Chapter 8

Lorenzo rented a luxury cabin just down the road from the sanctuary, The great Lorenzo Visconti, reduced to stalking the grounds like a ghost in his Zegna overcoat. I treated him like the mountain air- present but invisible. No amount of designer suits or desperate gazes could revive what had died in my

heart.

Everything changed when Dr. Marcus Chen, my colleague from Johns Hopkins, came for a research follow–up. We were laughing about residency horror stories when Lorenzo’s legendary control shattered. He launched himself at Marcus, Rolex flashing as he swung.

I stepped between them. “Get the hell out if you can’t behave. This is a medical facility, not your Wall Street playground.”

After Marcus made his uncomfortable exit, I rounded on Lorenzo. He caught my hand, his eyes holding

that dangerous intensity that once charmed boardrooms.

years

could’ve frosted glass. “Exile? Is that what you think this is? A timeout? Let me use smaller words: We. Are. Divorced. I. Don’t. Love. You. Which part

MBA?”

your memory? You and Isabella, putting on a show in our bed. Making your blind wife fetch your condoms – real classy, by the way. Those fireworks spelling her name? Not exactly subtle.” Each word

permanent.”

the famous Visconti composure crumble. Before I could

of every lie. So

your little mountain doctor fantasy,”

boardroom mistress smile.

remove some strays from the premises?” My voice dripped with calculated

hear her, Lorenzo? She’s calling

backwoods healer-”

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