He Chose The Mistress, I Took Everything

Elena Vitiello POV

The café was soundproofed, a necessary luxury for people in our line of work.

It was Family territory, a place where deals were struck over espresso and blood was scrubbed from knuckles in the bathroom sinks.

Lucia Rossi sat across from me.

She was the only person in the world I trusted.

She was also the sharpest legal mind in the organization, a Consigliere in six-inch heels.

She stirred her coffee, her eyes scanning the room for listening devices out of ingrained habit.

"You look like you haven't slept in a week," she said.

"It has been twelve hours," I replied.

I pushed my sunglasses higher up my nose.

I didn't want her to see the puffiness around my eyes, the evidence of my unraveling.

"He kept a shrine, Lucia. A digital shrine."

Lucia stopped stirring.

Her spoon clinked against the porcelain, a sharp sound in the quiet room.

"Sofia Ricci," she stated.

She didn't phrase it as a question.

"You knew?"

"I suspected," she said, her voice cool and detached. "Dante has always had a weakness for things he cannot have. It is part of his narcissism."

"He plans to leave," I said, leaning in. "He wrote it down. He wants to take the money from the Port project and run away with her."

Lucia let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

"He won't leave, Elena. Men like Dante don't leave power. He just likes the fantasy of it. And he likes having you there to make sure the power stays intact while he daydreams."

She reached across the table and took my hand.

Her grip was firm, anchoring me.

"But that is not the problem. The problem is that the Ghost is back."

"She is in the city?"

"She is in his ear," Lucia said. "And that makes her dangerous. If the Boss finds out Dante is conspiring with a Ricci, he will have Dante killed. And because you are his wife, you will be collateral damage."

I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning.

"I want out," I said.

The words tasted like ash on my tongue.

"I want a separation."

Lucia pulled her hand back.

She looked at me with pity, and that hurt more than Dante's indifference.

"Elena, you are married to a Capo. You don't get a separation. You get a funeral."

"There has to be a way," I insisted, desperation rising in my throat. "You know the laws better than anyone."

"Bad faith," she muttered, tapping her manicured nail on the table rhythmically. "If we can prove he entered the marriage in bad faith... that his loyalty was compromised from the start..."

She looked up at me, her eyes dark.

"It is a war, Elena. He will view it as a loss of territory. He will burn the city down before he lets you go. Not because he loves you, but because he owns you."

The door to the café opened.

Mark, Lucia's fiancé, walked in.

He wasn't made.

He was a civilian. A pediatrician. A man with clean hands.

His face lit up when he saw Lucia.

He walked over and kissed her on the forehead, his hand resting gently on her shoulder.

"Ready to go?" he asked her. "I made reservations at that Thai place you like."

Lucia smiled.

It was a real smile.

It reached her eyes, softening the edges of the Consigliere.

"Give me five minutes," she told him.

He nodded and went to wait by the counter.

I watched them.

I watched the way he looked at her like she was the only person in the room.

I watched the way she relaxed under his touch, shedding her armor.

I had never had that.

I had expensive jewelry and a high-security compound.

I had a husband who looked at me and saw a line item on a spreadsheet.

"He treats me like an asset," I said quietly. "Like a hotel he owns."

Lucia turned back to me.

Her face was hard again.

"Then stop being an asset," she said. "Start being a liability."

She slid a napkin across the table.

She had written a number on it.

"Call this number if things get bad tonight. It connects directly to my burner phone."

"Why would things get bad tonight?" I asked, my stomach twisting.

Lucia hesitated.

"Because Dante is picking you up. And I heard he isn't coming alone."