Chapter 7 7

I’ll never forget the way she looked right fucking through me into the deep confines of my soul as she creamed on her fingers.

Fuck, my cock is hard all over again. I fall into my desk chair and set my drink aside in favor of pulling myself from my shorts. How long has it been since anyone or anything has excited me enough to get me hard so soon after coming? I honestly can’t remember. I’m that jaded, not to mention no longer as young as I used to be.

The ringing phone on my desk startles me, and unnecessary guilt pierces my chest the instant I identify the number on the screen. Of all the times for my ex to call. It’s like she knows I’m enjoying myself and wants to bring an end to it.

Sometimes, I wonder what I saw in her. How could I have been so blind? How did I miss the emptiness in her? An endless cave of screaming misery which she disguised with a tight body. I fell for it. Pussy will do that to a man, I suppose. A lesson I learned the hard way.

“Amalia,” I growl, cradling the receiver between my ear and shoulder. “To what do I owe the dubious pleasure?”

She’s silent long enough to make me wonder if she’s on the other end before muttering, “Oh, hello. I didn’t expect you to answer.”

I blink slowly. What the fuck? “You called at two in the morning, assuming I wouldn’t be awake to answer, huh? Why? So you could leave a voicemail like a coward?” It’s all too predictable. “Don’t you know better by now than to underestimate me?”

“How’s the weather up there on your high horse? I had a busy day and only now had the opportunity to call. I imagine Tatiana’s still out celebrating. How did the graduation go?”

“You realize you could’ve witnessed it for yourself, don’t you? She set a ticket aside for her loving mother to attend the ceremony.”

The silence on the other end of the call speaks volumes. My ex’s mind is not the mystery she wishes to believe it is. It infuriates her, knowing I find it easy to read her thoughts—or at least the selfish motivations at the core of her behavior.

While she silently scrambles for a worthwhile excuse, I prompt, “Let me guess. You forgot about it.”

“And what if I did?”

“If you’re so determined to avoid responsibility, then you’d need serious professional help. Our daughter tried reaching out to you multiple times.”

“Do you even understand how many—”

“If I can remember an event amidst everything else, you should certainly manage it.”

“Did you ever think it was you I was trying to avoid?” She has a knack for twisting any situation to her advantage. Is that the sound of her sniffling? Of course, it is. She’s a pro at manipulating the narrative.

“If I can put the past aside for Tatiana’s sake, so can you.” As she starts spewing more excuses, I cut her off with a growl. “Forget it. Tatiana didn’t need you today, and she’s probably figured out by now that she can’t count on you.”

She scoffs. “Oh, and you’re the perfect father?”

Not by a long shot. I’ve faltered in more ways than I care to admit. I’m not the picture-perfect, sentimental father you’d see on a sitcom. That’s not me.

But I hope my daughter knows she can rely on me, that my main concern is her well-being and happiness. I keep her shielded from the darker sides of my life, as many parents do when their work isn’t exactly family-friendly. I may not be the affectionate type, but I believe I’m a good parent.

“I’m a damn good parent, and we both know it. Even if I weren’t, at least I’m trying.” The line goes silent for a moment before I continue. “And since you’ve apparently forgotten so much, let me refresh your memory.”

I lower my voice to a threatening growl. “We both know you’re avoiding signing the paperwork you’ve conveniently forgotten. Here’s a nugget of advice: dealing with your stalling is less convenient than having you removed. Do you understand?”

“Is that a threat?” She laughs, but I can hear the fear in her voice. She knows I’m not entirely bluffing. If anyone knows what I’m capable of, it’s her. When it comes to protecting my daughter and my business, I’ll go to any lengths—even those that could land me in serious trouble.

“A little reminder,” I murmur. “Hear that ticking in the back of your mind? It’s not your biological clock—though that must be screaming by now. It’s the ticking that started the moment those papers arrived at your door. My offer isn’t going to get any better. This is your last chance. Sign them, or you’ll see just how unpleasant I can be.”

“Ooo, I’m trembling,” she taunts.

“The clock is ticking,” I reiterate, ignoring her attempts to provoke me. I have more pressing concerns than getting dragged into a petty argument. I end the call abruptly and head to the private bathroom in my office to relieve myself. Amalia is a chapter I can’t completely erase from my life, though she did give me Tatiana—the greatest gift I’ve ever received.

But she’s part of the past.

My thoughts quickly shift: does this mean Caterina is the future?

I catch my reflection in the mirror. Hot water steams up the glass as I watch the battle unfold between the angel and devil on my shoulders. The lines on my forehead show the weight of my struggle.

This feels fundamentally wrong, on a level deeper than anything I’ve done before.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t get Caterina out of my mind. The idea of having her won’t leave me. It was hard enough resisting her before I saw her watching me.

Now? The word “impossible” comes to mind.