The Billionaire's Regret, The Heiress's Revenge

Caterina "Cat" POV:

The annual De Luca Famiglia Gala was the crown jewel of our public facade. It was a night of forced smiles and veiled threats, where millions were raised for charity to launder the sins of our actual business. I was attending for one reason only: to collect the seven-figure donation I had personally secured for the Waterfront Project. It was my last act of duty.

I stood near the back of the grand ballroom, a ghost in a designer gown, as Alex took the stage. He was in his element, the charismatic, powerful Don, charming the city's elite.

"And it is with great pleasure," he announced, his voice booming through the speakers, "that I introduce the woman who will be spearheading the Waterfront Revival Project, a cornerstone of the De Luca Foundation's commitment to this city. Please, give a warm welcome to Ms. Isabella Rossi."

Isabella glided onto the stage in a stunning emerald silk gown that clung to her every curve. Polite, obligatory applause rippled through the assembled Capos and Soldiers.

Alex's eyes scanned the crowd and found mine. There was a silent challenge in his gaze, a dare.

As Isabella reached his side, she feigned a slight stumble. Alex's arm was there in an instant, wrapping around her waist to steady her.

The gesture was too practiced, too intimate. Utterly possessive. He held her there a moment too long, his hand resting possessively on the curve of her hip-a clear signal to the entire organization.

I couldn't breathe. I turned and fled to the terrace, the cold night air a balm on my burning skin.

Enzo, an older Capo who was a friend of my father's, found me there. He pressed a glass of champagne into my hand.

"Patience, Caterina," he advised gently. "A Don does not think like other men. He sees the board, not the pieces."

"Even patience has its limits, Enzo," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

From inside the ballroom, I heard Alex's confident laugh. "Caterina?" he was saying to someone. "She's not going anywhere. She knows where her loyalties lie."

The terrace doors slid open again. It was Isabella.

"Big shoes to fill," she said, her voice sweet as poison as she gestured back toward the gala. "Your project is so impressive."

She took a sip of her red wine, her eyes holding a sharp, malicious gleam. "You know, Alex once promised to build me a castle in the clouds."

The air punched from my lungs. She knew. She knew about the letter in the safe.

Her voice dropped to a venomous whisper, for my ears only. "He always keeps his promises to me."

My composure finally cracked. My hands began to tremble, the champagne sloshing in my glass. A flicker of triumph flashed in Isabella's eyes. She had her opening.

Just as Alex stepped onto the terrace, she let her wrist tilt just so, a seemingly accidental gesture that sent red wine cascading down the front of her own emerald gown.

"Oh, no!" she cried out, her eyes wide, her lower lip trembling in a masterful performance of distress.

Alex didn't hesitate. He didn't even look at me. "Caterina, what the hell is your problem?" he roared, rushing to Isabella's side, his arm wrapping around her in a display of absolute, unquestioning protection.

I watched him dab at her dress with his handkerchief. I saw the mask of wide-eyed innocence she wore so perfectly.

And something inside me-something that had been withering for five long years-finally shattered and froze into solid, unyielding ice.

I picked up my untouched glass of champagne from the railing.

I strode directly over to them. He was still fussing over Isabella, murmuring soft comforts against her hair.

I emptied the entire glass over his impeccably tailored tuxedo jacket.

The cold, bubbling liquid soaked through his silk shirt, tracing icy rivulets down his chest. He froze, his head snapping up to stare at me in stunned disbelief. The entire terrace went silent.

I offered him a cold, tight smile.

"That," I said, my voice ringing with crystal clarity in the sudden, absolute quiet, "is my problem."