Book two of 'The Vengeance Duology'
Five years ago, the lads and I made the biggest mistake of our lives-a reckless decision that shattered everything.
We destroyed what mattered most, but my deepest regret is how much I hurt her.
Every moment of pa...
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"How do you feel about these fabrics?" Emily asks, seated across from me at my desk.
"They look nice," I reply, but as I pick up the sample and rub my thumb over it, a slight frown forms. "It's itchy," I say, setting it back down. This is the fifteenth sample Emily has shown me today alone; I've been through hundreds over the past two weeks since I've been back in New York.
She's about to pull out another when the door bursts open. Jacques strides in, his face unreadable. "Emily, can you give us a minute, please?" he asks. Emily nods quickly, gathering her samples and leaving the room.
As soon as the door closes, I raise an eyebrow. "What is it, Jacques?"
He doesn't say anything, just holds out his phone. Confused, I take it, and as I scroll through the screen, my stomach sinks. Headline after headline flashes before me, each one worse than the last.
"Valentina Sorrentino's Double Life Exposed."
"Secrets of Maison Valens: The Woman Behind the Empire."
"Bianchi and Sorrentino: A History Buried in Blood."
"Sorrentino Princess,—Kidnapped by the Mexican Cartel"
"The Untold Truths of Valentina Sorrentino."
I scroll to another headline, feeling my stomach twist.
"Runaway Bride: Valentina Sorrentino Leaves Tom Moore at the Altar for Alessio Bianchi."
Each word feels like a slap, unraveling everything I'd tried so hard to keep under wraps.
I hand the phone back to Jacques, my fingers trembling slightly, but he doesn't take it right away.
"There's one more," he says softly, his face shadowed with regret. "It's been taken down, but it was up for ten minutes—enough for people to see it."
A chill washes over me, settling heavily in my gut. He hands the phone back, and as I glance at the screen, bile rises fast, too quick to swallow.
"Valentina Sorrentino's Secret Heartbreak: Alessio Bianchi and Their Lost Child."
My eyes land on the photos—private pictures of my baby girl and me, ones that were never meant to be seen by anyone but me. Photos I haven't let myself look at since. I barely make it to the bin before I'm sick, my body shuddering with each painful heave. I feel Jacques' hand on my back, hear his soothing murmurs, but I can't process anything over the sharp ache cutting through my chest.
The door slams open, and then I hear him.
"Baby," Alessio calls out, his voice thick with worry as he rushes to my side. His hand moves to my back, thumb tracing soothing circles as I retch, his other hand gently gripping my shoulder.
