The Godfather’s Twenty Year Dream Was Her Chapter 02

The Godfather’s Twenty Year Dream Was Her Chapter 02

Honestly, I hadn’t given Rafael much thought back then.

Everyone had whispered he was the Moreau family heir. He was the school’s resident troublemaker—dead last in every class with a hair-trigger temper.

Meanwhile, I’d been such a snob, refusing to associate with guys like him.

My whole world had revolved around my childhood sweetheart—Alistair, the poor genius. I’d thought Alistair and I were kindred spirits.

I’d even looked down on Rafael, someone who got everything handed to him just because of his family name.

And that confession? It really had started as a stupid bet between boys.

From what I’d heard, Rafael had lost an ice hockey game. The losers had to hand a love letter to the hardest girl in school to win over.

That girl had been me.

I had been head over heels for Alistair, buried in my studies, desperate to climb the social ladder…

I’d had no time for silly dating games. So I’d been the one they picked.

Back then, I was terrified Alistair would get the wrong idea.

I didn’t know where I found the nerve, but I ripped up the letter and snapped something like, “As if I’d ever date trash like you, Rafael Moreau.”

My tone was so sharp it killed the mood instantly.

I’d always wondered if that incident had humiliated him. After that, he never bothered me again.

I’d expected retaliation, but soon after, he left the country.

We met again four years later. I was working at Alistair’s company.

He was trying to land a huge client. To help him seal the deal, I organized a dinner party.

The client could really hold his liquor. By the end of the meal, my stomach was churning, but the guy still wouldn’t commit.

That was when Rafael showed up.

Back then, the reckless teen was long gone. Backed by his family’s generations-old connections, he held power far out of my league.

Rafael sat at the head of the table that night. Everyone scrambled to talk to him, obvious in their attempts to suck up.

Rafael treated me like a total stranger, cold and distant.

Noticing he looked bored out of his mind, I wrapped up the dinner early.

Outside the hotel, a car pulled up right in front of me.

The window rolled down, revealing that handsome face, matured by time.

“Get in. You’ve had too much to drink. I’ll take you to the hospital.”

I fell asleep on the ride. When I woke up, I was in a private hospital owned by the Moreau family, an IV drip in my hand.

The only sign Rafael had been there was his black suit jacket draped over me.

I never got the chance to return that jacket.

I was daydreaming about all that when a scrap of paper flicked onto my desk from behind.

I jumped.

I unfolded it. There was only one line: [Babe, what’re we having for lunch?]

The handwriting was messy. Identical to the script on the love letter I still had.

For a future mafia don, his penmanship was atrocious. I knew instantly who it was.

I thought for a second, then wrote back word for word: [Pizza from the cafeteria, plus fried chicken from the shop by the school gate.]

I’d been craving that stuff for over a decade.

I stole a glance at the teacher, then tossed the note toward Rafael when he wasn’t looking.

Guess my aim had gotten pretty rusty over the decades. The note landed right on Alistair’s desk.