Chapter 47
Mr. Forentino.
The older man, who had stayed silent through the entire debacle, finally stepped forward. His expression was as grim as ever, his button-like dark eyes cold and unyielding as they bore into Luca. For a moment, he seemed to relish the quiet before he finally hissed, his tone sharp as a blade, “I had promised you thirteen percent of my shares in the company as a wedding gift when you married Carlotta. Well, you can \*forget\* about that!”
Luca had expected nothing less. Of course, it wouldn’t be Mr. Fiorentino’s style to spew emotional dramatics like Giulia or to couch his grievances in backhanded concern like his uncle. The man was nothing if not ruthlessly pragmatic. Straight to business, as always.
“I saw that coming from a mile away,” Luca replied, his voice clipped, his tone devoid of humor. It wasn’t a joke. It was simply the truth—one he had already accepted with grim finality.
Fiorentino’s lip curled into a sneer, his voice rising with icy derision. “I hold twenty-six percent of the shares in De Santis Group. Your mother has twelve percent. Your uncle, fourteen. You own the rest. But rest assured,” he leaned forward, venom dripping from every word, “I will do everything in my power to see you removed from your position as CEO. You hear me, boy? I will \*not\* rest until you’re kicked out of that office and out of the company. You are a disgrace—a stain on your father’s name, on his \*legacy.\*”
“Is that so?” Luca’s jaw tightened as he suppressed the fury building inside him. He’d tried to prepare for this moment, but nothing could dull the sting of hearing those words—the sheer audacity, the hypocrisy. Yet, despite the anger churning in his gut, he allowed himself a slow, bitter smile. “You know,” he said, reaching into his pocket with deliberate calm, “I was really hoping it wouldn’t come to this. But now, I’m glad it has.”
From his pocket, Luca produced a crisp sheet of paper, neatly folded. He held it out to Fiorentino for a brief moment, then dropped it unceremoniously onto the floor between them, as though the older man wasn’t worth the effort of a proper handoff.
“There’s my resignation letter,” Luca said coolly, his voice steady but laced with icy disdain. “Typed, printed, and ready. I’ve had it prepared since the moment I realized I couldn’t go through with the wedding. I knew your greedy little mind would immediately fixate on the company—on my position—and I thought I’d save you the trouble.”
Fiorentino’s face twisted with rage, his mouth opening as if to retort, but Luca cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You’re welcome,” he added mockingly, turning on his heel without another glance at the seething man.
“And one more thing,” Luca threw over his shoulder as he started toward the staircase. “You can close the door behind you when you leave. My housekeeper’s on leave, and I don’t clean up after uninvited guests.”
He didn’t wait for a response. The distant sound of voices filtered down from upstairs, pulling his focus toward what truly mattered. Without another word, he ascended the stairs, his strides purposeful.
The voices grew clearer with each step. Nico’s voice, high-pitched and quivering, and Amber’s softer, soothing tone. It wasn’t just his son’s bedroom he was heading toward. It was his family!
Luca stopped in the doorway, his heart pounding painfully in his chest at the sight before him. His son, Nico, was curled in Amber’s lap, clutching at her with trembling hands. The little boy’s face was streaked with tears, his small body wracked with hiccuping sobs as he pleaded through his heartbreak.
“Mummy, promise… promise me you won’t leave. I don’t want to stay with anyone else but you.”
His voice was cracked and raw, the kind of anguish only a child could feel—the terror of losing the one constant in his small world. The sound was like a knife twisting in Luca’s chest.
Amber’s arms tightened around Nico, her pale hand smoothing over his dark hair as she tried to soothe him. Her voice, though soft, trembled as much as her son’s. “No, Nico, no. I won’t leave you if you don’t want me to. I promise.”
Her eyes lifted then, locking with Luca’s through the open door. The expression she wore was a mixture of helplessness and heartbreak, her usual fire extinguished, replaced by a raw vulnerability that twisted the knife deeper into Luca’s chest.
“You heard your papa,” Amber continued, her voice cracking as she spoke. “He’ll come with us to the States. You’ll stay with him while Mummy gets her treatment.”
Luca’s breath caught. For a moment, he was frozen, staring at the woman he had loved for so long—the woman who had once been his everything and who still was, even after all the pain and distance. She’s giving in, he realized, his heart thundering. She was finally agreeing to his demands. She was willing to let him back into their lives.
But this wasn’t the victory he’d envisioned. There was no celebration in his chest, no sense of triumph. Instead, a deep ache settled in his bones as he watched the scene unfold—the broken woman before him, the devastated little boy, and the long, grueling road ahead.
there was more at stake than just her cancer. The battle wasn’t just for her health—it was for her. For the fiery, red-haired woman who had once been the light of his life. The one who used to look at him with such unrestrained love in her eyes that it left him breathless.
He wanted that back. All of it.
He imagined her as she once was, vibrant and full of fire, the way her hair would cascade around her shoulders as she threw her head back in laughter—or in the throes of passion. His fingers itched to run through that hair again, to grip it as he reminded her of exactly who she belonged to.
He could see it so clearly in his mind: Amber standing before him, her belly swollen with their next child, the evidence of their love and lust growing within her. The image of her wearing his ring, her delicate finger adorned with the proof that she was his, sent a possessive thrill down his spine.
But it was more than that—it was the sound of her, the way she would cry his name, her voice breaking as he drove her to the edge of ecstasy, over and over again. He wanted her writhing beneath him, her body trembling as he claimed her completely, making her forget every doubt, every fear, every pain. He wanted to watch her come undone, to know that he was the only one who could unravel her so thoroughly, so intimately.
The thought alone made his blood heat, his determination solidifying. Amber was his—she always had been—and he wouldn’t stop until she was his again in every sense. He wouldn’t rest until she was his wife once more, her body healed and thriving, her heart beating only for him.
And when that day came, he would worship her the way she deserved. He would fill her with his love, with his passion, with himself—over and over again, until she couldn’t speak, until she could only scream his name, her voice hoarse and raw as she surrendered to the pleasure only he could give her.
Amber was his, and Luca would stop at nothing to remind her of that truth.