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Eli casts an odd look at his brother at the casual use of my nickname, but I ignore it.

“All right,” the mediator tries again, sounding a little wary as he flips through his notes. “I see here that Mrs. Casiraghi is requesting a complete division of all shared assets?”

I nod. “That’s correct.”

“We aren’t in agreement,” Ezra adds.

“I see,” the mediator says.

Mr. Casiraghi finally speaks up with a scoff. His accent is thicker than Bianca’s, the inflection on his words making what he’s saying sound harsher. “Mywifehas no grounds for such a thing. She signed the prenup, yes?”

“That’s true,” the mediator points out. He flips another page in his notes. “I have your signature right here, Mrs. Casiraghi.”

“We have reason to believe the terms of the prenup have been breached,” I say.

Eli makes an amused sound. “Circumstantial reason.”

“I can handle this,” Ezra says tightly, using a tone I’m not sure I’ve ever heard from him.

Eli shrugs as if to say “Whatever,” lacing his fingers together over the conference room table and continuing to watch what’s happening in front of him like some sort of bored spectator.

“My client has several exchanges between your client and your client’s mistress suggesting an affair,” I tell Ezra, pointedly not looking at his brother. “I gave you copies of these exchanges during disclosure.”

“And again,” Ezra says calmly, all business for once, thankfully. “This evidence is circumstantial. It can’t be proven that it was our client that sent these emails.”

“They were from his computer,” I snort.

Ezra waves me off. “In an office that several people have access to. Any one of the employees working near him could have fabricated those exchanges.”

“And what purpose would that serve?”

“For all we know,” Ezra says, “those emails could have been sent at the behest of your client in order to frame her husband so that she could claim her prenup terms had been violated.”

I rear back, feeling hot anger lick down my spine. “That’s not a claim you can substantiate.”

“It’s nothing any of us haven’t seen before,” he answers softly, looking almost like he’s trying to placate me. “You know that’s true, Dani.”

I hate that my name on his tonguestillmakes my stomach flutter, even now. Would it kill him to not use it in this setting? The last thing I need is to get flustered in front of his dick brother.

“That’s something a judge would have to decide, I suppose,” I answer stiffly.

The mediator clears his throat. “Perhaps both parties might be willing to discuss some sort of compromise to avoid trial?”

I’m opening my mouth to answer, but Bianca chooses this moment to enter the conversation.

“There will be no compromise,” she says matter-of-factly, eyes still locked on her husband. “You have taken most of my life. Half of yours is a fair exchange.”

“Don’t be hysterical, Bianca,” Mr. Casiraghi huffs. “You don’t need the money, and you have no proof that there is anyone else. You can’t admit to yourself that our marriage has run its course, so you fabricate lies about me in revenge.”

“Lies,” Bianca chuckles. “You think you’re clever, Lorenzo. Youalways thought yourself to be clever. You forget who it was that helped forge the empire you are so greedy with. Who gave up weekends and holidays to help get your business off the ground. You may have beguiled me into signing a prenup with lies of it being for my protection, but I know now that it was never money that I needed protection from. It was your black heart.”

“Always the actress,” Mr. Casiraghi says with a roll of his eyes.

Bianca’s stare is hard, the seconds passing in pregnant silence as everyone at the table waits with bated breath for her next words. She doesn’t smile when she says them, doesn’t show any sense of triumph or gleeful satisfaction—and given her words, I find that astonishing.

“Tell them about the account, Lorenzo.”

Her husband goes still, his smug expression flickering with concern for a brief moment before he tugs down the mask again. “I don’t know what you mean.”