The Broken One (Corisi Billionaires, #1)(6)

I closed the laptop, looked up at the ceiling, and sighed.

Everything’s going to be okay.

I’ll make it okay.

I’m just saying—I wouldn’t mind a little help.





CHAPTER THREE



* * *



SEBASTIAN

“I’m looking at it right now,” I said into my phone as I waved for my driver to remain in the car and let myself out. I didn’t hire him to open my door or impress anyone. I also didn’t consider him a luxury. Time was money, and I could get more done while stuck in traffic than most could in a day of meetings. Not that there was much traffic in Durham, Connecticut.

“What do you think you’ll see in an empty lot that our people didn’t?” my brother Christof asked. If Mauricio had asked the question, his voice would have been heavy with sarcasm. Christof genuinely wanted to know, which was the only reason I entertained the question.

“Timing is important. On paper the town looks like it’s verging on expanding, but will it? An area has a certain feel to it right before it explodes. So far, I don’t see what would lure anyone here.”

“So back to the drawing board?”

“I didn’t say that. The price is right. The competition would be easy enough to crush. I’ll take a look around, talk to the planning board tomorrow, and see how eager they are to have us.”

Christof chuckled. “I love how you gloss over the idea of wiping another grocery chain from the map like it’s no big deal. Do you have any sympathy for the people who will be shaking in their shoes when they see our ‘Coming Soon’ sign go up?”

“Nothing lasts forever. Nothing. No one escapes that lesson.” I hadn’t meant to say it as emphatically as I had. May 20 never brought out the best in me. I didn’t have to explain that to Christof—he knew. It was probably why he’d called in the first place. Not that we would discuss it. He knew me too well to even bring it up.

“If you want a second set of eyes, I can be there tonight.”

“All set.”

End of conversation.

“Mom asked if we’ll see you this weekend. She’s making her seafood scampi.”

I almost smiled. Every Sunday I stepped out of my role as head of the family company, put aside the fast pace of meetings, and became a grown man who allowed his mother to ruffle his hair and kiss his head. “I should be. Talk to you then.”

I ended the call, stepped away from the car, and tripped over something soft. A filthy, gray-and-white stuffed animal—a husky, maybe—lay at my feet. A memory of another stuffed animal tore through me—a little brown teddy bear my mother had bought the day Therese had told me she was pregnant. My child would have been her first grandchild.

Should have been.

Fuck.

When the doctors had asked me if I wanted to know what the gender of the baby had been, I’d said no. I didn’t want one more thing to torture myself with. Already every little girl made me wonder what mine would have looked like. Every little boy made me hate myself more.

I kicked the stuffed animal away. It came to a rolling stop, facing me. I looked into its blue glass eyes and saw my pain mirrored. I should have gone with my wife to her doctor’s appointment. I didn’t, because how much could one appointment matter? I had thought there would be a hundred more, and the deal I had been negotiating was important to secure a financial legacy for my family.

I walked over and picked up the stuffed animal, gripping it so tightly in the middle that it flopped back on either side of my hand. Five years. The wound shouldn’t feel as fresh as it did. Bile rose in my throat. I scanned the field, but all I could see was my wife’s face done up with more makeup than she’d ever worn, eyes closed as if she were sleeping.

When I realized I was still holding the stuffed animal, I raised my hand to toss it aside—then didn’t. Couldn’t.

Still holding it, I climbed into my car and told the driver to take me back to my office. I threw the stuffed animal across the seat and stared out the window, emptying my mind as I went. There’d been a time when I’d wanted to die right along with my wife. I had drunk myself to sleep, woken up, and drunk more. Mauricio and Christof had taken over the family business while my father had stayed at my side—despite how many times I’d told him I didn’t need him or any of them.

They’d stayed with me and pulled me through the darkest time of my life. Eventually I surfaced, sobered up, and took back the reins from my brothers. Some say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Bullshit.

It had made me more successful, though. All joy had left my life the day my wife and child didn’t return to me, and although it didn’t make anything better, every one of my competitors had paid for that loss.

Ruthless? Maybe.

Life was ruthless.

I no longer wanted a family of my own, but I did glean a certain satisfaction from knowing my parents and brothers would never want for anything. Nothing beyond that mattered.

I asked the driver to stop at a liquor store.

I paid for the bottle of Crown Royal without exchanging a word with the clerk. I was giving in to a weakness and hating myself for it. I could have gone back to my apartment, but I knew I wouldn’t sleep that night.

In the garage of our headquarters, I shrugged off my jacket and wrapped it around the bottle. Although the elevator I walked toward was a private one, I didn’t want security footage of my transgression. There was no need to worry my family. The past only haunted me one day a year, and it would soon be over.