Page 9 of A Forgotten Promise

I frown, failing to connect the dots.

“You’re always late, and here you were chewing on your lip when I arrived. I’m the one waiting for you all the time. And this place,” he huffs. “This is—”

Patrons—mostly tourists—in this busy coffee shop near the Piazza del Duomo in Milan are loud and distracting. I chose the spot for that reason, specifically. Somehow, it’s easier to deal with a difficult situation among chaos.

It’s like the ambiance of chatter and laughter makes the heavy conversation at our table more palatable.

Vito hates it here, and I should have considered that before I lied that I have another meeting nearby and wouldn’t make it anywhere else.

The racket might distract me, making the task oddly easier, but it’s annoying Vito. A fail on my part for sure.

“Vito, I’m exhausted, and I don’t enjoy the work at all. I’m objectified and disrespected and dying from fatigue. I thought about it long and hard, and I’m done. I’m not going to sign any new contracts.”

Why can’t I look at him?

“Saar, principessa, you know you’re my favorite client, and I get it.” He sips from his cup, his gaze roaming the room with contempt before it lands on me and softens significantly. “Of course, I support your decision.”

I open my mouth to argue, but his words sink in, and I blink. “You do?”

A sad smile ghosts his sophisticated features. “Only the best for you, but I’m afraid I have bad news that might force you to revisit your retirement dream.”

Concern mars his forehead, his thick eyebrows pulled together behind his large glasses. He leans forward and takes my hand, holding it between both of his.

The warmth of his palms would be comforting, but I don’t let that lull me. I was prepared for some sort of manipulation, but his grave tone settles eerily inside me.

“There is no easy way to say this.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he takes a pause. “And frankly, I wanted to spare you until I have more details, but in light of your decision…” He takes a deep breath and licks his lips.

“Jesus, Vito, spill it. Whatever it is, I can take it. When have you ever treated me like a porcelain doll?” I pull my hand from his and lean back, crossing my arms over my chest.

An unruly strand bounces off my messy hairdo, right across my eye. I blow it away, but it just springs back. Everything about today is annoying.

It took me a year to finally find the courage to take this step. To walk away from the lifestyle I’ve known since I was a teenager.

And it’s not even the walking away part that prevented me from acting sooner. Or my body that has been screaming for a break after the abuse of fad diets, irregular meals, lack of sleep, and constant jetlag.

It’s the next stage that kept me in the grind of late nights, early mornings, runways, cameras, airports, and fast clothing changes.

The next stage of my life.

When I turned twenty-five, I thought I would first figure out my future career and then I’d quit.

Two years later, I’m just exhausted. My brain is running on fumes, unable to focus or to access enough creativity to find my reinvention.

Vito clears his throat. “Okay, I’m not going to sugarcoat it. It appears that your accountant has been embezzling money from you.”

He pushes his unfinished cappuccino away. Like the cup is somehow associated with the bomb he’s just dropped.

I stare at him for a moment, the offensive strand of hair no longer an issue. “Maria?” Like identifying the offender is what’s important here.

Vito has been taking care of my finances, so I haven’t met my European accountant many times. Yet the few times we met, she came across as a kind, competent woman, with pictures of her grandchildren on her desk.

Vito nods. “I don’t know the extent, but there are irregularities I’m looking into. From what I uncovered so far, you need to pay taxes you owe for several years here in Italy, and potentially in the US. And with the penalties, I’m afraid you can’t afford much at the moment. You certainly can’t quit.”

My body heats as if I was standing in front of the spotlights. In fact, the light here feels like a camera in burst mode with a flash on my face. It’s just my blinking.

Vito takes off his glasses and wipes his forehead. I’ve never seen him this uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, principessa, it’s all my fault. You trusted me with your money, and I failed you.”

A shadow of regret flickers in his eyes. The larger than life man shrivels, his shoulders sagging with guilt.

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