Grind Me Under Your Heel? Then Face My Husband

On my wedding day, my fiancé had his men lock me outside the church gates. Then he walked down the aisle with his pregnant mistress instead.

Four years later, I flew back to Chicago with another man's ring on my finger and his second baby on the way.

And the first person waiting for me on the tarmac was my ex, ready to offer me a job as his mistress's cook.

He had no clue who I'd married.

The wind on the private airstrip was strong enough to push my dress against my legs.

A few black SUVs were parked near the hangar. A group of men stood beside them, and the one in front was holding up a sign.

It said Stellina.

Little star. That was what Rafe called me, usually in the dark, his mouth against my ear, back in our bedroom in Naples.

Rafe had been held up by a last-minute meeting, so his people had asked the local families to handle my ride. Somebody had obviously fought hard for that honor.

The closer I got, the clearer the face behind the sign became.

Jace Mancini. My ex-fiancé. A Capo in the Mancini family now.

He and a few of his guys, arms covered in tattoos, kept looking past me toward the jet's stairs.

One of them squinted at me. "Wait. Boss, isn't that Nina? The one who was bawling her eyes out at the church?"

Jace stared for a second. Then a slow, smug grin spread across his face.

"Told you. Give her a few years out there with no money, and she'd come running back."

"Took her long enough, though."

The others cracked up.

"Damn, I really thought she had some pride."

"Look at that dress. No logo, nothing. Bet she got it off a clearance rack."

"How'd she even get onto this airstrip? She with the cleaning crew or something?"

I couldn't really blame them. Back when I was with Jace, I wore tiny skirts and heels half a size too small, even in the middle of a Chicago winter, just because he liked it.

I didn't have to do that anymore.

Since I got pregnant, Rafe wouldn't let me wear anything tight. This plain cream dress had been cut and sewn by hand by an old tailor in Naples who only took clients by invitation.

These guys wouldn't know real money if it bit them.

From the way they were talking, though, one thing was clear. None of them knew I was the person they'd come to pick up.

One of the men had once owed me a favor. He stepped forward, a little awkward.

"Hey, Nina. Good to have you back. Honestly, the boss never really got over—"

Jace's grin slipped, and he cut him off.

"Good timing, actually. Gianna's kid has been a nightmare at dinner lately. Won't eat a thing. We need a cook."

"You were always good in the kitchen. Taking care of one kid should be easy for you. The job's yours."

He said it the same way he used to say everything. Like he was doing me a huge favor.

Too bad I wasn't the girl who swallowed every insult just to keep him happy anymore.

I opened my mouth to tell him where he could stick his job offer, and his phone rang.

It was Gianna. He put her on speaker, and her voice came through bright and sweet.

"Nina? Oh my God, it's really you! Don't be mad at Jace, okay? He's only doing this because he feels bad for you. You disappear for four years, and who knows what you had to do to get by."

"At least with us, you'll have a roof over your head."

"And don't worry, nobody's going to look down on you. You'd be cooking for the heir to the Mancinis and the Ferraros. Most people would kill for that."

Four years, and Gianna still knew exactly how to make my stomach turn. Sugar on top, poison underneath.

She and Jace really were perfect for each other.

His guys jumped right in.

"What are you waiting for, Nina? Say thank you!"

"Free room, free food. Beats sleeping under a bridge."

My fingers went to the ring hidden under my sleeve. I was about to pull it out when Jace stepped closer and lowered his voice.

"Don't be ungrateful, Nina. I did what I had to do for the family, and you ran off on me. Now you're back with nothing to show for it."

"Maybe you needed to hit the bottom to finally grow up."

My chest went tight.

He still thought I'd hang my head. That I'd turn red and say I was sorry.

In his mind, marrying his pregnant mistress and leaving me outside a locked church was just doing what he had to do.

Once, when I was nineteen and burning up with a fever, he'd carried me on his back eight blocks through a snowstorm to get me to the ER.

That boy was gone. And every promise he ever made me was a joke.

Fine. Let all of it die right here on this runway.

I let go of the ring and rested my hand on my stomach, where Rafe's second baby was growing.