Chapter Four
––––––––
Isabella
––––––––
What in the actual hell is happening right now? Nowhere in any scenario I imagined in my head—and let it be known I imagined them all—did I factor seeing them here.
And worse, they're the freaking new heads of the Onyx Empire. What kind of luck do I have? Really? Is this how it's going down?
I can't believe this, and I want to scream. And kick things. But my shoes are too damn pretty for that, so I'm going to take a moment to regroup and figure out my next steps.
Crap.
It's them. Five years later, and of course they still have the same effect on me. The hate effect. Yes, the hate effect. I hate them. With a vengeance of profound and epic proportions.
And worse, this isn't a prank. They're not pulling one on me by claiming to be the new CEOs of the Onyx Empire, top and bottom. I mean, they could... I wouldn't put anything past these devils.
Could they have leaked those false press releases?
Maybe Pablo is in on this too. Maybe if I just wait it out for a little while longer, the man I'm truly destined to marry will show up and apologize because he owed these three heathens a favor and had to be in on this joke, but now time was up, and then he would throw them out of his building, and he and I could get back to serious business.
Oh my god, yes. It could be a prank to get back at me. Also, why are they being so childish? It’s over. I went through an entire self-cleansing ritual before my twenty-fourth birthday a few weeks ago, and I'm free of all my burdens. I wrote the letter, and I burned it. Poof, gone.
Okay, I'll wait them out. So I stand there, still so rattled and off-balance I have to self-hug some composure back into my body.
I also need to goddamn crush the hardness out of my nipples at the sight of them, and when I get home, I'm burning this pair of wet panties.
I don't need any more reminders of them.
Not when I've cleared them out of my system.
It was a whole big thing. Sam said a few words as we stood in front of the fire burning in a drum in the middle of my penthouse. We also inadvertently set off the sprinklers, so that was that.
Lorenzo Costa, Emilio Abati, and Marcello Pacini mean nothing to me anymore. They're dust. Literally, I scooped up the ashes of my last letter and threw them in the bin. I can't forget that I did that. I wiped them from my existence.
I glance at my watch, wait what I feel like is ten hours in silence, then look at the time again. Not even half a minute passed.
I can't do this.
Without saying a word, I exit the boardroom, ask someone I passed where the restrooms were, and dive into a stall.
My breath is all jagged, and I'm shaking, and the ache between my legs intensifies, and I hate them.
I immediately call the lawyer.
"Uncle Bobby," I say, forgetting the man scrubbed out our acquaintanceship of familiarity because he hadn't been paid yet. "Who owns the Onyx Empire?" I say very calmly, but I'm not.
I barely hear Bobby's voice on the other side as he confirms that he was as surprised as everyone else over the sudden and prompt transfer of ownership from Moretti to Costa, Abati, and Pacini.
"Okay, so that means this is over, right? We have to come up with something else, right?"
"No, Isabella. Your grandmother's demands, in writing, stay the same. You have to marry one of them. That still stands."
I didn't mean to, but I start whimpering immediately, like ugly whimpering, until Bobby orders me to calm the hell down and get one of them to marry me or my family would be out on the streets.
Well, that set me straight.
After washing my face and dusting off my resolve, I reenter the boardroom.
"Okay, so... congratulations are in order, I guess," I say, plastering a smile on my face.
Then I remember I have to seduce just one of them, so I lower my voice, all coquettish and everything, and run my hands down each of their arms. And burn my fingertips in the process.
Their utterly defined muscles are blatantly evident under the luxurious fabric of their suits.
"Congratulations, Lorenzo," I purr, except I sound hoarse as crap. How do people purr? Will Lorenzo fall for me? Hardly, the man barely smiles and doesn't tolerate anything less than perfection. I'm so not perfect. Who wants to be that boring?
"Congratulations, Emilio." I try a little laugh to go with my murmur, and it turns into a cackle, and I swallow half his name.
Maybe Emilio? Gosh, no. He folds his fitted sheets, I just know it, while I bundle them up around my arms and toss them into my linen closet.
Emilio is a neat freak, and I live in organized chaos.
Moving on.
"Congratulations, Marcello," I say, trying to sound like I said something sinful, but honestly, I could see why someone would think I needed an exorcism.
Gosh, I'm exhausted. Trying to seduce three men at the same time, hoping one catches on, is intense. I need a year-long nap.
And no. I'm the last woman Marcello, god to all women, will fall for. I've seen the types of women on his arm. I don't even come close to their league.
Great, three mafia bachelors, and not one of them would willingly want to marry me.
Why couldn't I have gotten here when Pablo Moretti was still in the king's chair?