He Yearned for My Love but He Was Too Late

Wedged between the seats of the Rolls Royce lay a pink lace bra, size 36C. It certainly wasn't mine, and I could only think of one woman who wore that size—Bianca!

“I’ve come to accept your job offer, Mr. Garcia, and will start as soon as possible.” Mr. Garcia sounded delighted. He thought that I didn’t know that he had an ulterior motive in hiring me, and that is to get inside information about Romano Holdings, Inc. He is a linchpin from a rival Mafia group, Lombardi, Ltd.

My boyfriend also tried to keep his involvement with the Mafia hidden, especially from the media and from me. Trying to keep a low profile while generating much wealth proved to be impossible. Such a fact often doesn't go unnoticed to a discerning eye. His unimaginable wealth came from centuries of Mafia-related transactions, tracing back its roots to Italy. He is the only heir to Romano Holdings, Inc., a multinational conglomerate specializing in food distribution and secretly funded by the Romano Mafias run by his father.

Rocco emerged from the shower, beads of water still clinging to his skin. His damp hair sent a thrill of excitement coursing through me. “He still excites me,” I thought, but I tried to suppress my feelings; he had grown so distant since hiring Bianca. Even in the shower, he had brought his cellphone, continuing his conversation with a woman—presumably Bianca. He tried to excuse himself, insisting that work took precedence over everything, even his bath time. I nodded at him, a guarded expression on my face.

It would be foolish to believe that no woman could fall for him, given his status and power. He stood tall and muscular, his tanned skin glowing and his full beard exuding strength. He resembled a god, and women were drawn to him like moths to a flame. I couldn't blame them; I had once been one of them, worshiping the ground he walked on, yearning for him to notice me.

I had no idea what drew him to me in the first place. I was just an ordinary employee in his company. Perhaps it was my air of innocence and childlike spirit—qualities he hadn’t encountered before among his countless women. At this very moment, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had once been a novelty to him, but now that novelty had faded.

“Who were you talking to just now?” he asked, not even looking up from his phone.

“No one. Just some random guy selling insurance.”

He reached for his cup of herbal tea and was surprised to see that I haven’t made one. He looked skeptically at me, but decided to change the topic.

“I received your x-ray and showed it to our company physician. He said it’s nothing serious, just a minor injury that will heal after a week. Just keep the wound dry so that it will not get infected.”

I simply nodded at him, my mind intent on drafting my resignation letter. I may have appeared nonchalant on the outside, but inside, I was seething with hurt and frustration. He had no idea I had six stitches on my leg from the accident; all he seemed concerned about were broken bones. My injuries ran deeper than the physical; they cut to the very core of my being. The loss of a child is a pain no parent can speak about lightly, a sorrow that twists your heart and leaves you feeling utterly alone.

I decided not to tell him about my miscarriage.The bond that should have drawn us closer is now gone. What purpose would it serve to tell him? It wouldn’t bring back our dead child, or heal the deep ache in my heart. I found myself struggling in silent grief, feeling more alone than ever in a relationship that once held much promise.

He was puzzled about what I was doing, as I was barely listening to him. He glanced at my phone, but then his phone rang. He smiled and was about to disappear into his study, but I stopped him in his tracks.

My fingers trembled as I reached into my bag, my eyes flickering with a mix of worry and apprehension. “There is something I am going to show you,” I said. “It’s something I saw wedged between the seats. You can’t say it’s mine because it’s not. Can you explain why you have it?”

Rocco’s brow furrowed, a flash of confusion crossing his face. “What is it? Tell me now! Don’t keep me waiting because you know how I am when I’m angry!”

As he leaned closer, the tension thickened , a charged silence filling the space between us. My heart was racing. I kept the thing hidden, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You might want to sit down for this…”

Rocco's eyes narrow, suspicion sparking. “Isabella, what have you—”