He Chose Another Heir Now He Wants Me Back Chapter 04
A soft cough came from the portico.
Ophelia stood there, wrapped in a knit shawl. There was no telling how long she’d been listening.
“Luca,” she chided gently, “why aren’t you wearing a coat? It’s so cold out.”
She walked over, draped her shawl over his shoulders, and straightened his collar before turning to me.
“Elena, Marco’s engagement was decided by the head of the family. The Bellinis have reviewed the terms, and I accepted on your behalf. He’ll visit Maria at the hospital tomorrow. You two can meet then.”
I stared at her. “What gives you the right to accept anything on my behalf?”
“I am a De Luca daughter and the wife of the Rossi heir. If something threatens the stability between our families, of course I have to help.”
“My mother adopted you. You have no right to dispose of my name.”
Her face turned white. She clutched her chest and stumbled back, her breathing suddenly shallow and rapid.
Luca caught her instantly. Then he turned to me, his brow furrowed.
“You know she can’t handle this kind of stress.”
I looked at him standing there, shielding her, and a laugh escaped me.
“When I was thirteen, a few guys from the outer circle cornered me on the old streets. You beat them so badly they never dared set foot in the North District again. You told me that anyone who dared touch me would pay the price. Remember?”
His Adam’s apple moved. He didn’t answer.
“Now the person trying to control my life is the one you’re protecting.”
I looked away.
“Forget it.”
As I turned and walked back into the foyer, I heard Vincent speaking in a low voice from the sitting room.
“If Luca hadn’t come to us personally back then, in front of witnesses from both families, and said Ophelia was carrying his child, demanding the boy be entered into the Rossi line of succession… Elena would have been his wife.”
My footsteps faltered.
Luca came in behind me, stopping at my back.
I turned around slowly.
“What he said—is it true? You were the one who demanded that child be acknowledged? You insisted on marrying her?”
He lowered his eyes, silent for a long moment.
“Yes.”
“No other explanation?”
“No.”
I looked at him for two long seconds.
Fourteen years of loving him, six years of running—in that moment, not even the ashes remained.
I pulled the front door open and walked out.
The wind blew in from the Charles River. I walked for a long time before finally calling a car to take me back to my hotel.
By the time I collapsed onto the sofa, my fingers were shaking from the cold.
My phone buzzed.
Ophelia had sent a photo. In it, her hand rested on Luca’s sleeve, the Rossi signet ring facing the camera.
*Marco is going to the hospital tomorrow. Dress nicely. Don’t embarrass both families.*
She was in a hurry to marry me off, and not just because she feared I might take Luca back. As long as I was brought under control through another engagement, her place as the sole bridge between the De Lucas and the Rossis would be even more secure.
I opened my contacts and let my fingertip rest on a name.
When the call connected, I said, “Dante, lend me your name. Just for one night.”
He didn’t ask why.
“What role do you need me to play?”
“My husband.”
“Done.”
I slept soundly that night.
The next morning, I changed into a beige blouse and black slacks and went straight to the hospital.
The moment I reached the entrance to the inpatient building, I was stopped by De Luca family men.
Salvatore stood at the front, leaning on his cane, with Vincent and Ophelia at his side. Luca stood off to one side. Several elders who had witnessed marriage agreements were there, too.
Beside Ophelia stood a man in a navy suit. That had to be Marco.
“I thought you might have run again,” Salvatore said coldly. “Marco came all this way to visit Maria. We’ll settle the terms today.”
Marco stepped forward. His gaze swept over me, then over the hospital.
“Elena, I’ve heard about your situation. You’ve been alone in Paris for six years. Knowing your way around a ledger doesn’t mean you can stand on your own in Boston. Once the engagement is settled, the Bellini family will cover your mother’s expenses and restore the De Luca’s western route. I’m quite satisfied with you.”
“I’m not.”
Every face went stiff.
Salvatore’s cane struck the ground.
“The Bellinis are willing to guarantee our supply line and cover the hospital expenses. On what grounds are you refusing?”
“On the grounds that my name is my own.”
“Your little firm can’t block a family decision.”
Ophelia steadied him and turned to me, her voice persuasive. “Elena, stop being stubborn. The head of the family still controls your distributions. They require his and the advisor’s signatures every year. If he freezes your assets, you won’t be able to afford Maria’s long-term treatment.”
“Whether she marries or not isn’t for you to decide.”
A low voice came from behind me.
Everyone turned.
Dante wore a black suit and walked slowly forward between two rows of his men. He stopped at my side, his palm settling naturally at the small of my back.
It wasn’t intimacy.
It was public protection I had personally allowed.
His gaze swept over Marco.
“You were just saying,” he said, “that you’re getting engaged to my wife?”