polished, like she just stepped out of a salon. Her blond hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, and her stiletto heels click smartly against the floor when she strides into the room. She’s wearing a red business suit, so all the attention is drawn to her.
“Please, have a seat,” Bob invites, and I watch with little amusement as the six-person team arranges themselves on the opposite side of the long, shining table in the center of the room. He offers them drinks and a few accept bottled water.
Amalia merely shakes her head, too busy giving me a look I know very well. Smug, almost playful. She's fighting back a smile. The best I can do is show no effect at all. She wants to get a rise out of me like the child she is.
One of her lawyers clears his throat, looking up and down the table like he’s making sure his team’s ready to begin. “Mr. Rossetti.”
A single glance at Bob shuts that down. “You'll be addressing me,” he informs her team. “I speak for Mr. Rossetti.”
Amalia arches an eyebrow. “Did you lose your voice?” she murmurs. “Must be all the screaming you did when I visited you at home over the weekend.”
Bob sits up a little straighter. “Did we or did we not agree that neither party would trespass on the other's property without advance warning to the legal team? If so, I didn’t hear anything about this.”
The stupid bitch. Her face falls when she realizes the trap she stepped in, though she quickly recovers. “I was worried about my daughter.”
“Then why do you imply Mr. Rossetti would have any reason to scream at you?” Bob counters. “Miss Rossetti lives in her own wing of the house. There was no reason for you to interfere with Mr. Rossetti.”
Her cheeks grow redder with every second that ticks by. Roger, who is seated at my left, snorts softly. I don't. The most powerful weapon I have in my arsenal is a blank face. That gets to her better than any screaming or threatening can ever do. A typical bully, unable to deal with being ignored. The second she gets you to react emotionally, she has you trapped.
“Our client has reason to believe her husband is more motivated to come to a final agreement,” another of her lawyers announces. “And if that's the case, it's time to get serious. We've drawn up a new request for a settlement, plus increased monthly alimony payments until such time as Mrs. Rossetti remarries.”
“Absolutely not,” Bob replies without bothering to skim at the papers the lawyer slides his way. “There will be no alimony payments beyond what the judge sees fit to award, and the settlement Mr. Rossetti offered back when the divorce proceedings were in their early stages is more than generous. There are also several investments that Mr. Rossetti is prepared to sign over, as well as the house in Vail. That was the final offer yesterday and will remain the final offer today. The only way that offer will change is for it to decrease, not increase.”
I don’t blink, smile, or snarl. I stare blankly across the table at the woman I once believed I loved. Funny, I saw only what I wanted to see. Hell, her ambition was a turn-on. Right up there with her tits, legs, and those lips that had the power of a hoover vacuum. I had no idea how thin the line between ambition and ruthlessness could be, but I knew now.
“If Mrs. Rossetti is interested in more money,” Bob continues, “she can always sell the Vail property once it has been signed over to her. She can also cash out the investments, though that would be a mistake akin to killing the golden goose. Nonetheless, she is a grown woman and can decide as she sees fit.”
The lawyers exchange book’s. “Then there is no agreement,” one lawyer murmurs, glancing at Amalia for verification. She’s seething. Her carefully constructed façade is on the verge of collapse. It’s all a mask. Each piece is placed strategically. Nothing about her is genuine; she’s only an endless pit of misery and emptiness. Dark, screaming emptiness.
I know that now. I know what it means to be with a woman who possesses a soul. One with genuine warmth and kindness, who gives a shit about the people in her life. Tatiana, her father—hell, even Luciano. She even wanted to protect him after he ran her down. She showed more compassion in one single moment than Amalia has in her entire life.
After the woman seated across from me twisted him around her finger and put ideas in his head. She’ll never admit it, but she doesn’t have to. The flash of guilt on her face when I initially accused her back in my bedroom told me the entire story. Like a child caught doing what they were so sure nobody else was aware of.
It’s low even for her. It’s not typical for her to do the dirty work. She twisted me up, pushed me to claim more power all for her own endless materialistic needs, then discarded me for other men once it was clear I was over being manipulated. Now, she has this team of clueless assholes doing the dirty work of fighting for more than she deserves.
“You're this determined to screw me over?” Her voice drips with disbelief while she shakes her head slowly. “Are you seriously declining without even reading what my lawyers have put together? To be so stingy and vicious. It doesn’t fit you, Gianni.”