They Laughed When They Broke My Heart. They Stopped Laughing When His Father Destroyed Their Lives to Protect Me.031124

The destruction of the Laurent Syndicate sent a permanent, terrifying message to the global markets: The King and Queen of Rossi Enterprises were an absolute, unyielding monolith. For the next three months, our reign was uncontested. The empire expanded, profits skyrocketed, and our personal life was a fiercely guarded sanctuary of passionate devotion.

But desperate people do incredibly stupid things.

It was a rainy Thursday afternoon in New York. I was sitting in my office, reviewing the final blueprints for a new Rossi commercial complex in Dubai, when my head of private security, a massive, stoic former Marine named Vance, stepped through the heavy glass doors.

"Mrs. Rossi," Vance said, his tone entirely clinical. "We have intercepted a minor threat. I thought you would prefer to handle it personally before Mr. Rossi is informed."

I looked up, setting my gold fountain pen down on the marble desk. "Explain."

"A woman named Amber Evans attempted to contact the managing editor of the New York Chronicle this morning," Vance reported, stepping forward and handing me a highly encrypted tablet. "She was trying to sell an exclusive interview. She claims to have details of a 'scandalous love triangle' that preceded your marriage. She intends to spin a narrative that you manipulated Liam Rossi's addiction issues to steal his inheritance and seduce his father."

Amber. The woman who had slept with my ex-fiancé in my own bed. The woman whose cruelty had been the catalyst for my entire metamorphosis.

I looked at the tablet. Amber had sent the editor a desperate, frantic email begging for a six-figure payout in exchange for the story. She was clearly broke, terrified, and clinging to the last shred of relevance she thought she possessed.

"Does the Chronicle intend to publish it?" I asked coldly.

"The Chronicle is owned by a shell company that Rossi Enterprises acquired last year, ma'am," Vance replied without missing a beat. "The editor forwarded the email directly to us. The story is dead. But Ms. Evans is currently sitting in the lobby of the publication building, expecting a meeting."

A slow, vicious smile spread across my face. "Bring her here, Vance. Use the private freight elevator. I want her brought directly to the secondary boardroom on this floor."

"Understood."

Thirty minutes later, I walked into the secondary boardroom. It was a stark, modern room made entirely of glass and steel, offering a dizzying view of the city below.

Amber was sitting at the long table, clutching a cheap designer knock-off handbag. She looked horrendous. The polished, smug girl who had laughed at my pain a year and a half ago was gone. Her blonde hair was brittle, her makeup was unblended, and the stress of a life devoid of Liam’s stolen money had aged her a decade.

When the heavy doors clicked shut behind me, Amber jumped. Her eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated shock as she took in my appearance. She saw the tailored designer suit, the flawless posture, and the absolute, terrifying aura of power that radiated from me.

"Luna?" Amber gasped, her voice trembling. "What... what are you doing here? Where is the editor?"

"I own the editor, Amber," I stated flatly, walking slowly toward the head of the table. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't need to. "Just like I own the building you are standing in, and the debt on the credit cards you maxed out trying to survive after Liam was cut off."

Amber turned the color of ash. She staggered backward, hitting the edge of the glass table. "You... you can't be serious. You intercepted my story?"

"There is no story, Amber," I said, stopping ten feet away from her. I looked at her with the detached, clinical curiosity of a scientist examining a dead insect. "There is only a pathetic, desperate woman trying to extort money from a family that erased her existence a year ago."

"I have rights!" Amber shrieked, a sudden, frantic anger flaring in her eyes. "You ruined my life! Liam dumped me because of you! You stole everything!"

"I didn't steal anything. I reclaimed what was mine," I corrected smoothly. "You chose to sleep with a weak, arrogant boy because you thought he was your ticket to the elite. You bet on the wrong horse, Amber. And now, you have nothing."

The door behind me opened.

Nico stepped into the room. He had clearly been informed by Vance. He didn't look angry; he looked absolutely, terrifyingly blank. The kind of blankness that preceded extreme violence. He walked slowly past me, stopping directly in front of Amber.

Amber physically shrank under his gaze, whimpering in terror as the billionaire towered over her.

"You attempted to drag my wife's name through the mud," Nico whispered, his voice vibrating with a dark, lethal promise. "You attempted to utilize the ghost of my estranged son to cause her distress."

"Please," Amber sobbed, falling to her knees on the expensive carpet. "Mr. Rossi, please. I'm broke. I have an eviction notice. I was just desperate!"

"Vance," Nico called out.

The security chief stepped into the room instantly.

"Escort Ms. Evans out of the building," Nico commanded, his eyes never leaving the weeping woman on the floor. "Ensure she is placed on the global blacklist for every corporation, real estate agency, and financial institution affiliated with Rossi Enterprises. If she ever attempts to speak my wife's name again, I will ensure she spends the rest of her natural life in a federal penitentiary."

Vance grabbed Amber by the arm, dragging her to her feet. She sobbed hysterically, begging for mercy as she was pulled out of the boardroom, her desperate pleas fading into the silent hallway.

Nico turned to me, the lethal darkness in his eyes instantly softening into a warm, fierce protectiveness. He closed the distance between us, pulling me into his arms.