He Chose The Mistress Over His Queen

Elena POV

The Grand Ballroom was a sea of black tuxedos and designer gowns, a shark tank masquerading as a high-society gala.

I walked in on the arm of a wolf.

Luca Valenti wore his tuxedo like armor, the fabric tailored to conceal the holsters I knew were strapped tight against his ribs.

I wore the Heart of the North.

The diamond rested cold and heavy against my sternum, a blue fire that eclipsed every other jewel in the room. It was a Valenti heirloom, and wearing it tonight was nothing short of a declaration of war.

Silence rippled through the crowd as we descended the staircase. I watched the whispers forming on painted lips, saw the eyes of the Five Families darting between me and the far corner of the room.

Dante was there.

He gripped a glass of scotch, his knuckles white as he stared at Luca's hand possessively claiming my waist. Next to him stood Livia.

She was wearing the Blue Diamond he had bought at the auction, but the gem looked tacky against her pale skin, swallowing her whole. She looked small-like a child playing dress-up in her mother's jewelry.

We reached the floor, and a waiter immediately materialized with a tray of champagne.

"The necklace suits you, Signorina," he murmured, his eyes wide with awe. "It looks like freedom."

I took a glass.

"It feels like it," I said.

But the peace didn't last. Livia marched toward us, dragging Dante by the sleeve, her face twisted in a mask of counterfeit concern.

She stopped in front of me, reaching out to touch the diamond at my throat.

"Oh, Elena," she cooed. "Is this a loan? It must be terrifying to wear something you don't own."

Luca caught her wrist before she could make contact. He didn't squeeze; he simply held it there, suspended in the air like a caught fly.

"Do not touch what is mine," Luca growled.

His voice was low, a rumble of thunder that vibrated deep in my chest.

Livia yanked her hand back, looking immediately to Dante, waiting for him to defend her honor.

Dante stepped forward, his haunted eyes locked on mine.

"Take it off, Elena," he said. "You are making a scene."

"I am the scene," I replied.

Livia laughed-a brittle, sharp sound.

"You're just a political inconvenience," she whispered, stepping closer so only I could hear. "Dante sleeps in my bed. He laughs about you while he's inside me."

I felt the ghost of an old sting, but the wound had long since calloused over.

"Enjoy the leftovers, Livia," I said.

Her eyes narrowed into slits. She reached into her clutch and pulled out a small remote, pointing it at the massive projector screen behind the stage where a tribute to the families was looping.

"Let's see who the city really respects," she hissed.

She pressed the button.

The music cut out. The screen flickered, and a video began to play.

It was grainy footage, taken from a hidden camera in my old bedroom at the Moretti estate months ago.

I was crying. I was curled on the floor, sobbing Dante's name, begging the empty room for him to love me.

It was raw. It was pathetic. It was the most vulnerable moment of my life, broadcast to three hundred of the most dangerous people in the country.

Laughter rippled through the room.

"Look at her!" Livia shouted over the audio of my own weeping. "She's unstable! She's obsessed!"

My blood turned to ice.

Livia smiled at me, triumphant.

"Leave the city, Elena," she threatened. "Or I release the rest."

I looked at Dante.

He was watching the screen. He wasn't stopping it. He was letting it play. He was letting her strip me naked in front of the world.

Something inside me snapped. I didn't think; I moved.

I stepped forward and swung my hand.

My palm connected with Livia's cheek.

Crack.

The sound silenced the ballroom instantly.

Livia stumbled back, clutching her face.

"Dante!" she screamed.

Dante moved then, rushing to her side and turning on me with a snarl.

"You dare touch her?" he roared.

"She is humiliating me," I said, my voice deadly steady. "And you are watching."

"She is showing the truth!" Dante yelled. "You are weak!"

Luca didn't speak.

He simply picked up a heavy wooden chair from a nearby table and hurled it at the screen.

The chair smashed into the projector surface, tearing the fabric and shattering the image of my tears.

The room gasped.

Luca walked to the center of the floor. He pulled a gun from his jacket, holding it loosely at his side.

"Elena is under Valenti protection," Luca announced.

His voice carried to every corner of the room, leaving no room for argument.

"Anyone who insults her, insults me. Anyone who films her, dies."

He looked at Dante with cold, dead eyes.

"Control your whore, Moretti. Or I will put her down."

Dante stiffened.

Don Salvatore, who had been watching from the shadows, stepped forward, his face pale.

"This is a neutral zone!" Salvatore shouted.

"Not anymore," Luca said.

He offered me his arm.

"Shall we?" he asked.

I looked at Livia. Her cheek was blazing red. She was trembling, but her eyes were still full of hate.

"Now," I whispered to her. "Let's see if you survive the hand you've dealt."

I took Luca's arm.

We walked out, leaving the shattered screen and the shattered engagement behind us.