Italian-American Heiress: The Fiancée He Underestimated Chapter 07
The Finger
Three days.
That’s all it takes.
Julian pulls out every stop. He calls in every favor he has left. He dumps every dirty file he’s kept on Cami to every gossip account in the city.
Photos of her in hotel rooms with married CEOs. Bank statements. Kickback receipts. Client secrets she sold for cash.
By sundown, Cami is trending.
By midnight, her firm issues a public statement firing her.
By morning, she’s blacklisted from every agency in the country.
She shows up at Thorne Industries crying. Security throws her out onto the sidewalk like garbage. Passersby take photos. She goes viral again — this time as a joke.
That same night, in the middle of a storm, she ambushes Julian in his parking garage. Blocks his car. Falls on him the second he steps out. Grabs his legs. Sobs.
She even tries Italian.
“Julian, please. Remember Florence? Remember all the times we did it in the car? I really loved you —”
Julian stares down at her. His face goes green.
He grabs her by the hair. Slams her head down on the hood of his Mercedes.
His voice is dead cold.
“Shut up. Don’t ever speak that filthy language to me again.”
“It was that mouth of yours. Those disgusting Italian words. That’s what killed my future with Elena. That’s what destroyed the family I was supposed to have.”
“Looking at you now makes me want to throw up.”
He throws a folder at her face.
“The footage of you deliberately breaking the pipes in our honeymoon house. The recording of you swapping Elena’s regular porridge for lobster bisque, knowing she was allergic. Every second of it. All handed over to the police.”
“Aggravated assault. Attempted murder. Three to five years, minimum.”
Sirens scream around the corner.
Cami drops to the floor. She can’t stand. She’s dragged into the police car howling.
—
Julian wastes no time.
He takes the arrest warrant, prints out the news headlines, and drives straight to Nonno’s estate.
He wants to show me. Like a dog dropping a dead rat at its owner’s feet.
I’m in the sunroom.
Warm afternoon light. Cashmere blanket. Alexander is kneeling on the rug in front of me. He has a tiny pair of clippers in his hand. He’s trimming my toenails. Careful. Gentle. Terrified of hurting me.
Julian sees us through the glass.
His eyes go so red I think they might actually bleed.
He slams his palms against the glass. Screams. The bodyguards catch him by the shoulders and pin him against the iron gate.
I tap Alexander’s shoulder. He stops.
I slip on my sandals. Walk to the gate.
Julian thrusts the arrest papers at me like a child showing off a gold star.
“Elena — I did it. I put Cami in prison. She got what she deserved. I got revenge for you.”
“There’s no one else now. Nobody. Just me. Come home with me. Please.”
I look at him.
I pull a folder from behind my back. A pre-drafted breakup agreement.
I slide it through the gap in the gate. My assistant hands it to him.
I keep my voice flat.
“Watching trash eat trash was entertaining. Thanks for the show.”
“But Julian — Cami is filthy. So are you. That rot in you? It doesn’t wash off.”
“Sign the paper. Stop making me sick.”
Julian stares at the agreement. His hands shake so hard he can’t even hold it.
“No. I’ll never sign. Never.”
He rips it out of the assistant’s hand. Tears it into pieces. Throws the pieces into the wind.
His voice is raw. Hoarse. Broken.
“Elena — you don’t get to leave me!”
“As long as I’m breathing — you belong to me. To Julian Thorne. Forever!”
I don’t even look at him again. I turn around and walk back to Alexander.
—
The next morning, at breakfast, the butler brings me a package.
“Priority delivery, Ms. Rossi.”
He sets it on the table.
The smell hits me first. Sweet. Rusty. Wrong.
Blood.
The lid isn’t fully sealed. I open it.
Inside — a severed finger. Pinky. Cut clean at the base. Skin puckered, meat raw.
Next to it, a folded sheet of paper. On it, a message written in blood. Italian. Shaky, uneven letters.
“My apology to you. Please forgive me.”
I don’t cry. I don’t scream.
My stomach turns.
He thinks he can guilt me into taking him back by hurting himself.
Alexander is at my side in a second. He covers my eyes with his hand. Pulls me into his chest.
His voice is steady. Calm. Deadly.
“Get that garbage out of my house. Call the police. Someone mailed a body part to intimidate my fiancée.”
The butler puts on gloves and takes it away.
The police come. Take statements. Leave.
I go back to my breakfast.
The coffee is cold.