What Happens in Chapter 22 – From the Book Red Card to Your Heart: You Don't Deserve My Love Extra Time
Dive into Chapter 22, a pivotal chapter in Red Card to Your Heart: You Don't Deserve My Love Extra Time, written by Kylie Homme. This section features emotional turning points, key character decisions, and the kind of storytelling that defines great Internet fiction.
Word traveled quickly throughout Milan that Salvatore Ricci had forced his fiancée to apologize to his former lover. In the insular world of the Sicilian crime families, such gossip spread like wildfire, each retelling more exaggerated than the last.
Salvatore purchased a luxury apartment for Carina in the fashion district, maintaining her as his not-so-secret mistress. The capos and soldiers whispered behind my back, placing bets on how long before I'd be discarded completely.
"A month, tops," I overheard one of his lieutenants say as I passed. "The boss never got over that Bianchi woman."
I pretended not to hear any of it. Instead, I focused on performing my role as the dutiful fiancée to perfection. Our wedding was scheduled for precisely one month from now—thirty days that I marked off each morning on a small calendar hidden in my drawer.
Three weeks before the wedding, Salvatore returned from a business trip to Sicily. He found me in the bedroom, packing away winter clothes.
"Come here," he commanded, loosening his tie.
I obeyed, crossing to him without hesitation. His eyes traced my body with deliberate slowness, the possessiveness in his gaze making my heart quicken despite everything.
He pulled me onto his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers tangling in my hair. He tugged gently, tilting my face toward his.
"So desperate to become my wife?" he asked softly, his voice carrying that dangerous edge that always made my skin prickle.
I draped my arms around his neck, pressing my body against his chest. "It's my life's only wish," I whispered against his ear, letting my lips brush the sensitive skin there.
A rare genuine smile played across his features. Then, with the sleight of hand he'd perfected in his youth on Palermo's streets, he produced a small velvet box. Inside nested a diamond so large it seemed almost vulgar—a twelve-carat oval cut set in platinum, surrounded by smaller diamonds that caught the late afternoon light filtering through the curtains.
He slid it onto my finger without asking, as though he were simply claiming what already belonged to him.
"Happy birthday, future wife," he said with that languid self-assurance that came from knowing he could buy or destroy anything he desired.
I stared at the ring, momentarily speechless. In our three years together, Salvatore had never given me jewelry—only weapons, properties, and the occasional rare book that caught his eye. This was different. This was a public declaration.
His phone rang. He checked it, his expression hardening back into the mask of the Don.
"I have to go," he said, already standing.
"But it's my birthday," I said before I could stop myself.
He looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Then he took my hand, the one now bearing his diamond, and pressed his lips to my palm.
"I've reserved Il Lago for you tonight. Everyone will be there. Show them the ring." His thumb traced the diamond. "Show them who you belong to."
With that, he was gone, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air.
That evening, I dressed with particular care—a crimson dress that hugged my curves, my hair swept up to expose the diamond earrings I'd purchased myself. The ring felt heavy on my hand, a weight both burdensome and precious.
I smiled, leveraging her momentary vulnerability. "I'm his wife in all but paperwork," I replied, making sure everyone nearby could hear. "Who else would he give such a ring to?" I leaned closer, dropping my voice to ensure only she would hear the rest. "Certainly not his backup plan. How much did you have to beg to get him to buy you that apartment, I wonder?"
The color drained from her face, replaced by a livid flush. This was no longer the prim, calculated Carina. This was the real woman beneath—wounded, furious, and dangerous.
Word of the ring spread through the gathering like electricity. The restaurant filled with exclamations as Salvatore's inner circle gathered around us.
"Madonna mia! It's true then—the wedding is still happening!" Salvatore's underboss exclaimed.
"After everything you've endured at his side, it's about time," said another.
"That stone—I saw it at the Christie's auction in Geneva. Seven million, at least. The boss spares no expense for you."
"Let us see it properly, signora! Take it off—we want to admire it!"
I watched Carina's face darken with each comment, each congratulation driving the knife deeper. Her eyes fixed on the ring with an intensity that bordered on madness.
As I slipped the diamond from my finger to pass around, something in Carina snapped. She lunged forward, shoving me with unexpected strength.
I staggered backward, losing my balance on the restaurant's floating platform. As I fell, the diamond slipped from my grasp, catching the light one final time before disappearing with a small, almost delicate splash into the dark waters of Lake Como.
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