Chapter 12
I stood in the dark, staring at the lights of Milan, but I couldn’t see them. The only thing I could see was Bianca’s face in the hallway outside her office. Pale, exhausted, but still breathing fire.
You were a coward…
The echo of her whisper was louder than the traffic below.
I had failed… again.
I tried to be practical, to think logically, but when she rejected me, the only thing I knew how to do was become the brute she believed I was.
I was back to square one.
My cell phone, left on the coffee table, began to vibrate. The sound was harsh, irritating.
I ignored it. It was probably my assistant in Dubai with some time zone issue.
But the phone didn’t stop. It vibrated again and again… with frantic insistence.
A warning chill ran down the back of my neck, the instinctive certainty that something was wrong.
I picked up the phone. The screen was lit up, not with an international number, but with a name: Matteo Ferraro.
My blood chilled. My older brother—the most calculating of us—would never call unless it was a declaration of war.
I answered, reluctantly.
“Hi…”
“What the hell have you done, Valenti?”
Matteo’s voice wasn’t loud; it was worse—hard as steel, with restrained fury that promised violence.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, on the defensive.
“Turn on the TV. Canale 5. Now!”
I didn’t wait. I grabbed the remote from the table, and the black glass screen in front of me came to life.
It wasn’t a show. It was a breaking news broadcast, ULTIM’ORA. The image on the screen was grainy—a paparazzi photo taken from a distance.
It was Bianca.
It was her, leaving Villa Ferraro a few days ago. The photo was heavily zoomed in, mercilessly focused on her pregnancy. Her blazer was open, and the wind was pressing her dress against her, revealing her unmistakable curves.
The anchor spoke quickly, her voice high-pitched with the excitement of the scandal.
“…anonymous sources confirm what all of Milan suspected. The CEO of Ferraro Uomo, Bianca Ferraro, is… pregnant.”
I felt the air rush out of my lungs. The glass of whiskey in my hand began to shake.
“The question on everyone’s lips tonight is: who is the father?” The anchor paused dramatically. “After being humiliatingly jilted at the altar seven months ago by billionaire Marco Valenti…”
No… no…
“…speculation centers on a secret affair. A source close to the situation claims that the pregnancy was, in fact, the reason for Valenti’s flight, after he discovered that the child… wasn’t his.”
Son of a bitch!
Alarm turned to fire. The poison. It was Silvio’s original lie, amplified a thousandfold, thrown to the media wolves.
He knows!
Silvio realized that I had discovered the truth. He knew I was in Milan and that I was after her. This was his punishment. He could no longer destroy me with lies, so he decided to humiliate her publicly.
“Silvio…” The name slipped from my lips like a growl.
“Did you do this?” Matteo’s voice was still there, sharp as a blade, in my ear.
I threw the glass.
The expensive crystal shattered against the eighty-inch screen. The whiskey trickled down the distorted image of Bianca’s face.
“IT WASN’T ME!” My savage roar echoed through the room. “It was Silvio! That bastard! He lied about everything!”
“I don’t care who started it,” Matteo retorted. “Bianca is locked in her room. Larissa is with her, but she won’t talk to anyone. You broke my sister. Fix this. Sort this out now, Valenti, or I swear to God, what Enzo did in her office will be child’s play compared to what I’ll do to you.”
The call ended.
I was alone. The apartment reeked of spilled whiskey and failure.
My head was spinning. Panic churned hard enough to make me nauseous. She was being called a traitor. My son… our son… was being called a bastard on national television, and all because I’d been a proud fool.
I needed… to think.
I ran my hands through my hair, tugging at the strands. What do I do? Issue a statement to the press? Deny it?
She was locked up, being humiliated, and I was the only man in the world who could stop it. I couldn’t make up for the six months of neglect. But I would, without a doubt, set the world on fire for her right now.
I grabbed my car keys and my jacket, feeling my heart pounding against my ribs.
I couldn’t go to the Villa. Enzo and Matteo would kill me before I even reached the front door.
However, I could go after the man who started this.
No… I thought, stopping in the middle of the room. Going after Silvio is exactly what he wants. Revenge.
What does Bianca need?
She needed the truth to be told. Not by me, not by Silvio. By her father…
I grabbed my phone. I dialed my press secretary’s number.
“Elena. I want a press conference. In an hour.”
“Signore? In an hour? That’s impossible. What’s it about?”
“About Ferraro Uomo.”
“But, Marco, the news…”
“I know what the fucking news is, Elena!” I shouted. “Now make it happen. And call everyone. Canale 5 first.”
I hung up.
I was going to put an end to this, I was going to get down on my knees in public… and admit it.
I abandoned her. The child is mine. It was my mistake.
I was going to give them what they wanted: my head—it was the only way to save her honor.
***
The moment my bodyguards opened the double doors, the room exploded. It wasn’t a sound—it was a detonation. A wall of white light—dozens of flashes going off at once—hit me with physical force, making my eyes burn.
The roar of the press was immediate.
“Signor Valenti! Is it true about the baby?”
“Did you leave her because she cheated on you?”
“Is Ferraro Uomo bankrupt?”
The questions came from all sides, in a cacophony of vultures circling a carcass. The air was hot and stale, reeking of expensive perfume, carpet, and panic.
I kept my mask in place. My suit was impeccable, my tie perfectly straight. I was Marco Valenti. I didn't crack.
Lies! I was completely broken.
I walked the long thirty steps to the wooden podium. Willpower kept my legs steady. My stomach knotted with acid. I hadn’t slept in days, ever since I saw that photo of Bianca, pregnant, on my laptop screen.
I approached the microphone. The swarm of cameras and cell phones pointed at me looked like a firing squad.
I tapped the microphone lightly. The high-pitched screech of feedback silenced the room instantly.
Cold sweat began to form under my shirt. My mouth was dry as cotton.
“I’m not going to answer any questions,” I said. My voice was hoarser than I’d intended, but it was firm. It cut through the tense room. “I’m going to make a statement, and I demand that you broadcast it… in its entirety.”
I looked directly into the red lens of the Canale 5 camera, the network that had started the fire. I wasn’t speaking to the press; my message was for her…
“Last night,” I began, the air heavy with anticipation, “reports were aired containing cruel speculation about Signorina Bianca Ferraro.” I paused, letting her name hang in the air.
“Those reports are disgusting, irresponsible, and, above all, an absolute lie. The woman you’ve portrayed as a traitor is, in fact, the only victim in this story. ”
A shocked murmur swept through the room, and the camera flashes went off again.
I swallowed hard, feeling my heart pounding against my ribs. This was the point of no return.
“The truth is this: I am the father.”
Chaos… The room erupted. Shouts, camera flashes, reporters jumping to their feet, everyone talking at once.
I raised my hand.
“Silence!” My voice—accustomed to commanding boardrooms—roared, and they fell silent, hungry for more. “The child Bianca Ferraro is carrying… is mine. The lies you’ve heard… the lies about a lover, about a scandal… were planted. I left her at the altar because I was manipulated by a rival.”
The room held its breath collectively.
“I didn’t run away because she cheated on me, but because I was a fool.
I was too proud, too arrogant, and too blind to see the truth.
” My voice faltered for a millisecond, but I regained my composure.
“I made a terrible mistake… The shame you’re so eager to print doesn’t belong to her.
She has nothing to be ashamed of.” I looked directly at the camera again. “The mistake and the shame are mine.”
I could taste blood in my mouth, where I’d bitten the inside of my cheek.
“I’m not here this morning to save my reputation. It’s in ruins, and frankly, I deserve it. I’m here to restore hers.”
The strain made me dizzy. I needed to finish.
“Signorina Ferraro is nothing less than a woman of honor, who endured public humiliation caused by me and a difficult pregnancy, alone, with a strength I failed to muster.”
It was time… I took a deep breath.
“And to you, Bianca…” Using her first name made the room go quiet. “If you’re watching… I apologize publicly.”
Tears stung my eyes, but I held them back.
“I apologize for my cowardice, for my pride, and for believing a pathetic lie instead of believing the woman I…” I paused, wondering whether I should say it, but Bianca needed the truth—the whole truth. “The woman I love.”
My declaration sent the room into an uproar of shocked whispers and speculation, but I continued.
“I take full responsibility for what happened. The mistake was mine. Mine alone…”
“As for the man who orchestrated this, Silvio Moretti, my lawyers will ensure he is held accountable for every lie, but that is secondary.”
I gripped the sides of the podium. My hands were visibly shaking.
“Here’s the story: I failed. She didn’t. The child is mine, and I will spend the rest of my life trying to fix what I’ve broken.”
I didn’t say “thank you.”
I just stepped away from the microphone.
“Marco! Is the baby a boy or a girl?”
“Are you guys coming back?”
“Mr. Valenti!”
The screams followed me. My resolve deserted me the moment I walked through the double doors and back into the hallway.
I leaned against the wall, as clammy sweat ran down my back. I had just exposed myself in public. I felt hollow, exhausted, and more terrified than ever.
I’d done my part and played my last card, and all I could do was wait and pray that she was watching.