Chapter Seven The Pleas and Emmanuella  

Rebecca’s POV

As I walked into the restaurant, I saw the way he looked at me, like he had seen his queen approaching. His eyes lit up, and I could feel his gaze linger, drinking in every detail as though I were something precious he’d lost and just found again. I could tell he loved what he saw. But if he thought I liked what I saw, he deceived himself.

The man sitting across from me was nothing more than a shell of who I once knew. A man who killed my mother would never look good in my eyes, no matter how sharp his suit or how well he cleaned up.

After taking my seat, I ordered wine, ignoring his lingering gaze. “You look beautiful, Rebecca,” he exclaimed, his voice hopeful, almost eager. He waited for a reaction, for any sign of warmth from me. But did I care? No. His words slid right off me like water off a stone. I remained cold, unfazed.

“Have your seat, Mr. Moretti,” I said, gesturing for him to sit. His face betrayed a moment of shock. He expected me to melt at his compliment, to smile and indulge his attempts at charm, but I wasn’t here to stroke his ego. The surprise in his eyes quickly turned to discomfort as he realized that I wasn’t the same woman he thought he’d left behind.

He sat down, awkwardly shifting in his chair. The tension in the air thickened as I spoke again, “Why do you want to see me, Mr. Moretti?”

The sound of my voice seemed to snap something in him. His expression crumbled, and before I could react, he dropped to his knees right there in the middle of the restaurant. He looked around, embarrassed, checking if anyone was watching. But there was no one here but us and a few employees going about their business. It didn’t matter. He was desperate enough to make a scene if he had to.

“I wronged you, Rebecca,” he began, his voice trembling. “I cheated on you, and I divorced you without thinking. Please forgive me.”

I almost laughed. Did he really think those words were enough? Did he think I was some naive fool who would fall for this pathetic act of contrition? My mind flashed back to the night that changed everything—when his car hit me, sending my world spiraling into darkness. He left me there, bleeding, broken. And now he expected me to believe he was sorry?

I scoffed, the sound echoing in the empty restaurant. He thought he could brush over that. But even if I set aside what he’d done to me, what about my mother? His apology wasn’t going to bring her back.

“I beg you, Rebecca,” he continued, his eyes pleading. “I don’t know what came over me. You gave me everything a wife could give, and I threw it all away. I cheated on you with some chick in my office.”

There it was again. Another lie, as transparent as glass. His tone was almost dismissive as he referred to his secretary as'some chick.’ If she had meant so little to him, would he have married her the second I was out of the picture? My lips curled into a smirk. The hypocrisy was laughable.

I took a slow sip of my wine, savoring the taste as I let the silence stretch between us. He thought he could manipulate me with his words, but I had no intention of making this easy for him. 

I’d been right before, and I was going to be right again—he didn’t deserve a quick lesson. No, this man needed to learn his lesson slowly, painfully. He would reap the fruits of his betrayal, and I would ensure that every single moment of it stung.

But for now, I decided to play along. If he thought he was clever, I’d show him that I could be even more devious. I would mend his broken heart just so I could shatter it into a thousand pieces, the same way he had done to mine.

I reached out and took his hands in mine, my voice soft and sweet as I said, "Gabriel." I trailed off as I felt something—a subtle vibration through his hand. His phone. It was buzzing in his pocket, set to vibrate. I smiled inwardly. I knew exactly who was calling him. It wasn’t hard to guess.

His wife.

I could almost hear her voice in my head, worried and suspicious. A woman who knew deep down that her husband was a cheat. If she had any sense, she’d have tailed him. No doubt she was nearby, watching, heartbroken to see her husband on his knees before his ex-wife.

I tightened my grip on Gabriel’s hand, pulling him closer to me. “I forgive you, Gabriel,” I lied, pressing a light kiss to his forehead.

His face lit up with relief. He thought this was over, that we could return to whatever illusion of normalcy he had in his mind. He quickly got back into his seat, ordering wine with an eagerness that was almost pathetic. He was ready to talk, to play the role of the repentant lover, as though we hadn’t been separated. As though he hadn’t tried to kill me.

I smiled sweetly, masking the dark thoughts swirling in my mind. He had no idea what I had planned.

“I have more information about his connections, Rebecca. We’ll focus on that when you get here,” Natasha’s voice buzzed softly through the customized earbud in my ear.

Before coming to the restaurant, Natasha had handed me this tiny device, custom-made to blend with my skin. It allowed her to stay in constant communication with me without Gabriel—or anyone else—noticing. The earbud was invisible to the eye, just another secret weapon in my arsenal.

I glanced at Gabriel, his face relaxed and content, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing around him. I scoffed inwardly. He was doomed, and by the time he realized it, it would be far too late.