Chapter 3

Roberta's POV

Antonio called me twenty minutes later.

"We have her, Boss."

I hung up and drove to the estate.

Gemma was strapped to a chair in the underground room center, duct tape over her mouth. When she saw me, her eyes went wide.

I took my time walking down the stairs.

"Remove the tape."

Antonio hesitated, then nodded to one of the men.

The second her mouth was free, Gemma started screaming.

"You parasite! Who do you think you are? Grayson doesn't love you! If it wasn't for your family, who would marry an old woman like you!"

I pulled up a chair and sat down across from her. Crossed my legs. Waited.

I leaned forward slightly. "Parasite?" I smiled coldly. "I think you have that backwards."

"When Grayson leaves you, you'll be nothing!"

"You should say..." I stood up and walked to where the medical team was waiting. "When Grayson leaves me, he'll be nothing."

I turned to Dr. Russo, my family's private physician.

"We're ready."

Gemma's eyes darted between us. "What are you—no. No! You can't!"

"You wrote something on my chest. Permanent ink, you said. Special formula that would never fade." I touched my sternum, "But you forgot something."

I walked back to her. Bent down until we were eye to eye.

"In my world, we believe in equivalent exchange."

"You're insane! Grayson will—"

"Will what? Come save you?" I smiled. "I'm counting on it."

The procedure took less than an hour.

Dr. Russo was efficient. A small section of skin from Gemma's chest, just enough to cover the ink on mine.

When it was done, Dr. Russo bandaged my chest and stepped back.

"How long until it heals?"

"Two weeks for the worst of it. The scar will fade over time."

I nodded and looked at Gemma, slumped in the chair, sobbing.

"Your turn."

I had the tattoo artist brought in.

"On her stomach," I said. "Make it clear."

Stupid.

The artist worked quickly. Gemma had stopped screaming by then. Just crying silently. When he finished, I had them cut her down.

"Take her to the garden. Same setup she gave me."

They strung her up in the center of the fountain, just like I'd been hung from that helicopter. I made sure the drones were already circling, already streaming.

Let everyone see.

I stood on the terrace, watching the live feed on my phone. The comments were flooding in already, but I didn't read them. I was waiting for something else.

My phone buzzed twenty minutes later.

Grayson's name on the screen.

I let it ring.

The gates opened twelve minutes after that. I heard his car screech to a stop, heard him shouting as he ran through the garden.

I stayed on the terrace, watching.

He cut her down himself. Gathered her in his arms. She clung to him, sobbing into his shoulder.

Then he lifted his head, spotted me, and I caught a flash of anger in his eyes.

He carried Gemma across the garden, and I finally walked down to meet them.

"How could you do this?" His voice shook. "She's just a kid!"

I almost laughed. "A kid?"

"It was a prank! You didn't need to—"

"Where were you?" My voice cut through his. "Where were you when she wrote 'whore' across my chest? Where were you when she was laughing about it to thousands of people?"

Grayson looked at me, words on the tip of his tongue, as if wavering.

Gemma's voice came out weak, broken. "Grayson... please... I don't feel good..."

"Gray..." Gemma's hand touched her stomach. "The baby..."

He froze.

"What?" A flash of delight sparked in his eyes.

Gemma looked up at him with those tear-filled eyes. "I'm pregnant. I was going to tell you tonight, but then..." She dissolved into sobs.

Grayson stared at her. Then slowly, carefully, he pulled her closer against his chest.

I suddenly felt my eyes sting, and my heart seemed to skip a beat.

"Congratulations," I heard myself say.

I watched Grayson carry Gemma toward his car.

He paused at the gate. Looked back.

"Think about what you've done, Roberta. Think about the person you've become."

Then they were gone.

I stood alone in the garden, my hand pressed to my bandaged chest. The pain from the surgery was manageable.

The pain underneath wasn't.

He'd held her the way he used to hold me. Protected her the way he'd sworn to protect me. And now there was a baby.

Watching their retreating figures, I was reminded of Grayson from ten years ago.

I rescued a badly beaten young man from three attackers in an alley with help from my security team.

His eyes held both desperation and pride, like some trapped animal that would rather go down fighting than take anyone's help.

"I don't need your charity," he said, swiping blood from his mouth.

"Not offering any."

He looked at me then. Took in my clothes, my security detail, my car sitting at the end of the alley.

"You should get out of here," he said. "This isn't your world."

I smiled. "You don't know anything about my world."

Two weeks later I ran into him at a coffee shop in Chelsea. Then at a bookstore in the Village. After the third time, he finally called me on it.

"I know what you're doing," he said. "You're following me."

"Is it working?"

He laughed, and I felt something warm spread through my chest.

We dated six months before I told him the truth about who I was. He knew I had money, knew I had security around me, but he didn't get what the name Vitale actually meant until I took him home to meet my father.

"You're..." He just stared at my father. "You're Raymond Vitale."

"And you're some street punk who thinks he can marry my daughter." My father's voice could've frozen water.

Grayson got up, walked around the table, and dropped to his knees right in front of him.

"Mr. Vitale. I know I've got nothing to give her. I know she's never gone without, never had to worry about a damn thing. But I swear to you—" His voice cracked. "I swear I'll spend every single day making sure she never has to. If I hurt her, if I make her cry, take everything from me. Take my life if you want."

My father looked at him for what felt like forever. Then he nodded.

That night, Grayson made me close my eyes while he pulled out this little box.

"I know your family dropped like a thousand gifts on us," he said. "But this one's from me. Just me."

Inside were chocolate truffles. He'd made them himself.

He said quietly. "Whenever you're sad, whenever you want something sweet, I'll make them for you. That's my promise. You'll never run out of sweetness."

I kissed him. Tasted chocolate mixed with the salt from my own tears.

"Don't ever leave me," I whispered.

"Never," he said. "You're everything I have."

You're everything I have.

A wave of profound fatigue suddenly washed over me, tears finally rising to my eyes. I had no idea when he'd fallen out of love, only that he was definitely not himself anymore.

I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my lawyer.

[Prepare the divorce papers.]