He Faked Death, I Married The Don

Elena POV

The Vitiello estate wasn't just a home; it was a fortress.

High stone walls, patrols of armed guards, and wrought-iron gates that radiated absolute power.

I stood on the balcony of the master suite, gazing out over the immaculate grounds.

It had been three days since I stepped into his car.

Three days since Salvatore Vitiello had claimed me.

He hadn't touched me. Not yet.

Instead, he had given me a room. He had given Leo a nursery filled with pristine toys that weren't broken or second-hand. He had given me protection.

But tonight was the Unveiling.

The Don was hosting a gala, and the entire underworld would be in attendance. And I was expected to descend those grand stairs on his arm.

Dante's POV

I drove through the compound gates, my palms slick against the leather steering wheel.

I shouldn't have been there. But I had to see.

The rumors were tearing through the Family like wildfire. The Don had taken a mistress. The Don was getting married. The Don had broken the code.

I parked the car and strode toward the ballroom. The music thumped against my chest, a heavy bass line mixing with the cloying scent of expensive perfume and cigar smoke.

I spotted my father near the entrance. He looked pale, almost ghostly.

"What is happening?" I asked him, my voice low.

He shook his head, refusing to meet my eyes. "Just watch."

The music cut out. The room fell into a suffocating silence.

At the top of the grand staircase, Salvatore Vitiello appeared. He looked like a god of war encased in a tuxedo, dark and imposing.

And then, she stepped out.

Elena.

My breath hitched, lodging painfully in my throat.

She wasn't wearing black for mourning. She wasn't wearing the cream of innocence.

She was wearing red. Blood red.

It was a gown that clung to every curve, with a slit that sliced up to her thigh. Around her neck, diamonds glittered under the chandelier light-Vitiello diamonds.

She looked magnificent. She looked regal.

She looked out at the crowd, her chin held high in defiance. Her eyes scanned the room until they locked onto mine.

She didn't look away. She didn't flinch.

She simply looked at me with a cold, terrifying indifference.

Salvatore took her hand. He brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles in a display of possessive reverence.

"Tonight," Salvatore announced, his voice booming through the hall, "I present to you my wife. Elena Vitiello."

The room exploded with whispers.

Wife?

My knees nearly buckled.

She couldn't marry him. She was my wife.

But I was dead.

I had killed myself to become Matteo. And in doing so, I had killed her husband. I had set her free.

I watched, paralyzed, as Leo ran out from behind Salvatore's legs. He was dressed in a miniature tuxedo, a carbon copy of the Don.

He grabbed Salvatore's hand.

"Papa!" Leo shouted, his laughter ringing clear.

Salvatore looked down at the boy and smiled. It was a genuine smile-a warmth he had never shown anyone. He reached down and ruffled Leo's hair.

I felt like someone had reached into my chest and ripped my heart out with their bare hands.

That was my son. That was my wife.

I took a step forward, a feral growl building in my throat.

"You can't do this!" I shouted.

The room fell silent again, the tension razor-sharp.

Salvatore looked down at me from the top of the stairs. He looked at me not as a rival, but as if I were an insect beneath his boot.

"Security," Salvatore said calmly. "Remove the trash."

Two massive guards seized my arms.

"Elena!" I screamed, struggling against their grip. "Elena, tell him!"

Elena looked down at me.

Then, she leaned into Salvatore, resting her head against his shoulder.

She didn't say a word.

She just watched as they dragged me out of her life, the heavy doors slamming shut behind me.

I stood alone in the dark driveway, the sound of the celebration muffled by the thick stone walls.

I had played the game of shadows.

And I had just lost everything to the darkness.