That Glance Was Enough

"Sign the divorce papers when you get a chance, and then get the family's Underboss to give me a call. I'll have someone pick them up."

I watched him crush his cigar against the marble table in a fit of rage, almost reminding him out of habit.

However, it hit me that we were getting divorced.

Why bother with his indifference to all my efforts and sacrifices, as if they were invisible to him?

Then, it all made sense. His neglect was just his way of showing I was never really in his heart.

I let out a bitter chuckle and headed for the bedroom.

Matteo's angry voice followed me. "Isabella, I've let you get away with too much over the years. Just stay home and think things through."

He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

My head was spinning, my body alternating between burning up and chilling to the bone. I was running a high fever.

I fumbled for some painkillers in the drawer, took it, and buried myself under the covers to sleep it off.

Waking up the next afternoon, I checked my phone and did not receive a single call. Matteo had not come back last night, nor had he bothered to call.

I collected my papers and returned to the closet, my eyes resting on the few lonely items of clothing that were mine, tucked away in a corner.

I could not suppress a chuckle as I firmly grabbed my purse and left behind the place that had been my cage for a decade.

Telling people I divorced Matteo because he looked too long at his secretary could seem a bit far-fetched.

However, I was the only one who knew the depth of love hidden in that fleeting glance.

It was a secret that only Matteo and I shared.

We met when he was having a rough time at school.

His family had cut him off, and he ended up as the new kid at our school.

Caught in the middle of family feuds, he became a target for bullies, all aiming to crush him.

His deep eyes caught mine the moment he stood up to introduce himself in class.

He got stuck with a desk in the back corner.

On his way there, he tripped at least seven times.

One evening, as I got to school, I saw a bunch of kids rushing toward the alley out back.

Lucy Thompson, my classmate, out of breath, stopped me and said, "Isabella, they're saying the new guy is getting the tar beaten out of him in the alley. Let's go check it out."

She pulled me along to the alley, and right as we got there, I heard someone shout, "You think you can steal my girl, you bastard?"

Then I saw Matteo on the ground, getting whaled on by a gang with sticks.

He was a mess, sprawled out and barely hanging on.

"I didn't," he managed to force out the words, his voice a mix of pain and defiance.

He was so new, he did not even know who was who, let alone steal someone's girl.

David Gerome, as if on cue, gave him a couple more kicks.

Matteo's muffled groans filled the air again.

The crowd of students watched, but no one dared cross the bullies or step in.

They were not showing any signs of stopping.

If that kept up, Matteo was going to be destroyed.

"Police! They're here!"

I ducked behind my classmates and yelled out in the commotion. "Move!"

The gang was cursing up a storm, but they scattered in an instant.

I called my driver and bodyguard over, and we lifted Matteo into my car and rushed to the hospital.

Once the doctors had him stabilized and I had settled the bill, I headed home.

The next day back at school, I found a blue orchid, my favorite, waiting on my desk.

When I looked up, I saw his eyes. They had lost their dullness, replaced by a glimmer of something new.

I saw him again in the hallway on my way to the restroom.

He emerged, soaked to the skin, and upon spotting me, he bashfully looked down and scurried by.

A week later, I was walking off lunch in the campus grove when a chilling voice said, "Break his legs, then he won't dare challenge me again!"

I spotted a guy flipping a dagger with a nasty grin, grabbing a thigh-thick stick, and heading straight for Matteo.

Realizing it was Matteo in danger, I texted my bodyguard to hurry over.

The stick was poised to crash down on Matteo's knee.

"What the hell are you doing?" I yelled with all my strength.

They turned around, saw a young girl, and laughed mockingly.

"What, you want to get in on this?"

"This is a school, and what you're doing is wrong. It's bullying, and I'm telling a teacher."

I was stalling for time, waiting for my bodyguard.

Telling a teacher about such things on campus was pointless. They stayed out of our family's mafia business.

Then, someone recognized me as the Moretti family's Principessa and whispered it to the others.

The guy gave me a hard look, gestured, and the whole group scattered.

I rushed to Matteo's side and found him crumpled on the ground, his arm grotesquely twisted at his side. It was obviously broken.

His face was so swollen and bruised that it was almost unrecognizable, and a sharp twinge of sympathy stabbed at my heart.

Together, the bodyguard and driver helped me carry Matteo back to the villa I called home for the time being.

Our family doctor arrived in no time, gave Matteo a thorough examination, and fixed his broken arm.

Matteo was out cold the whole time.

The doctor assured us that, with plenty of rest, Matteo would be out of danger.

I knew he had no one else to care for him, so I did not opt for the hospital.