I Heard His Mind: The Don's Regret

"She can't stay at the Estate," I said.

My voice was steady, a practiced calm that betrayed nothing of the magma rising in my chest.

We were back in the SUV, the city lights sliding over the leather interior like streaks of oil.

Sofia was curled in the backseat, swallowed by Dante's suit jacket-the very same jacket I had meticulously brushed lint off of this morning.

She was feigning sleep, her breathing shallow and even, but I knew better. Her mind was wide awake, calculating.

Look at her. The ice queen. She thinks she owns him. The thought wasn't mine, but I could practically hear it radiating from her.

Dante gripped the steering wheel with such force that the leather groaned under his knuckles.

"She has nowhere to go, Elena. The Russians burned her apartment building."

"So put her in a hotel," I countered, my patience fraying. "The Plaza. The Ritz. We own half the city, Dante. Why does she need to be in our sanctuary?"

"Because she is a target," Dante said, his voice dropping into a register that vibrated with dark authority. "Her husband died for this family. I owe her protection."

I promised him. On his deathbed, I promised I would look after her.

The unspoken vow hung heavy in the air, laden with a guilt that tasted like ash.

It wasn't love. Not yet. It was honor.

But honor was a slippery slope when a woman like Sofia was involved.

"There are safehouses," I pressed. "Apartments we keep off the books."

Dante shot me a glance, his annoyance sharp.

"They are cold. Empty. She is grieving."

"And I am your wife," I said, twisting in my seat to face him fully. "Do you think it is appropriate to have another woman sleeping down the hall from the bed where we sleep?"

Dante didn't answer.

He didn't have to. His silence was a deafening verdict.

"Fine," I said, clipping the word. "If not a hotel, then Aria's old place. It's furnished. It's secure. It's in a building full of our soldiers."

Dante frowned, confusion flickering across his features. "Aria?"

"Luca's wife," I said. "She moved out last week. She's staying with her sister."

I watched the surprise register in his eyes. He didn't know.

He didn't pay attention to the quiet tragedies of the women in the organization. We were merely background noise to his symphony of violence.

"Call her," Dante commanded.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Aria. She answered on the second ring, her voice sounding thin, worn down to the wire.

"Elena?"

"I need a favor," I said. "Is your apartment still empty?"

"Yes," Aria said. "Why?"

"Dante needs a safe place for a... guest. A widow."

There was a pause, heavy with understanding.

"Is it Sofia?" Aria asked.

I blinked. "How did you know?"

"Word travels," Aria said dryly. "And Luca mentioned Dante was... distracted lately."

My stomach twisted into a knot. Even the soldiers knew.

"Can we use it?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain neutral.

"Take the keys," Aria said. "I'm not going back there. Too many ghosts."

"Where are you?"

"I'm at the 24-hour diner on 5th. Come get them."

We drove to the diner. Dante stayed in the car with Sofia. Of course he did.

I walked into the neon-drenched establishment, the air smelling of stale coffee and regret.

Aria was sitting in a booth in the back, staring into a cup of black coffee as if it held the secrets of the universe.

She looked like she hadn't slept in days. There was a bruise on her wrist, fading to a sickly yellow.

She saw me looking at it and tugged her sleeve down sharply.

"Here," she said, sliding a set of keys across the Formica table.

"Thank you," I said.

Aria looked up at me, her eyes dark and hollowed out.

"Be careful, Elena," she whispered.

"With Sofia?"

"With Dante," she said. "These men... they don't see us. They only see what we can do for them. Or what we represent."

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "If you have a way out... take it."

I took the keys, the metal cold against my palm. "I don't run, Aria," I said. "I fight."

Aria smiled sadly, a ghost of an expression. "That's what I thought, too."

I walked back to the car, the keys biting into my hand.

Dante was leaning over the backseat, talking to Sofia. He was smiling.

A small, rare smile that softened the harsh, marble lines of his face-a smile I hadn't seen in months.

He pulled back when he saw me, the mask slamming back into place instantly.

"You got them?" he asked.

I tossed the keys into his lap. "She stays there," I said. "Tonight."

Dante started the engine.

She is heartless. A spoiled princess who has never known loss. The thought hit me like a physical slap, though he hadn't spoken a word.

I stared out the window, watching the city blur into streaks of light. He thought I was heartless.

He didn't know that my heart was the only thing anchoring me to this wretched life.

We dropped Sofia off. She clung to Dante's hand for a moment too long before getting out.

"Thank you, Dante," she said, her voice trembling perfectly. "I don't know what I would do without you."

I'll have him in my bed within a month. The projection was so loud, so vicious, I almost flinched.

Dante waited until she was safely inside the building before driving away. The silence in the car was suffocating, thick with unsaid words.

"You were rude to her," Dante said finally.

"I was practical," I shot back.

"She is family," Dante snapped. "Her husband was one of my men."

"And I am your wife!" I shouted, the dam finally breaking. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Dante slammed on the brakes at a red light, the SUV jerking to a violent halt.

He turned to me, his eyes blazing with cold fire.

"Marriage is a duty, Elena. It is a contract. Don't confuse it with a romance novel."

It is a liability. A distraction I cannot afford. His thoughts were clear. Brutally, painfully clear.

He didn't see a partner. He saw a chain.

I looked at him, really looked at him. The man I had tried to love. The man I had hoped would see past the rumors and the cold exterior.

And I realized Aria was right.

He didn't see me. And he never would.

I sat back in my seat, the fight draining out of me like water from a cracked vessel.

"Drive," I whispered.

As the car moved forward, my hand drifted to my pocket. My fingers brushed against the edge of my phone.

I had said I wouldn't run. But one cannot fight a war for a man who has already surrendered you.

I opened the browser and typed two words.

Las Vegas.