I Heard His Mind: The Don's Regret

The glass walls of Dante's office were designed to project transparency, yet everything that transpired within was shrouded in deliberate shadow.

I stood outside the door, my hand hovering over the brushed steel handle.

I needed to know. More importantly, I needed proof.

My instincts screamed in whispers, but whispers were not evidence.

Whispers wouldn't hold up before the Commission if I demanded an annulment.

I pushed the door open.

Silence greeted me. The office was empty.

Dante was in a meeting with the Don.

I had twenty minutes.

I moved to his desk, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I wasn't a spy.

I was a wife looking for the truth her husband refused to speak.

I opened the top drawer.

Guns. Ammunition. Stacks of cash banded in fifties.

Standard equipment for a Capo.

I opened the second drawer.

Files.

Soldier rotations. Shipping manifests. Payoffs.

Nothing about Sofia.

I felt a prickle of frustration heat my skin.

Maybe I was wrong.

Maybe the whispers were just paranoia fueled by insecurity.

Then I saw his jacket.

It was draped over the back of his leather chair like a dark shroud.

The same jacket he had worn when he dropped Sofia off last night.

I reached into the inside pocket.

My fingers brushed against crisp paper.

I pulled it out.

It was a deed. A property transfer.

Penthouse 4B, The Obsidian Tower.

A luxury building in Manhattan.

The buyer was a shell company, "DC Holdings."

The beneficiary line was blank, but there was a sticky note attached to the front.

"She needs a view. - S"

S.

Sofia.

He bought her a penthouse.

While he lectured me about safety and safehouses, he was buying her a multi-million dollar apartment.

The sudden click of the latch shattered the silence.

I froze.

I shoved the paper back into the pocket just as Dante walked in.

He stopped, his eyes narrowing instantly.

"What are you doing?"

His voice was low, laced with danger.

"I was... looking for a pen," I lied.

It was a weak lie, brittle and transparent.

Dante closed the door behind him and locked it.

The sound of the lock engaging echoed in the silent room like a gunshot.

He walked toward me, slow and predatory.

She's lying. What did she see?

"Your study is stocked with pens, Elena."

He stopped inches from me.

I could smell him.

Sandalwood, gunpowder, and the faint, lingering stench of her cheap vanilla perfume.

It made me nauseous.

"I wanted one of yours," I said, lifting my chin in defiance. "Is that a crime?"

Dante studied my face.

He reached out and grabbed my chin, his fingers digging into my skin.

"Lying to me is a crime."

He kissed me.

It wasn't a kiss of affection.

It was a kiss of possession.

He was marking his territory, reminding me who owned me.

His tongue invaded my mouth, demanding submission.

I felt his anger, his frustration, and beneath it all, a dark, twisted desire.

She is mine. Even if she is a spy, she is mine.

He thought I was spying for my father.

He didn't trust me at all.

The injustice of it burned through me like acid.

I was trying to save our marriage, and he was treating me like an enemy.

I bit down.

Hard.

I tasted the metallic tang of blood.

Dante pulled back, a hiss of pain escaping his lips.

He touched his mouth, his fingers coming away red.

He looked at the blood, then at me.

His eyes darkened.

Not with anger.

With something else.

Arousal.

She has teeth.

"You bit me," he said, his voice rough.

"You forced me," I spat.

"I don't force," Dante said, stepping closer again. "I take what is given."

"I gave you nothing!"

I shoved past him, my hands trembling.

I needed to get out of there before I screamed.

Before I told him I knew about the penthouse.

I reached the door and fumbled with the lock.

"Elena," he called out.

I stopped, my back to him.

"Don't come into my office again."

It was a warning.

I turned to look at him one last time.

He was leaning against the desk, the bloody lip making him look savage.

"Don't worry, Dante," I said, my voice hollow. "I won't be returning to your office. Or your bed."

I unlocked the door and walked out.

I walked straight to the guest room.

I locked that door too.

I sat on the bed and pulled out my phone.

I searched for The Obsidian Tower.

It was real.

And it was ready for occupancy next week.

He was moving her in.

He was setting up a second life.

And I was just the contract that made it possible.

Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them back.

Crying was for victims.

I wasn't a victim.

I was a Vitiello.

And if he wanted a war, I would give him one.

But first, I needed to talk to Gianna.

I needed to know if running was really an option.

Because staying here, watching him build a life with another woman while I rotted in his golden cage...

That was a death sentence.