The Woman He Let Go Eight Times

The brush glided smoothly across the canvas. I mixed a deep, bruised shade of purple, completely lost in the quiet of my room.

I was just counting the days. Lorenzo was moving fast, pulling strings through his network to finalize everything for our sudden wedding and my complete extraction from the country. Safe houses, forged documents, a route through neutral territory that the Castellano Family couldn't touch.

The heavy oak door suddenly banged open.

Dominic stormed in, his collar loosened, a crumpled piece of paper crushed in his fist.

"Why the hell did you walk away from your duties?" he demanded, his voice echoing off the walls. "You're supposed to be running the front office at the social club. I just found out you haven't been there in days."

I didn't even flinch. I carefully dipped my brush into the water glass. "You locked me in this house, Dominic. Have you forgotten?"

"Stop making excuses!" he snapped, crossing the room in three long strides. "The associates are a mess because you didn't handle what you were supposed to handle."

Before I could answer, he lashed out. His hand caught the edge of my easel, violently shoving it. The wet canvas crashed onto the hardwood floor.

He stepped right on it, his expensive leather shoe smearing hours of my work into an ugly, ruined streak of paint.

I stared at the ruined canvas, my chest tight.

"I told you," Dominic growled, leaning down so his face was inches from mine. "You are mine. So get to the club right now and arrange everything. Including the charity gala on the 17th of next week."

The 17th. The night before my scheduled flight. The night before I was supposed to marry Lorenzo.

I looked up at his furious, entitled face. Fighting him would only draw attention to my escape.

I let out a long, exhausted sigh. "Fine."

An hour later, I walked onto the top floor of the Castellano social club, the legitimate office wing where the Family's real-estate holdings and import company kept their books clean for the Feds. The whispers started the second I came through the doors.

"She's still here? I thought she was finally gone."

"She just won't let him go. It's pathetic."

"She always played favorites anyway, sleeping her way to the top."

I ignored the venomous stares and walked straight to my desk. I spent the next few hours ruthlessly fixing the scheduling disasters and smoothing over angry associates whose shipments had stalled.

Around noon, the glass doors swung open. Gianna strolled into the office, carrying a tray of expensive coffees.

"Oh, Bianca!" Gianna called out loudly, making sure the entire floor was watching. She walked over to my desk, a sickly sweet smile on her face. "You're still working? Dominic is just too kind, letting his ex-wife keep a position out of pity. Just make sure you don't mess up the charity gala, okay? It's very important to us."

She left a coffee on my desk with a condescending pat on my shoulder. The entire office snickered. I just picked up the cup and dropped it straight into the trash can.

A few days later, the tension in the Family reached its peak.

It was the quarterly investor sit-down. The grand back room of the club was packed with the most powerful financiers and silent partners the Castellano syndicate kept on its books.

Dominic sat at the head of the long mahogany table, radiating power. Two soldiers stood behind him near the paneled wall, hands loose at their sides.

Gianna, despite having no actual role in the organization, was perched in a chair right behind him, her hand resting possessively on his shoulder.

I stood at the front of the room, holding the presentation remote.

"If you direct your attention to the screen," I said clearly, "you will see the projected revenue for the upcoming quarter."

I clicked the remote.

The massive screen flickered. But it wasn't my financial slides.

It was security footage from Dominic's private office in the compound. The timestamp in the corner was from months ago, the night of our fourth annulment.

My own voice, thick with tears and desperation, echoed loudly through the silent room.

"Please, Dominic. Just look at me. Don't do this."

On the massive screen, my past self was sobbing, clinging to his suit jacket. I watched in absolute horror as the video showed me desperately trying to kiss him, begging him to love me back, while Dominic stood there, cold and unmoving, looking at me like I was garbage.

The room erupted into shocked gasps and frantic whispers. One of the investors set his pen down very slowly. The soldiers by the wall didn't move, but their eyes shifted to Dominic, waiting.

Gianna jumped up from her chair, her hands flying to her mouth in exaggerated horror.

"Oh, god!" she cried out, her voice piercing the room, trembling with fake devastation. Tears instantly spilled down her perfectly made-up cheeks. "I can't believe you'd do this to me, Bianca! You're seducing your own Don? Have you no shame? You knew we were together!"

The remote slipped from my numb fingers, clattering against the floor.