Page 3 of The Billionaire's Pact

He cleared his throat. “I knew this would be Lorelei’s outcome. She was spoiled and reckless. She chose your lowlife bum of a father over her family…She told us in great detail what happened to him last night.”

Sweat broke across my body. The police told us they had more questions, but we left town. What if they charge me? Or find out how he tried to sell me?

My stomach lurched. “What…what will you do about that information?”

“If you take my offer, I could make it go away,” he replied in an even tone.

I squinted. It sounded too good to be true. “How?”

“I can hire good lawyers, and send you off to boarding school and later college to get an education.”

I flicked my eyes at him and bit my smile. I loved school, especially art class. A steady place to live instead of another motel didn’t sound bad.

“But nothing is given without a cost,” he said. “You’ll need to pay me back, and I will collect.”

I squinted at him. “What do you mean, sir?”

He raised his chin. “You’re the only kin left with my blood. Lorelei failed me by not having children to pass on my Belfiore lineage. That leaves you, Adelina. You can help restore our reputation as leaders of a rich and powerful legacy.”

It was odd to hear I had a legacy when we scraped just to get by and Jacob was in state custody. However, it seemed Mr. Belfiore needed something and was willing to bargain. “What do you want?”

“I’ll arrange your marriage. You’ll have sons I can pass on our family trust and rebuild our Belfiore name and wealth. That’s what I need from you. That’s our pact.”

That seemed like too much to ask of me at fourteen when I didn’t even know what my new life would be like. But I could say no. “What happens if I refuse?”

“You’ll be on your own, never to darken our door. I mean it. Don’t ever return. I’ll need the answer before the end of this ride—”

“I agree to your terms,” I said without hesitation. “But I have some, too. You’ll help my mother rebuild her life, and you’ll provide my brother Jacob with a private care facility.”

My brother Jacob was in state custody because we didn’t have a stable home and he needed medical care we couldn’t afford. If Mr. Belfiore could fly Mama to Italy and buy good lawyers, then he could help my brother.

“You’ll learn never to reveal your cards. Now I know what’s important to you, and that means your mother and your brother’s fates are in your hands. You fail, they fail. Do you understand me?” His tone was sharp.

My skin prickled and my heart pounded in my chest. “Yes, I do, Mr. Belfiore.” Not Grandfather, as I am fairly certain this man will never want that from me.

“Good, now look out the window.”

We were at the train station. Without a doubt, Mr. Belfiore would have left me here. Instead, he used his phone and created a new life for me. And on that day, I resolved to live a life of duty without love.

Eight Years Later

“You’ve done a good job, Adelina, but I expect your dorm to be empty tomorrow. We won’t have time after the ceremony.” Mrs. Belfiore’s voice had an accent I could never place, but her delivery was often accentuated with authority. Everything in her world was in a place and on a schedule, including me. She paused, shifting her eyes in my direction, and I delivered what was expected, an exuberant smile and a voice fused with gratitude and humility. “I will. Thank you, Mrs. Belfiore.” I’d known my grandmother for eight years now, but I’d never called her anything but Mrs. Belfiore. She’s never been a grandma to me.

My dorm room was spotless as was I, dressed in the dark blue crepe knit polo dress with low heeled pumps she sent ahead for me to wear during her visit. Her demands for perfection had become my own. It was my job to demonstrate the Belfiore family principles—respect, honor, and obedience—they instilled in me over the past eight years. And every visit, though rare, gave me the chance to do so, and were often timed with the semester bill. I did my part: I got top grades, rose to president of the alumni society as Mrs. Belfiore had done. Most of all, I reaffirmed my commitment to honor my agreement to put our family first.

Most of the students at Mount Crest College thought me a mystery. After all, I had first arrived with little hair and softening bruises at the sister boarding academy years ago. Everything revolved around social status, and no one could place me. I had been offered and readily taken the Belfiore name, which came with a history of wealthy and powerful policy makers that shaped our country. They were senators, attorney generals, and ambassadors. There was even a Belfiore building on campus. However, we’d become the poor rich—money in mostly name. We were still millionaires, but not wealthy, thanks to my parents. However, that would change soon. Graduation day was tomorrow, and my arranged marriage would come next.

I didn’t want my new husband to be young or handsome. Mama had been too entranced with my father’s looks, and he used her adoration to control her. Instead, I hoped for a sensible and responsible man, who would fulfill my debt to my grandparents. We’d have children and restore my family’s wealth and status, and all my sacrifices would be rewarded. Then, my life would become my own, and I’d devote it to my beloved art.

In my dreams, I’d be an illustrator, bringing life to the imagination. Drawing a better life had been my only escape from the one I had when I was younger. When my life fell apart, I’d draw a different one that was much better. Now, art was where I lived my dreams, my passions, my love. Inside the paintings, I was good enough.

I came out of my musings to find Mrs. Belfiore’s eyes on me. She stared quietly and hard. I’d changed so much in eight years from the thin, little homeless girl. I had become a mirror of image of her. Tall like her at five-eight height and with a natural arch above my blue eyes that had thick lashes. My cheekbones were no longer gaunt, but fuller. It had been the one thing that kept her attention and saved me. She even commented that she feared I’d look like a Colby but was “pleasantly surprised the Belfiore genes had won out”. Her and my grandfather’s prejudices against Judge Colby, my father, still remained. He was often referred to as an abusive gambling addict, and his actions were a reminder of my connection to his disgrace.

“The president told me you raised twenty-three thousand dollars this semester for the college,” Mrs. Belfiore said to me. “Now that’s something to be proud of. You have our knack for raising money.”

I beamed with pride. “Thank you.”

Alumni fundraising had taken over all my free time, but any acknowledgment as being a Belfiore made my heart fuller. Mrs. Belfiore herself raised millions for the college over the years.

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