The Donna He Took for Granted Chapter 07
The day after I accepted Corrado’s proposal, I stopped outside his office and heard him soothing a tearful
Tessa, who was pretending to wish him well.
“I don’t love Ottavia.
“She has followed me around like a needy dog for so
long that I had to give her something. Otherwise, she’d only cry and cause trouble.”
Corrado had said he did not love me.
Yet hearing me dismiss my old promise turned his face paper–white and rooted him speechless to the sidewalk.
Traised a hand to hail a cab.
As I opened the door, Corrado delivered his final warning in an arrogant voice.
“You know what kind of man I am, Ottavia. If you leave
now, then this really is the end…”
Before he finished, I got in and slammed the door without looking back.
A month passed in the blink of an eye.
I spent it turning the apartment into my own space while fitting job interviews into every free hour.
There were setbacks, long days, and more exhaustion than I expected.
In the end, however, I had the home I had dreamed of and a fascinating new position that paid even better than the last.
As for Corrado, mutual friends occasionally mentioned him, whether intentionally or not.
They said he was busier than ever and no longer attended social events.
After I left, problems spread through the Ventresca foundation, legitimate businesses, and family functions.
Several senior members began questioning whether Corrado should inherit.
Only then did he realize that eight years of invisible labor did not transfer automatically to the next woman standing beside him.
He was apparently too overwhelmed even to remove
the pinned announcement claiming that Corrado and Ottavia would soon marry.
I made no response.
My time and energy were limited and far too valuable, and I would not waste either on a stranger from my past.
On the first Friday evening of the month,
I raced across the city after work and barely reached a former classmate’s daughter’s christening reception.
The celebration was held in a bright, elegant
Manhattan hotel ballroom.
I gave the baby a delicate gold christening bracelet.
Then I wished her a safe, joyful life filled with good fortune.
During the reception, old friends I had not seen in
years approached one by one, raising their glasses and settling in to talk.
Ronan was the last to approach.
He had entered law school two years after me.
We met because I had been president of the university debate society and he had served as vice president.
Ronan also had another identity.
He was the Hell’s Kitchen Kelleher family’s heir and
the youngest negotiator in New York’s Irish underworld.
Before he returned to his table, he left me two hangover chews.
My classmate watched him leave and nudged my waist.
“Tavia, here’s the truth. I never planned to invite Ronan to my daughter’s christening.
“I barely know one of New York’s most famous criminal defense attorneys.
“He had someone track down my number and asked me directly whether you were coming.”
I said my goodbyes before the reception ended.
By coincidence, Ronan was leaving at the same time.
Inside the elevator, the handsome man, who had not touched a drop of alcohol, said,
“Ottavia, let me drive you home.”
I narrowed my eyes at him suspiciously.
“What’s the angle? You aren’t still plotting to steal my old position as debate president after all these years, are you?”
Ronan covered a laugh with a soft cough and opened his mouth to return the joke, but the elevator doors
opened in the underground garage.
Outside stood the last man I expected to see.