When the Don Wept for Her

When I walked into the second floor of the Fumagalli boutique, Dante was asleep on a velvet chaise beside Viviana.

His suit jacket was folded under his head as a pillow. One hand rested near the hem of her dress, as if he wanted to protect her even in his sleep.

Shopping bags from overseas were piled around them like trophies.

Viviana leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Dante’s temple. Then she looked up and saw me standing in the doorway.

Any other woman would have flinched in that moment and shown guilt or shame. Viviana did not. Her smile only grew brighter.

She stood and walked over, then led me down to the first floor.

Viviana tilted her head slightly and studied me with the kind of look you gave a dress that did not fit quite right.

“Tessa, you look terrible. Have you been crying? That mascara is not doing you any favors today.”

I said nothing, and she did not seem to care.

“Look, I know this is hard for you. How long did you chase him? Seven years? Eight? That is a long time to spend chasing someone you can never have.

“He has made it clear now. He wants me, Tessa. Wake up. Stop clinging to him.

“I am being merciful. Most women in my position would have destroyed you by now. I am giving you a chance. Consider it a parting gift.”

I stared at her for three full seconds.

Everyone adored Viviana Lombardi. She was beautiful, intelligent, and charitable. She was the kind of woman fashion magazines called the epitome of grace, the kind men described as unforgettable.

All it took was one sentence at the banquet, “the key card was sent to the wrong person,” and the entire room rushed to believe her.

Poor Viviana, so misunderstood and so wronged.

I let out a soft laugh. “You are not merciful. You are afraid.”

Her smile faltered. “What did you say?”

I took a step forward, and my gaze turned sharp as a blade. “You think I do not remember? That key card seven years ago was not an accident where you gave it to the wrong person.

“You gave it to your cousin Enzo on purpose, did you not?”

“You are lying,” she said quietly, although her eyes darted away.

“Am I?” I tilted my head.

“On plenty of late nights, Enzo dropped you off three blocks away from your apartment. You walked the rest of the way so no one would see his car.”

“That is different,” she protested. “He is my cousin. We are family.”

“Is that right? Because I saw you check into a hotel with him one weekend. You were wearing his jacket, and his hand was on your waist. You could not admit it because he was already engaged to someone else. It would have been a scandal for the Lombardi family.

“As for Dante…”

I paused and watched her jaw tighten.

“Back then, he had nothing. No title, no territory. Only a sharp mind and a cot in his uncle’s warehouse.

“At a party, your friend asked if you liked him. You laughed and said…” I lowered my voice and matched her cutting tone. “‘Dante? That broke nobody? He can shoot, but he cannot afford diamonds. I am not stupid enough to marry a loser with no future.’”

Her voice turned sharp. “Mind your own business.”

“No,” I said. “You are the one who needs to mind hers.”

I knew why she was putting on this performance and why she had to rekindle things with Dante. Enzo’s wife had found out about their affair. The poor woman had nearly lost her mind.

Now Enzo kept his wife locked away to contain the fallout. The moment that woman got out, Viviana would be finished.

She needed a new protector before that happened.

“Then go tell him,” Viviana snapped, her composure cracking at last.

“Go ahead and tell him. Tell everyone. You think they will believe you? The woman who followed him around like a stray dog? Or me, the beloved Principessa?”

I took a deep breath and shook my head.

“I am not going to tell him,” I said.

She blinked. “What?”

“Why would I tell him?”

I clenched my fist. The ring was still there, cold against my knuckles.

“I came here to tell you something.

“Dante is yours. Take him. I am giving him to you.”

She would get what was coming to her eventually.