Husband Asked Me To Share Him With His Sisters-in-Law

"The agreement from back then is all here."

A thick stack of papers, every page drawn up by the lawyers my father had retained. Three of the Calloway family's shipping routes had been contributed as equity stakes, amounting to fifteen percent of the Hartley family's territorial holdings. In my last life, every bit of it had ended up in Marcus's pocket after the divorce.

"Get Garrett in here."

Garrett, the treasurer, arrived quickly and stood before me with his eyes shifting around the room. Five years managing the family accounts, and five years in Marcus's back pocket.

"My fifteen-percent stake, starting this quarter: I want all the returns deposited directly into my personal account."

His expression shifted. "The returns have always been pooled and managed collectively by the family."

"That stake came from my father's equity contribution. It's not a shared family asset. The returns are mine to direct, and it says so in the agreement, word for word."

He forced a smile. "I'd have trouble explaining that to the Don."

"I'm the Donna. These matters were always going to fall to me eventually."

He hesitated, still looking for an out. I met his eyes and let the silence sit.

"Garrett, if this is too much trouble for you, I can always bring in someone from outside to go through the books."

His expression changed immediately. Five years of accounts, and he knew better than anyone how many numbers in those ledgers couldn't see daylight. If outsiders came in to audit, he'd be the first one burned. In Sicily, betrayal was never punished with a pink slip.

"Donna, I wouldn't hear of it. This is entirely my responsibility."

After he left, Ryan murmured, "Are the accounts off? Should I find a trustworthy accountant?"

"No need." I picked up my coffee and took a sip. "Let's see how much they've already taken first."

I'd spent all of my last life fixated on Marcus, completely in the dark about the family's finances. Coming back, I wasn't going to live like that again.

That evening, Marcus came. He pushed open the door, face carrying its usual carefully measured warmth. The sun was going down outside, and the light caught the angles of his face. He was striking, and no wonder every woman in Sicily wanted a piece of him.

"Anna. Are you really not bothered by what happened today?"

"Do you think I should be?"

He reached for my hand. I lifted my coffee cup and shifted it out of reach without making a show of it. His hand hovered a moment in the air, then pulled back.

"You've matured."

He was quiet for a moment, then let out a slow breath. "Anna, I hope you understand. I'm the Don now, and every decision I make has to consider the family." He paused. "But don't worry. Selena and Vivian will move into the beach house. They won't be around to disturb us."

"Fine."

"You don't object?"

I looked at him and smiled. I could see it in his eyes: testing me, confused, and underneath that, disappointed. He needed an excuse, needed me to make a scene and give him something to use. I wasn't giving it to him.

"Marcus, before they move in, I'd like to sort through my own assets."

"Your assets?"

"Garrett mentioned the returns have always been managed by you collectively."

Marcus's expression shifted, just for a fraction of a second, and then he smiled.

"I've been handling those small things on your behalf. No need to trouble yourself. Focus on your own family affairs."

"Being Donna comes with its own responsibilities."

"That sounds exhausting." He stood, tone gentle but final. "I don't want you wearing yourself out."

I didn't push it. Marcus took it as a passing impulse, nothing more. But it wasn't.

After he left, I told Ryan, "First thing tomorrow morning, set up a meeting with the lawyer my father used back then."

Ryan frowned. "The letters you sent to your family previously were intercepted by Marcus’s men."

"I know."

I picked up the document from the desk and opened it to the first page. It was the offer letter Uncle Charlie had forwarded from London, signed in the lower right corner by an old friend of my father's, a legitimate businessman with no ties to Sicily and no reason to fear Marcus.

"This time, we go a different direction."