His to Lose

Not long after, Dante had his entourage send me a jewelry box, supposedly as "compensation" for breaking the pendant.

It was a common plastic packaging box, so cheap it was almost laughable.

Elena sat on the velvet sofa nearby, covering her mouth and giggling.

"Sophia, Dante has been dealing with the gang war at the docks recently. He must be too busy, so he just bought whatever. How about... after we get married, I'll go with you to a proper mall to pick out a good one?"

I picked up the cheap box and walked to the edge of the terrace.

Under Elena's shocked gaze, I didn't even look at it and threw it straight down.

Nothing could replace my mother.

In that dark past life filled with smoke and betrayal, that pendant was my only emotional anchor. Since it was broken, let it be broken completely.

"Sophia! How dare you..."

Elena was so angry her face turned pale.

I ignored her screaming.

I was busy counting the contraband antibiotics for the illegal clinic at the Mexican border.

A few days later, the Moretti family held a grand charity fundraising gala. Everyone who was anyone in the city—whether suited politicians or Mafia thugs—was there.

Father insisted I attend. He said this was the ceremony for the Moretti heir to officially take over the family foundation.

Dante and Elena were, of course, on the guest list.

At the climax of the gala, the big screen began to play the Moretti family's "charity history."

It was a PR stunt meant to whitewash the peace.

When a yellowed photo appeared on the screen, my breath suddenly stopped—it was my mother, taken during a free clinic in the slums a month before she died.

The host spoke in a sentimental tone: "The establishment of the Moretti Foundation stems from the dying wish of the late Mrs. Moretti. She dedicated her life to eliminating the trauma caused by violence..."

Just then, I heard mean whispers coming from the booth behind me.

"Dante, look. The Mafia are such good actors."

It was Elena's voice, carrying that self-righteous mockery.

"Dragging out a dead wife to build an image. It's truly disgusting."

Dante snorted coldly, his voice full of disdain.

"It's called gang culture. The nouveau riche always want to put a gold rim on their blood-stained gloves. Maybe that woman's death was a sympathy trap they staged themselves, just to escape legal punishment."

"Possibly," Elena added viciously.

"To clean up their image, they even exploit their own mother. That depressed look Sophia always has is probably an act for the old man too."

My fingernails dug hard into my palm, blood dripping down my fist onto my expensive evening gown.

But I heard something even more heartbreaking.

Dante's voice was very low but filled with cold disgust.

"Moretti women are synonymous with hypocrisy, cruelty, and selfishness to the bone. They have no hearts, only a thirst for power and money. Do you think Sophia really loves me? She's just using me to secure her position."

I couldn't listen anymore.

I stood up abruptly, pushed through the crowd, and stood in front of them.

Seeing my pale face, Dante showed not a shred of guilt but raised an eyebrow provocatively.

"What? The princess can't handle the truth? Are you going to use the family ban to suppress me again?"

"Dante."

I tried hard to suppress the urge to pull the self-defense dagger from my boot.

"You can hate me, you can look down on the Moretti family, but please show some basic respect for my dead mother."

"Respect?"

He sneered, standing up to look down at me.

"Respect a Mafia wife? Don't make me laugh. People like you—hell is the only place you belong."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

When I opened them again, the last spark in my eyes had completely gone out.

I didn't say a word. I just turned around and walked out of the brilliantly lit banquet hall.

Heading straight for the private airfield, I boarded the helicopter to the lawless zone ahead of schedule.

This dirty circle, full of lies and filth—I didn't want to stay a second longer.

Goodbye, Dante.

Never to see you again.

...

Three days later, New York, St. Patrick's Cathedral.

The engagement ceremony between the Moretti family and the heir was held as scheduled.

Dante wore an ink-black suit, his expression cold and solemn.

He thought I would force him to submit like usual, forcing him into the grave of marriage.

The MC announced on stage with an impassioned tone:

"Now, let us welcome the star of the night, the Moretti family's Enforcer, Mr. Dante, and his fiancée—"

The MC paused, and under the gaze of all the powerful figures, read out the name Dante would never forget:

"The honorary medical student sponsored by the Moretti family, Miss Elena Ward!"

Dante suddenly looked up, watching Elena, dressed in a white wedding gown and looking triumphant, slowly walking toward him.

He looked like he had been struck by lightning, even unconsciously taking a step back.

"...Are you kidding me? My fiancée isn't her!"