The Sex Symbol the Don Will Never Keep

I hung up and tossed my phone into the couch cushions.

Walking into the bathroom, I let the hot water run. Steam fogged up the mirror.

I wiped it with my hand, and my face blurred into view.

My mind drifted back to seven years ago.

I was twenty-one. My father owed a Brooklyn underground casino two million dollars.

The day the debt collectors came, he fell to his knees, shoved me forward, and said, "She's worth the price."

I was wearing a secondhand red dress when they dragged me into the casino basement.

"Damn, look at this body."

The guy ripping my dress had a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Ash fell onto my collarbone, burning a red mark into my skin.

The dress tore from my neckline down to my waist. I curled up in the corner, biting my lower lip to keep from screaming.

Click. The basement door opened.

Dead silence fell over the room.

Italian leather shoes stepped onto the blood-stained concrete and stopped right in front of me.

I looked up. That was the first time I saw Vincenzo Marchetti.

He was thirty. Slicked-back black hair, strong brow bone. His icy blue eyes were deep and as cold as the Hudson River in winter.

He didn't even look at me. He just took off his suit jacket, tossed it over me, and said in a low voice:

"Buy her a dress."

His men instantly replied, "Yes, Don."

I didn't know what "Don" meant back then.

All I knew was that my heart was racing.

The changing room was on the second floor. I put on the new dress and leaned against the sink, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Outside the door, those thugs were still there.

"Fuck, the Boss has his eye on her."

"So what?" The guy who ripped my dress scoffed. "He'll play with her for a night and toss her aside. The women who've been in the Don's bed could line up from here to Long Island."

"She'll be crawling back tomorrow on her knees, begging us to pay off her debt."

"With a body like that, I'm gonna make her get on her knees and..."

I pushed the door open and walked out, grabbing a wine bottle from the sink.

The moment the thug turned around, I smashed the bottle over his head.

Glass shattered everywhere. Blood splattered on my new dress.

At the end of the hallway, Vincenzo was leaning against the wall, smoking. Watching me.

That was the first time I saw him smile.

He said something in Italian to his men. I only found out what it meant later.

"I'll take the wildcat."

Day two, he paid off the two million.

Day three, he moved me into the Manhattan penthouse.

Day four, he asked, "What do you want?"

I said, "I want to be the biggest star in Hollywood."

He laughed and flicked his ash.

"Done."

Three months later, laundered Marchetti money poured into a Universal blockbuster. The lead actress contract was handed to me.

Five years. Five blockbuster hits.

Not a single producer in Hollywood dared to touch a hair on my head.

Because they knew—touching me meant going to war with Don Vincenzo.

I thought I was special.

I thought that over those seven years, every kiss, every hug, every gentle moment when he carried me to the bathroom to wash me... was real.

I thought I'd be his Donna.

Until six months ago.

The family dinner at the Long Island estate on my 28th birthday.

I was wearing a Valentino couture gown Vincenzo picked out himself. I walked in from the terrace to find him.

I stopped outside the study. The door was ajar, the smell of cigars wafting out.

"Don," it was Lorenzo, his underboss, laughing. "Miss Bennett looks stunning today. Are you really going to marry her? The boys are waiting to celebrate."

My heart skipped a beat. I froze by the door.

I heard Vincenzo let out a low chuckle.

It was quiet, but every word felt like a nail in my coffin.

"Marry her? Chloe is fun to play with. But for my Donna, I have other options."

"Women like her belong in bed, nowhere else."

I don't remember how I walked away.

I only remember hiding in an empty guest room on the second floor, closing the door, and sliding down to the floor.

The Valentino gown was crushed.

I covered my mouth and cried for half an hour. My mascara was ruined. I looked like a ghost.

I picked myself up, walked to the mirror, and pulled out my compact. Stroke by stroke, I fixed my face.

When I came downstairs, Vincenzo was waiting by the stairs with champagne.

He saw me, his eyes softened, and he pulled me into his arms.

"Happy birthday, baby."

He pulled a velvet box from his pocket. Inside were the Cartier sapphires.

I looked at him and smiled sweetly.

"You're so good to me, Boss."

I got on my tiptoes and kissed him.

There was zero emotion in that kiss.

He didn't notice a thing.

...

The hot water was still running.

I buried my face in my hands.

Seven years ago, I thought I'd never be able to let him go.

Seven years later, I realized human potential is limitless.

I pulled myself out of that dangerous obsession. A clean break.

No feelings, just business. And I was good at it.