Milene
Two years later
I can’t believe he did it again.
The elevator pings open. Paying no heed to Salvatore’s secretary who is gaping at me from behind her desk, I march across the office foyer toward the big ornate door on the right.
“Mrs. Ajello?”
I stop and throw a look over my shoulder. “Yes, Ginger?”
“Is everything . . . okay?” the secretary asks, her eyes going from my tangled hair, over Salvatore’s gray T-shirt which I’m wearing, to my bare feet.
“Of course it is.” I grin widely, grab the knob and enter my husband’s office.
With hands on my hips and a scowl on my face, I walk around his desk and come to a stop next to him. Salvatore looks up from the laptop, then leans back in his chair.
“Did you sleep well, vita mia?”
I narrow my eyes at him and point at the small bundle
