My Billionaire Ex Regrets Throwing Me to the Mafia Don

I didn't blow up at him like he expected.

I just watched him cradle his mistress. It was sickening. I walked up and rapped my knuckles hard on the desk.

"Ruthless? Fine. Let's talk business. This five-million-dollar hole. How are we filling it?"

My coldness stung him. His eyes went red and he snapped back, "I'll fill it! It's just five million, isn't it?"

I let out a cold laugh.

"Just five million?" I looked at him, every word a knife. "Jax, you forgot how you drank yourself to a stomach bleed for our first deal, just to save fifty grand on broker fees? Now, for some stupid girl, you're throwing away our reputation and billions in future contracts. Has your dick completely fried your brain?"

I’d hit a nerve. Jax's face turned livid.

"Alessia, you think too small," he cut me off, impatient.

Then he pulled out his phone. Tapped the screen a few times.

A minute later, a payment notification popped up in the company's finance group chat.

Five million dollars, wired straight into the company account.

He looked up at me, acting like it was nothing.

Like he just slapped me across the face with five million bucks to defend his little sweetheart.

But inside, I felt nothing but calm.

The broke kid who used to split a twelve-dollar pizza with me because it was too expensive was now arrogant enough to cross every line in business.

Five million. He'd burn it for Bianca without blinking.

I stared at him coldly. I wondered if he'd still be smirking if it was five hundred million.

That afternoon, I was having high tea at the Peninsula with my best friend, Isla.

The second I picked up my teacup, Chris called, frantic.

"Alessia, get back here! Bianca brought guys to empty out your office!"

I grabbed my bag and marched right back into Apex Holdings in my heels.

The moment I pushed my glass doors open, my eyes turned to ice.

The place was trashed.

The blueprints I drew myself, classified files, and a model I’d kept for five years were scattered like garbage. Covered in dirty footprints.

Bianca stood at my desk, barking orders at the logistics guys like she owned the place.

"Yeah, trash all this useless junk. Move her desk out to the bullpen."

"Stop," my voice cut through the noise like breaking glass.

Bianca turned around. She wasn't even scared. She just stood taller.

I walked right up to her. No bullshit. I raised my hand.

Smack!

A brutal slap right across her face. It echoed in the room.

She stumbled back, clutching her red, swelling cheek, screaming, "You hit me?!"

"I hit you because you're a stupid girl who doesn't know when she's signing her own death warrant." I stared her down.

A vicious taunt flashed in her eyes. "Who gave you the right? Jax ordered me to clear this out! He said you only belong in the bullpen now!"

Rapid footsteps approached from the hall.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Jax stormed in.

He saw the trampled blueprints first. A flicker of guilt passed through his eyes. Barely there.

But then he saw the handprint on Bianca's face.

The guilt vanished, replaced by blind rage.

He pulled her into his arms and roared at Chris and the staff outside, "Are you all blind?! You're just gonna let her act like a psycho?!"

Completely irrational. Blaming my team.

Then he turned, grabbed my shoulders, and spoke in this sickeningly patronizing tone. "Alessia, you've been working too hard. Take a vacation. Starting now. You're off company business."

Vacation?

Trash my office, kick me to the bullpen, and call it a vacation?

I shoved his hands off me in disgust.

Jax sneered. His eyes were full of mockery.

"Cut the crap," he looked at me like I was a clown. "Bianca told me. She had someone look into it. There’s no 'arranged marriage by 30' rule back in your Sicilian hometown!"

I narrowed my eyes.

Bianca peeked out from his arms, playing the victim. "I'm sorry, Alessia... I just couldn't stand seeing you lie to him. How could you make up such an awful lie to force him to marry you?"

Watching them play this little duet, I felt sick to my stomach.

Of course Sicily didn't have that rule. The Valeriano family made it a rule. For me.

But they weren't worth an explanation.

My eyes slowly swept over Bianca.

The latest Dior haute couture, limited-edition Van Cleef earrings, and a Hermes Birkin in her hand.

That outfit alone cost more than ten years of her assistant salary.

My eyes went completely dead.