---- Chapter 2 I waited until Vincent had collected Claire. Then I took the divorce papers to the Santoro family headquarters-his flagship nightclub. "Mrs. Santoro, the Don is busy right now. Please wait. " Vincent's top man, a guy with a scar down his face, stopped me respectfully. Busy? Busy worrying about Claire? The blinds weren't pulled completely shut. I could see him. The man who wouldn't flinch at a bullet in his own chest was now on one knee before Claire.
He was gently dabbing her back with a sterile gauze pad. And Claire... she was sitting in his high-backed ---- leather chair, his throne. Her simple white dress was smudged with grime, her faded canvas shoes a stark contrast to the opulence of the office. She looked like an angel who had stumbled into hell's antechamber. And Vincent, the man who once had a traitor's fingers crushed one by one, was frowning. Like the scrape on. her skin was worse than any gunshot wound he'd ever seen.
Iused to be afraid of pain, too. But on our wedding night, I cut my hand ona broken champagne flute. He just stared at me coldly and said, "Tf you're bleeding, deal with it. I don't want to smell blood." After that day, I never even used a Band-Aid in front of him. "Ma'am..." his man shifted uncomfortably behind me. I forced a smile. "It's fine. When will he be free?
I have ---- something he needs to sign." His man took the papers and, knowing his place, slipped them to the bottom of a stack of contracts. I thought Vincent would at least hesitate. But he didn't even read it. He just flipped to the last page and scrawled his signature. When his man handed the agreement back to me, my hand was shaking so badly I could barely hold the paper. I was fifteen when I learned I was engaged to a man named Vincent Santoro.
Aman who, by all accounts, was incapable of feeling pain. Aman indifferent to everyone and everything. He hated the warmth of any living thing. He would never love me, but he wouldn't love anyone ---- else, either. So I thought if I was obedient enough, useful enough, I could one day make him feel something for me. I was his shadow for ten years. And now, that decade-long fantasy was finally over.
Back at the estate, I told the maid, Maria, to take my wedding dress to the incinerator in the backyard. Maria was confused. "Ma'am, isn't this Vera Wang your most prized possession?" It was. I used to see it as my trophy. See? I thought back then. This heartless monster is my husband now. But it was time to wake up. "There will be a new lady of the house soon," I said calmly. "And the new Mrs. Santoro shouldn't have to look at it."