Chapter 6 - The Visitor from the Past
Ten minutes later, the double doors of Simone’s executive office swung open with a violent crash.
Deline Rossi—formerly Deline Bellamy—stood on the threshold. But the fairy-tale bride of six weeks ago was completely gone. She wore a cheap, oversized trench coat over a wrinkled blouse, her hair was pulled back into a messy, unwashed ponytail, and her face was devoid of makeup, exposing dark, hollow circles under her red, swollen eyes.
She looked like a ghost haunting the ruins of a burned-out castle.
When her eyes landed on Simone sitting behind the massive glass executive desk—surrounded by luxury, security, and absolute authority—Deline let out a choked, hysterical sound that was half-laugh, half-sob.
“You,” Deline whispered, taking a stumbling step into the room. “You did this. You sat there in your cheap clothes and plotted with this monster to destroy everything I built!”
Simone didn't flinch. She didn't stand up to cower or fold her hands defensively. She simply rested her elbows on the glass desk, interlaced her fingers—revealing the faint silver scar across her right palm—and looked at her sister with chilling, clinical detachment.
“I didn't destroy anything, Deline,” Simone said, her voice level and ice-cold. “I just stopped hiding the wreckage you and Matteo left behind.”
Deline lunged forward, slamming her palms down onto the glass desk, leaning across it until her face was inches from Simone’s. “Matteo is ruined! Our friends won't even return our calls! Dad won't let me into his hospital room—some private security goon with an earpiece told me I’d be arrested for trespassing if I stepped foot on the floor! And you... you’re sitting in a billion-dollar tower playing corporate queen while living off a mobster!”
“Watch your mouth,” a low, lethal voice echoed from the private alcove by the balcony.
Julian stepped out from the shadows, his hands clasped behind his back, his gray eyes fixed on Deline with the freezing temperature of liquid nitrogen.
Deline flinched back as if she’d touched a live wire. Even in her desperation, the primal fear of Julian Marzano was enough to strip away half her rage.
“This is a family matter,” Deline whimpered, her voice cracking. “Simone, please. You’re my sister. Tell him to release our frozen assets. Tell him to drop the fraud charges against Matteo. If we pay back the medical trust—somehow—will you just let us go?”
Simone stood up slowly from her chair, walking around the desk until she was standing just a few feet away from her trembling sister. The height difference wasn't much, but the gravity between them had completely inverted.
“When you hooked your heel behind my chair six weeks ago, Deline, you weren't just trying to embarrass me in front of two hundred people,” Simone said quietly, her voice carrying the quiet weight of a judge passing sentence. “You thought I was weak. You thought that because I took care of Daddy, because I stayed quiet, because I swallowed every insult you ever handed me, I would take that fall and stay on the floor forever.”
Deline shook her head frantically, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I didn't mean—it was just a joke—everyone laughed—'
“Nobody laughed after the first thump,” Simone interrupted sharply. “And nobody is laughing now.” She reached out, lightly touching the lapel of Deline’s cheap, wrinkled trench coat. “You wanted a high-society life built on stolen money and public cruelty. Well, you got your wish. You’re famous now. The bankruptcy filings are public record, and your husband’s architectural firm is being liquidated by the federal government this afternoon.”
Deline collapsed backward into a leather visitor’s chair, burying her face in her hands as the full, crushing reality of her destitution finally broke her spirit.
Simone stood over her for a long moment, feeling no pity, but remarkably, no anger either. Just a profound, liberating emptiness where six years of resentment used to live.
She turned away from her sister, looking toward Julian.
“Frank,” Julian spoke into his lapel microphone without looking away from Deline.
The door opened instantly, and Frank appeared like a granite statue.
“Escort Mrs. Rossi out of the building,” Julian ordered smoothly. “And ensure she is permanently added to the Marzano property exclusion list. She is never to set foot in any building bearing our name again.”
“Right away, Boss,” Frank rumbled, grabbing Deline gently but with inescapable force by the elbow, hauling her up from the chair while she wept hysterically into the fabric of her coat.
As the doors closed behind them, sealing away the last pathetic remnant of Simone’s past life, the office fell into a profound, peaceful silence.
May you like
Julian walked slowly across the room, stopping right beside Simone. He didn't say anything about her sister. He didn't offer hollow comfort. He simply reached out, his warm fingers sliding into hers, interlacing his fingers with hers—right over the faint silver scar on her palm.
“Well,” Julian murmured, a faint, warm smile touching his lips. “That’s one way to clear out the riff-raff.”
