Page 187 of My Ruthless Husband

That was one of his colossal mistakes. He underestimated me. He thought he can defeat me. He’s the one who’s been defeated and destroyed. His empire is nothing but rubble now, the ashes of his greed scattered across the winds.

The guy I just obliterated is a parasite. A man who never played fair, who used every trick in the book to climb to the top, and used innocent people as his stepping stone. I just made him feel what it feels like to be someone else’s stepping stone.

I took his empire. Every last inch of it. Every asset, every account, every piece of his legacy. He’s broke now, stripped of everything he thought was his.

He thought he could challenge me, that he could drain his last few pennies in some misguided lawsuit against an ‘hostile takeover.’ Every move I made to reach this moment was legal, meticulously so. The win? Predetermined. A mere technicality, really.

This is not revenge like I said. What I’ve got planned for him is far worse than that. This is about more than just a lawsuit. This is about rewriting history, about giving him his Karma, something he’s been dodging his entire life.

The protesters are scattered along the sidewalk, their faces twisted with anger. The protestors are the former employees of the man whose empire I took over.

They’ve lost their jobs because of me. I see their scornful eyes follow my every step as I move toward the waiting car, their voices rising, a chorus of accusations thrown at my back. “Greedy bastard!” one of them yells, “You ruined everything!” The words are like bullets. But I keep moving, impassive.

Just as I’m about to climb into the car, a woman steps forward. Her voice bitter and full of accusation. “I hope you know you’re going to hell for this!”

I just stare at her, my gaze empty. “I’ve lived there all my life.”

Her eyes widen. I slide into the car, the door slamming shut behind me.

Hal’s already in the front seat, a look of frustration on his face. He curses under his breath. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s my fault. I misjudged the timeline. Moving and recruiting all the former employees to the new branch is taking longer than I planned. You shouldn’t have had to deal with the fallout.”

“Get it done by the end of the week.”

He nods grimly and faces forward. The car pulls away, and I let my eyes drift to the scene outside the window.

The angry protesters glare in my direction, but then something catches my eye. A man, dressed in a worn flannel shirt and faded jeans, stands near the edge of the crowd. The man’s face is rough, haggard, the lines carved deep from years of struggle. His eyes meet mine, filled with helplessness.

For a heartbeat, time stops.

And then, the world shifts.

His face distorts. And in its place, a face I know too well—a face that haunts my every thought—forms.

My father’s.

I wrench my eyes off the haunting reminder.

My hand reaches for my sunglasses, pulling them off hastily. The sharp throb behind my eyelids is almost unbearable.

The car speeds away, the protesters and that man now distant figures in the side-view mirror.

Leaning my head back against the headrest, I close my eyes.

“No, no… No!” Mamma’s voice is almost unrecognizable, ripping through the house as she stares at the officer in the doorway. Her hand flies to her mouth, eyes wide with horror, her whole body shaking.

I step back, my heart hammering in my chest as I watch her turn and run for the bedroom, one hand on her swollen belly.

“Ma’am! Mrs. Sabatino!” The officers call after her, moving past me, but all I can do is stand there. I feel sick—like something’s crawling in my stomach, twisting everything up.

I want to run to Papà’s garage, to find him and bring him home. Only he could calm Mamma when she got upset, only he knew how to make everything okay.

But Papà told me not to.

“Damian, listen to me,” he’d said just two days ago, crouching down until we were eye-to-eye. “You are eight years old now. That means you are the man of the house when I’m not here. Do you know what that means, figlio mio?”

I’d nodded, even though I didn’t really understand. I wanted to be strong for him, to make him proud. Papà travels a lot for work, and he always worries when he’s away from home. I want him to rely on me. “It means I have to take care of Mamma and… and my sister.” My gaze had drifted to her belly.

He’d smiled, warm but serious, a hand resting on my shoulder. “That’s right, son. You have a sorellina on the way. And Mamma—” His voice softened as he glanced toward her, then back at me. “She needs you, especially now. She needs you close by, watching over her and your sister. It’s what a man does, Damian.”

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