The Billionaire's Widow (sample Chapters: full book on Amazon)

Chapter 4: The Wager

The world stood still for Manel. White as a sheet, she croaked, not recognizing her own voice.

"How. . . how did this. . . happen?"

"Let's just say your husband is one arrogant, egocentric bastard who didn't think twice wagering all that he owned, including his precious little wife. . . to me."

The familiar deep, manly voice which cut through the room came from the door. She hastily turned to look.

Dressed in a dark blue Armani suit, a tall, strikingly attractive man languidly stood there with his back to the door, his ankles crossed, arms crossed over his chest. He looked like he had no care in the world. His dark brown eyes were intensely fixed on her, an odius smile pasted on his lips.

She recognized him as the man from the balcony. The one she had mistaken for a waiter.

The man with the piercing eyes. The searer of her soul.

"You!" She gasped. "You're Ricco Firenzo?"

"The one and only," he replied, bowing mockedly before lifting his back from the door and taking a step forward.

Travaglia's face was impassive as he met his employer halfway through the library. "Signor, I didn't know you'd be coming over."

Ricco Firenzo continued to saunter forward, not breaking a step or even throwing him a glance. "I wanted to see for myself what I had won, Travaglia. And I didn't need your approval to come here." Travaglia hung his head, his jaw tight as he placed himself behind Ricco and followed him into the room.

With unhurried steps, Ricco approached Manel, his sharp eyes never wavering from her face. Like a lion encircling his prey, Manel thought. His eyes were the color of deep, dark chocolate, which would have been soothing and comforting, if not for its glacial hardness at the moment as he narrowed them at her. Her cheeks burned, singed from the intensity of his gaze.

"Signor Firenzo," she swallowed, striving to keep her voice firm. "I think this is all a mistake. My husband did not do heavy gambling. And besides, gambling is illegal here in Italy."

"Sports-betting isn't. He bet on his own football team. And even if Italy prohibits all kinds of gambling, who would dare go against the billionaires' circle?" he snickered. "Not the government, Signora."

"He bet on his own football team?" She searched her memory. "But they won that night!"

"Ah, but he did not just bet on his team. He bet youwould be there in the stadium, like you've always done. Cheering them up for one hour, in his absence."

Manel's face paled. Horrified, she recalled the events of that night. She had, indeed, been set on going to the stadium as was her practice. But she had woken up from her afternoon nap severely shaken and distressed, haunted by another set of recurring bad dreams.

Dreams that didn't really go away over the years, contrary to what she had told her husband and her therapist.

That night, for some inexplicable reason, her panic attack didn't subside in time for the game. That night, for the first time in a long time, she had been driven to take a sleeping pill to ease her troubled mind. That night, she had woken up to find the game nearing its end and had to content herself watching it from their television, choosing not to call her husband about her sudden change of plans to prevent him from worrying about her condition.

That night.That night of all nights. She didn't know her husband needed her as he had never needed her before.And she had failed him.

Seeing her stricken face, Ricco gloated, "Ah. You remember. So, you see, Signora Cantarella, I won fair and square. And I have you to thank for that."