Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
ENRICO FERRARA
The meeting had been dragging on for nearly an hour, and my patience—already worn thin by the tension of the past few days—was approaching its limit.
Seated behind the desk of the temporary office, I listened as my communications team debated strategies to contain the growing public backlash against Dreamland.
“We need to reverse the negative narrative quickly, Mr. Ferrara,” Bruna, my head of PR, was saying, her expression tight. “Perhaps a more human-centered campaign—highlighting the real benefits to the community—”
The door burst open before she could finish.
André walked in with fast, heavy steps, gripping a tablet like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His face was serious—too serious.
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly.
My eyes narrowed.
“André?” I asked, my voice low and controlled, tension already crawling up my spine. “What happened?”
He shot a meaningful glance at my team.
“We need to talk. Now.”
I nodded once and motioned for the team to leave. They stood immediately, gathered their things in silence, and filed out fast. The door closed with a click that felt almost ominous.
“What is it?” I asked, impatience sharp.
André stepped forward, placed the tablet on my desk, and slid it toward me.
A headline screamed up at me from the screen:
“Ferrara Corp CEO in legal battle over secret daughter: Is Dreamland driven by personal revenge?”
It felt like the floor dropped out from under me.
My jaw locked as anger surged, fast and violent, while I scanned the article.
Photos of Valentina and me outside the courthouse splashed across the page—our faces tense, raw, exposed. The text didn’t just imply; it outright suggested that Dreamland was retaliation against Valentina, dredging up our past with near-sensational detail.
Including the public rejection I’d imposed on her five years ago.
“How did this leak?” I asked through clenched teeth.
André exhaled, clearly uncomfortable.
“Someone inside the courthouse broke the seal. They’re investigating, but that’s the least of our problems right now. The board knows. Shareholders are calling nonstop. This is a serious crisis, Enrico. We need to act—now.”
“Damn it,” I muttered, fighting the urge to smash something. “It’s all lies. Manipulation. This needs to be shut down immediately.”
I grabbed my phone and checked the notifications.
I didn’t need more than a second to understand the scale of the damage.
The moment I took it off Do Not Disturb, it started vibrating relentlessly—alerts stacking, calls pouring in.
Lawyers. Board members. Executives. Investors.
Everyone wanted answers.
I looked at André, searching for something—guidance, certainty—but found only exhaustion and worry.
“Don’t answer anyone yet,” he said quietly. “We need to think before responding. One wrong move right now will make this worse.”
I clenched my jaw, fighting the infuriating sense of powerlessness clawing at me.
This was spiraling beyond my control.
And I hated it.
“Shit,” I muttered, closing my eyes for a second and forcing my breathing steady.
André sat across from me.
“We have to move fast, Enrico. We can’t let this destroy the company’s reputation—or everything you’ve built.”
I opened my eyes and fixed him with a hard stare.
“So what are you suggesting?” I asked, my tone sharp, defensive.
He hesitated, choosing his words carefully.
“We need a radical shift in the narrative. Something that flips public opinion—shows maturity, responsibility.” He paused. “The only thing that can do that now is turning this conflict into a public reconciliation.”
I understood immediately.
My stomach twisted.
“You want me to publicly humiliate myself and fake a reconciliation with Valentina?” I snapped. “That’s insane.”
André didn’t flinch.
“Maybe. But it might be the only realistic option. You need to think beyond yourself—about Clara, the company, your reputation, everything at stake.” His gaze held mine. “This isn’t the time for pride, Enrico. It’s time for strategy.”
I glared at him, anger burning—not really at André, but at the situation, at the humiliation of it all.
He stood.
“Think about it,” he said. “But think fast.”
He left the room quietly.
I was alone again, staring at a phone that wouldn’t stop vibrating, pressure bearing down until it felt like it might crush me.
Then my personal phone rang.
I looked at the caller ID and felt a cold knot tighten in my chest.
Eloá Ferrara.
I took a breath and answered.
“Nonna.”
Her voice was colder than I’d heard it in years.
“How did you allow this to happen, Enrico?” she fired immediately. “Do you have any idea the damage your negligence is causing—to our reputation? To the Ferrara name? To your legacy?”
“I’m handling it,” I said, forcing steadiness into my voice.
“Not fast enough,” she snapped. “The board is already questioning your ability to lead. If you don’t contain this immediately, they’ll remove you. This situation is too serious for mistakes. Do you understand?”
The words hit hard.
My hand tightened around the phone until my knuckles went white.
“I’m handling it,” I repeated—this time with cold, deliberate anger. “Tell the board no one needs to threaten me. I know exactly what has to be done.”
“Then do it,” she replied sharply. “And do it now.”
The call ended.
I stood there in silence, the weight of the room pressing in.
I hated it—but the truth was undeniable.
André was right.
Eloá was right.
I’d lost control.
And there was only one way to take it back.
If the world wanted a spectacular reconciliation, it would get one.
On my terms.
Revenge was still within reach.
And I intended to make it much sweeter.
***
Dawn had barely broken when I was standing in front of Valentina’s house, jaw rigid, heart pounding with sharp, angry focus.
Sleep hadn’t been an option.
I’d spent the entire night calculating every move needed to regain control.
I took a breath before ringing the doorbell, schooling my expression into something firm, cold, final.
The door opened.
Valentina stood there—surprised, wary—wearing comfortable clothes, hair loose and tousled like she’d just gotten out of bed.
For one brief, irritating second, my mind registered how beautiful she looked like that.
A trap.
Soft. Natural. Disarming.
Her face still carried the strain of the hearing and the scandal, but none of it dulled how infuriatingly attractive she was.
“Enrico… what are you doing here this early?” she asked, voice rough with sleep, eyes immediately alert.
“We need to talk,” I said flatly, already stepping inside. “It’s urgent.”
She closed the door behind me and crossed her arms.
“I assume this is about the scandal,” she said coldly. “I didn’t think you’d have the nerve to show up here after everything.”
“Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t absolutely necessary.”
“And what exactly do you expect to get by coming here?” Her voice was sharp, full of hurt. “Haven’t you done enough? Was humiliating me publicly again not enough for you?”
I clenched my teeth, forcing my temper down.
“I’m not here to fight,” I said, carefully controlled. “We need to fix this—now—before it spins completely out of control.”
She laughed without humor.
“And since when do you care about that? Aren’t you the one who controls everything?”
“If I did,” I shot back bluntly, “I wouldn’t be standing here.”
That honesty startled her for a split second.
“The scandal is bigger than I expected,” I continued. “We need to act immediately.”
“Act how?” she asked, suspicious, rigid.
I inhaled, knowing she wouldn’t like this.
“We need to publicly pretend that the hearing had nothing to do with Clara’s custody. The press needs to believe it was merely a legal mediation related to Dreamland—between me and you, as a community representative.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
“You’ve lost your mind,” she snapped. “You want me to lie—boldly—about something as serious as my daughter’s custody? Do you have no shame?”
I stepped closer, anger simmering.
“Listen to me, Valentina. If we don’t do this, things will get much worse—faster than you can imagine.” My voice dropped. “I’m not doing this for me. Think about Clara.”
“Don’t you dare use my daughter as an excuse for your manipulation,” she shot back. “I’ll never agree to that.”
I felt my patience snap.
There was no time for morality.
I exhaled and chose a darker path.
“Let me make this very clear, Valentina,” I said quietly, stepping into her space. “You think your life is hard now? You have no idea how much harder I can make it.”
Her body went instantly alert.
“What are you saying?” she asked, voice controlled—but defiant.
“I’m saying I know far more about your life than you think.” I glanced deliberately around the house. “Your finances. The debts tied to your bakery. This house.” My gaze returned to hers. “Debts that could change hands very quickly—if I decide they should.”
Her face drained of color.
One hand flew to her chest.
“You wouldn’t,” she whispered, disbelief and disgust tangled together.
I leaned in.
“Don’t test me. If you don’t cooperate now, I swear I won’t hesitate to turn your life into something far worse than it already is.” My voice was ice. “All I want is for you to confirm the story I’m giving you. Do that—and no one else has to suffer.”
She held my gaze for a long, broken moment—rage, fear, and humiliation vibrating between us.
Finally, she lowered her head, staring at the floor like it burned.
“You’re a monster,” she murmured, voice cracking.
“I’m doing what needs to be done,” I replied, forcing any hint of guilt down.
She lifted her eyes again—full of tears she refused to let fall.
“Fine,” she said, trembling but resolute. “I’ll go along with your disgusting lie. But don’t fool yourself. You may be winning now—but you’ll never control everything forever.”
I stepped back slowly, victory bitter but complete.
“Good,” I said coolly. “As long as you don’t make things harder—for now—that’s enough.”
She said nothing.
I turned and walked out, tension locking every muscle in my body as I stepped into the cold morning air.
Valentina was right about one thing.
This was temporary.
And I knew—darkly—that I would need a permanent solution very soon.