Erasing Mrs. Moretti

(Dante's POV)

Dante had planned to go straight home.

Jenna wrapped her arms around his waist, whispering in his ear, "Don't go yet… I'm not done playing."

Her fingers traced patterns on his chest, her voice seductive. "Besides, you said it yourself, she's just a boring porcelain doll. What's one more night? You can go back tomorrow."

Dante hesitated for a second. It was true. Alessia would never be this forward, would never beg him to stay. In five years of marriage, she had always waited patiently, never complaining about his late nights or business trips.

"Fine," he said, setting down his luggage. "But just for a few hours. I have to be back in Chicago tonight."

Hours later, when Dante surfaced from the haze of sex and champagne, it was already the next morning.

"Dammit." He glanced at his watch and shot out of bed.

He frantically dialed Alessia's number to explain, but was met with a mechanical voice: "The number you have dialed is not in service…"

Not in service?

Alessia never turned her phone off. As Mrs. Moretti, her phone was on 24/7. It was a rule of the family.

A strange sense of unease began to creep into his gut.

"What's wrong, darling?" Jenna strolled over, lazily wrapped in a silk robe. "You look awful."

"Alessia's phone is off." Dante frowned, dialing again and again with the same result.

"Maybe she's sleeping?" Jenna said, unconcerned. "Or practicing that violin? You're always saying how much she loves her boring little hobbies."

But the unease in Dante's chest was growing stronger. He immediately started dressing.

"You're just going to leave me?" Jenna's voice sharpened. "Dante, after what we just did, you're running back to her?"

"She's my wife," Dante said, not even looking back as he packed. "I have to go."

"Wife?" Jenna sneered. "That's not what you were saying in bed. You said she was cold, boring, nothing but a suitable piece of decoration—"

"Enough!" Dante whirled around, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Just then, his phone rang. It was his consigliere.

"Boss, you have the capos meeting at eight. East Side territory. They're waiting on your decision."

"Postpone it," Dante said without hesitation.

"But Boss, it's urgent—"

"I said postpone it!" Dante's tone was absolute. "Ten a.m. tomorrow. Reschedule."

He hung up and continued packing, completely ignoring Jenna's souring expression.

"Dante!" Jenna, not daring to truly anger him, resorted to her best weapon: playing the victim. "Have you forgotten what you said these last three days? You said you loved me, that you regretted marrying her, you said—"

"It was pillow talk," Dante cut her off, his voice like ice. He turned to face her, his gaze arctic. "In the real world, Jenna, you need to remember your place."

He walked toward her, the sheer force of his presence making her instinctively back away.

"Alessia is my wife. She will always be Mrs. Moretti. And you..." He stopped, his voice low and menacing. "You are just a distraction. Something that can be replaced at any time. Do you understand?"

The color drained from Jenna's face, and tears welled in her eyes. "You... how can you say that? A minute ago you were—"

"That was then. This is now." Dante grabbed his coat and headed for the door without a backward glance. "Don't call me for the next few days. I'm going to be with Alessia."

Bang!

The suite door slammed shut, leaving Jenna to collapse onto the luxurious sofa, tears streaming down her face.

Dante returned to the villa he shared with Alessia.

From the outside, the house was dark.

"Dammit." The unease in his heart intensified.

"Alessia? I'm home!"

Only a hollow echo answered him.

The living room was empty. The master bedroom was empty. The entire house was as silent as a tomb.