After that, he always had some excuse for missing our important dates—anniversaries, celebrations, the milestones that mark a life shared between two people. There was always a sit-down that ran late, a problem with the crew, an emergency that demanded his attention.
At the same time, Piper's social media kept updating with careful, calculated cruelty. His familiar silhouette in the background of her photographs. His ringless fingers holding a wine glass at restaurants I'd never been taken to. His toned body behind a fogged-up shower door, the image cropped just enough to maintain deniability.
Six months ago, we'd signed our blood contract—the marriage certificate that would bind me to the Marconi Family forever. He told me he wanted to give me the perfect wedding. A ceremony worthy of the future Donna.
Now I know… there won't be a wedding at all.
I picked up the phone and dialed his private line. My voice, when I spoke, was cold as the grave.
"You wanted my stake in the Marconi territories, right? The tribute rights you signed over to me?" I didn't wait for his response. "I'm signing them back. All of them."