Page 107 of The Billionaire's Pact

“I just can’t believe it,” he said and coughed.

I squeezed him then let go. My heart hurt at seeing his watery, red-rimmed eyes. He sighed heavily and clasped my hands. “Listen. Mama doesn’t want to stay in this house…it holds too many memories. I’m going to take her over to my aunt’s house and will return later. We’re all flying back to New York in the morning to see my brother Salvatore and prepare for the funeral. Don’t worry about packing; I’ll have someone send our things later.”

“Okay. That’s fine. Please help her,” I told him, my eyes tearing up.

“Sorry, Adelina.” He wrapped his arms around me. “I know how much he meant to you.”

A knock on the door had our heads turning. It was Olivia, his mother. Her eyes were puffy as tears were streaming out of them. “I didn’t want to leave without speaking to you, Adelina.”

Rocco let me go, and she came over to us.

“Oh, Olivia. I am so, so sorry for your loss,” I said as more tears pooled in my eyes.

“Thank you, sweet girl,” she whispered. She took my hand and held it firmly. “My father loved you very much. He was so proud of you and excited for your wedding. He planned it more than me.” She let out a dry laugh, and a sob.

“I…I loved him very much. He…he was always checking on me,” I stammered.

Olivia nodded a few times. “I…I don’t know how to ask, but I must. I want to ask you both to postpone the wedding and have the funeral? I know that’s asking a lot from the two of you, but we will cover everything and reschedule.”

“Of course,” Rocco said without hesitation.

I heard myself echo his words and take the hug from Mrs. Marini. But inside was a well, deep in fear and dread of what was to come.

Rocco hugged me. “Thank you. I’ll come see you later.” He left, holding his mom’s shoulder.

Left alone, the emptiness inside me expanded. The impact of Luca Marini’s death was an endless well, which I feared I’d never find the bottom of. Just when things were about to change, everything was now uncertain. Will the marriage happen? Will Rocco have to marry me or does he have a chance to end the arranged marriage? He told me he hadn’t planned to marry and was forced by his grandfather. He didn’t want children, something my family depended on for their trust and legacy. If he does, will I be forced to marry someone else?

Pain gripped my heart. In such a short time, Rocco had changed my life so profoundly. He’d reinforced so much of his grandfather’s convictions—that I too could have hopes and dreams. Slowly, with his encouragement, with getting closer to him physically, it had become hard to recall life without him. I didn’t want to live without him, but wasn’t sure how to verbalize that to him. Or if I’d get the chance. Was that love? He’d shown me since the day we were brought together that I mattered to him, and that warmth had been so much appreciated. He was a lot like his grandfather. But we weren’t in love, were we? My heart constricted and a lump lodged in my throat. I know better than to love him.

I soaked my head in the shower to chase away the bad memories, but they still crowded my mind. Every unanswered call and one-word message left a cut of regret. My conscience battered the conversations in which I only talked about myself instead of asking about him. I’d missed the wisdom Mr. Marini had tried to pass on to me, but he never failed me with his understanding, support, and love. Most of all, he believed in me. His wisdom gave me strength in my loneliness. With his guidance, I excelled as a student, and was highly recognized in my outreach. I believed in myself. Even in his final days, when I was unsure about a future in an arranged marriage, he shared with me from his own example that things could work if I’m willing. He was like a godfather, and a dear friend.

I dried off and returned to the room, dropping the towel on the desk, which knocked over the copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

Mr. Marini’s book! Had he left it for me?

My head shook, and I laughed, wiping the corner of my eye. He often made me laugh, even in death apparently, I moved it back, but in my hands, it was light. Hmm. I opened the cover, and a thick envelope was stuffed in the hollowed-out pages. Had Mr. Marini dropped off a last message just for me?

I wasn’t ready for a goodbye, but I couldn’t bring myself to put it away. When we went to his home, he’d had something he wanted to share with me, but didn’t have time. Perhaps he wrote it out for me and left it where I could find it.

My hands trembled as I removed the thick envelope. A typed message was pinned to the top.

The truth: J.C.

I stiffened. J.C. Judge Colby? My father? That was the only JC I knew. Bile rose in my throat, and I fisted the papers. The last thing I’d ever wanted to discuss was my father. Mr. Marini knew I hated him. Was he trying to help me forgive him? Sorry, but that’s impossible.

I wasn’t ready to read them and went to find a purse to store them for when I felt stronger, however, a logo in the corner of the top paper caught my eye. Esquire Publishing, LLC. The boxes my father’s poetry books would arrive in had the same logo. I retrieved the paper, and read the top document.

“Congratulations. Your poetry book, “Love is a Worn Heart,” has been selected for publishing.” The paper was stapled to the second page, and the filings of the LLC were listed.

“Esquire Publishing, L.M. Esquire, Publishing, LLC. L.M. Mr. Luca Marini, owner….”

I glared down at the paper. Mr. Marini had published my father’s poetry books? The following few pages were copies of loans for real estate and personal loans for my father with the addresses we had over the years. But of course, he took drugs and gambled away everything he owned. Every property went into collections and foreclosure; the bank loans were bought by other companies for payment.

“Fairbanks Mortgage, Bank of the West, Civil Bank all sold to L. M. Holdings…Luca Marini.” Mr. Marini bought the loans? If he did, my father was in debt to him for millions. How did Mr. Marini get paid back, and why did he approve more loans for my father?

The next page listed bank transfers from Reginald Belfiore to Mr. Eric Colby. I fell to my knees. Grandfather. He paid off the loans. Heck, he even sold properties to cover them. The payments went on for years. It was clear these loans from Mr. Marini had chipped away my family’s wealth. Why did they pay for the loans?

I knew the answer. Grandfather’s pride. He’d paid so the public wouldn’t know how awful things were in his family.

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