He Chose The Mistress Over His Queen

Elena POV

Sleep was a luxury I couldn't afford.

I spent the night staring at the ceiling, feeling the loyalty in my blood wither and die like dead leaves.

When the sun rose, I was a different person.

I chose a black dress.

It was the color of mourning, but I wasn't wearing it to grieve. I was wearing it for war.

With my head held high, I walked into the War Room.

The air was thick with cigar smoke and stale aggression.

Don Salvatore sat at the head of the table.

He was Dante's grandfather, the Consigliere. He looked like a benevolent old man, but his eyes were cold and unblinking, like a reptile waiting to strike.

Dante was there.

He looked up as I entered, irritation flashing across his features.

"Elena," he said, his tone dismissive. "We are in a meeting. Get out."

I didn't flinch.

I walked to the table and slammed a thick file down on the mahogany surface.

The sound echoed like a gunshot in the sudden silence.

"The engagement is over," I said.

My voice was steady, betraying none of the tremors inside me.

Silence descended on the room.

Don Salvatore chuckled, a dry, rasping sound.

"My dear," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "A Mafia union is a blood oath. You don't just cancel it like a magazine subscription."

"It's a business contract," I corrected him, locking eyes with the old man. "And your grandson has breached the terms."

Dante stood up.

He towered over me, casting a long shadow across the table.

"What are you talking about?" he growled.

I pointed at the file.

"My father controls sixty percent of the shipping containers you use for your northern smuggling routes," I said.

Dante's eyes narrowed.

"I have frozen your access," I continued, savoring the words. "As of this morning, the Moretti family is locked out of the ports."

The color drained from Dante's face.

"You wouldn't dare," he whispered.

"I just did," I said. "I want an annulment. I want safe passage out of this city. Or I will choke your revenue stream until you are begging on the street."

Don Salvatore looked at the file, flipping it open to see the embargo orders.

He realized the gravity of the threat.

"We need to consult the Commission," Salvatore said quickly, his demeanor shifting from arrogant to cautious. "Elena, be reasonable."

"I am being reasonable," I said. "I'm leaving."

I turned and walked out.

My heart was pounding against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of adrenaline.

I had just threatened the most dangerous men in the city.

And for the first time in years, I felt alive.

I walked down the hallway toward the exit.

The door to Dante's bedroom opened.

Livia stepped out.

She was wearing a silk robe that was too big for her-it was Dante's.

She smelled of sex and his cologne, a cloying mixture that turned my stomach.

She saw me and smiled.

It was a sweet, poisonous smile.

"Leaving so soon?" she asked.

"Get out of my way, Livia," I said.

"Dante kept me up all night," she bragged, leaning against the wall with performative exhaustion. "We had so much... family business to discuss."

She laughed.

I snapped.

I tried to walk past her, but she stepped in front of me.

I pushed her arm aside.

It was a gentle shove, just enough to get her out of my personal space.

But Livia seized the opportunity. She threw herself backward.

She hit the floor with a loud thud.

"Ow!" she screamed. "Elena! Stop!"

She curled into a ball, fake sobbing.

"Why did you push me?" she wailed.

Footsteps thundered down the hall.

Dante appeared.

He saw Livia on the floor.

He saw me standing over her.

He didn't ask what happened. He didn't look at me.

He rushed to Livia, kneeling beside her.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice tender.

"She pushed me," Livia sobbed into his chest. "I just said good morning."

Dante looked up at me.

His eyes were full of hate.

"What is wrong with you?" he shouted.

He used his Don's Voice-a tone honed to command absolute submission.

It usually made my knees weak.

Today, it just made me angry.

"She threw herself down," I said. "She's lying."

"Livia is fragile," Dante spat. "She is under my protection. You are bullying her because you are jealous."

"Jealous of a whore?" I asked, my voice dripping with disdain.

Dante stood up.

He got in my face, invading my space with menacing intent.

"Apologize," he ordered.

"No," I said.

"Apologize to her, Elena," he hissed. "Or you will regret it."

He was humiliating me.

He was choosing his mistress over his fiancée, over his business partner, over the truth.

I looked at Livia.

She was peeking out from behind her hands.

She was smirking.

I looked back at Dante.

"You are a fool," I said.

Dante grabbed my arm.

His grip was bruising.

"Get out of my sight," he said. "Go to your room. We will deal with your attitude later."

He shoved me away.

He turned back to Livia, lifting her into his arms like she was a broken bird.

He carried her away.

I stood alone in the hallway.

My arm throbbed where he had grabbed me.

I touched the spot, feeling the heat of the forming bruise.

"You will regret this, Dante," I whispered to the empty air.

"Today you chose her. Tomorrow, you lose everything."