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His Body Craved Mine, His Heart Chose Me Novel Cover

His Body Craved Mine, His Heart Chose Me

Elara and Dante Moretti’s marriage is a battlefield of fiery tempers and Chicago underworld politics. While their physical connection is undeniable, the illusion of love breaks when Dante publicly gifts Elara’s family heirloom to another woman named Ava. Claiming their union was a mere tactical alliance to maintain peace, Dante’s cruelty forces Elara to file for divorce and flee. However, the cold Mafia Don refuses to let her go, hunting her down like a man possessed.
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Chapter 7

For three days, I locked myself in my bedroom, drawing all the curtains.

Roberto knocked on my door repeatedly, but the food he brought was left untouched outside. I could hear him sighing, muttering things like, "Miss, you'll make yourself sick," but I didn't care.

I just lay in bed, clutching the burnt scrap of my mother's portrait, not moving.

But someone wouldn't let me have my peace.

Ava kept sending me texts.

Photos of her and Dante walking on the beach. A video of a necklace he'd bought her for a fortune. A blurry picture of them tangled together in bed.

"Thank you for setting us free. —Ava"

I should have deleted them. Blocked her number.

But I didn't.

Like a masochist, I stared at the images, watching my husband dote on another woman, until my heart grew numb and the pain finally subsided.

And whatever love I once had for Dante Moretti finally died in the process.

On the fifth day, my phone rang. It was my friend, Sophia.

I hesitated, then answered.

"Elara? God, you sound awful. What's wrong?" Sophia’s voice was full of concern.

"Nothing, just a cold," I said, trying to sound normal.

"Listen, I know this is a huge ask, but I'm desperate," she said, her words rushed. "There's a charity gala tonight, and I was supposed to play the violin, but my mom was just hospitalized. I have to get to Boston."

"Do you remember?" she said, pausing. "In college, you were always a better violinist than me, it's just that later…" She trailed off. "Anyway, can you please, please cover for me? It's just one piece, 'Ave Maria.' I know you still remember it."

'Ave Maria'.

It was my mother's favorite. She said it held the purest love and the deepest longing in the world.

After a long pause, I agreed.

I did my makeup carefully, the delicate details a shield. A white chiffon dress added an ethereal, almost holy quality to my appearance.

I barely recognized the woman in the mirror.

It was the first time since my mother's death that I hadn't hidden behind an aggressive, intimidating facade.

Before going on stage, a young crew member asked me, "Nervous?"

I shook my head. Strangely, I wasn't. In fact, I felt a sense of peace I hadn't felt in years.

Music had always been my sanctuary. No matter how much pain life threw at me, I could always find serenity when I held my violin.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our solo violinist, performing 'Ave Maria.'"

The host's voice filled the hall as a spotlight hit center stage.

I took a deep breath and walked into the light.

The audience quieted, their eyes on me.

I didn't look at them. I just closed my eyes, settled the violin on my shoulder, and let my fingers find the strings.

The first note soared through the ballroom.

In that moment, the world fell away.

The melody of 'Ave Maria' flowed like silk, every note precise, filled with emotion. In that music, I poured all my memories, all my love, all my pain, and all my letting go.

When the final note faded, the hall was plunged into a dead silence.

Then, thunderous applause erupted.

I opened my eyes and took a deep bow.

As I straightened up, I saw him.

Dante. Sitting in the third row, dressed in a black tuxedo, staring at me. His expression was one I'd never seen before—shock, awe, and something else, something complex and unreadable.

Beside him, Ava, in a pink gown, was tugging at his sleeve. "What's wrong with you?" I couldn't hear her, but I could read the annoyance on her face. "Why are you staring at her?"

Dante didn't answer her. He just kept looking at me.

Our eyes met across the room, and for a second, time stopped.

He was seeing a version of Elara he never knew existed—not the hot-headed wife he was forced to marry, but a woman made of fragile strength.

And I was seeing a man I once loved, and now had to completely let go of.

I broke the gaze, gave the audience one last bow, and walked off the stage.

The applause continued behind me, but I knew this performance wasn't just for Sophia. It was for me.

This was my farewell. A final goodbye to the old me.

A final goodbye to Elara Moretti.

From now on, I was starting over.

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