I Heard His Mind: The Don's Regret

Elena Vitiello POV

The iron gates of the Estate were usually a symbol of protection, but tonight, looming against the dark sky, they looked like the bars of a high-security prison.

I had my bag. I had my gun.

And tucked deep into my coat pocket, I had the shreds of my dignity.

I walked down the long, winding driveway, the gravel crunching violently under my boots.

I wasn't sneaking out.

I was walking out.

If the guards tried to stop me, I would shoot. I wouldn't hesitate.

I was done being a pawn in a game where the rules changed every time I rolled the dice.

I reached the gatehouse.

The guard, a young man named Marco, stepped out. He looked skittish, his eyes darting between me and the main house.

"Mrs. Cavallaro," he stammered. "It's late. Does the Capo know you're leaving?"

"The Capo is busy," I said, my voice brittle like ice. "Open the gate, Marco."

He hesitated. His hand hovered over his radio.

Before he could press the button, a car pulled up on the other side of the gate. A taxi.

The door opened, and she stepped out.

Sofia.

She wasn't injured. She wasn't grieving.

She was wearing a tight red dress and a coat that cost more than Marco made in a year.

She saw me through the bars. A slow, venomous smile spread across her face.

"Running away, Princess?" she called out.

Her voice was light, teasing. But her eyes were a sewer.

I could practically hear the triumph screaming in her mind: Finally. The weak little bitch is folding. I didn't even have to try that hard.

I felt the rage ignite in my chest. It wasn't a spark; it was a flamethrower.

"Open the gate," I ordered Marco.

He buzzed it open, too confused to argue.

I stepped through, meeting Sofia on the pavement just as the taxi driver pulled away.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Dante called me," she lied. "He said he needed comfort. He said you were... cold."

He didn't call, my instincts whispered. But he won't turn me away. He never does.

"You are a cancer," I said. "You are eating him alive."

Sofia laughed. She stepped closer, breaching my space.

The smell of vanilla hit me again. It was the same scent from the dress.

"Did you like it?" she whispered. "The green silk? It felt amazing against my skin. Dante watched me zip it up. He watched me take it off, too."

I could see the cruel glint in her eyes, telling me exactly what she had done: I made sure to rub my scent all over it. I wanted you to smell me on him.

The world went red.

I didn't think. I didn't calculate.

I swung my hand.

My palm connected with her cheek with a sound like a pistol crack.

Sofia stumbled back, clutching her face. She didn't fight back. She didn't scream at me.

Instead, she looked past me, her eyes widening in mock terror.

"Elena! Please! Stop!"

I froze.

I heard the engine before I saw the headlights. The black SUV screeched to a halt right next to us.

Dante.

He jumped out of the car before it even fully stopped. He was wearing his tuxedo for the Gala. He looked magnificent.

And he looked lethal.

"What the hell is going on?" he roared.

Sofia threw herself at him.

"She hit me! Dante, she's crazy! I just came to drop off the keys to the apartment, and she attacked me!"

Dante caught her, his hands going to her waist to steady her. He looked at her red cheek. Then he looked at me.

His eyes were abyssal voids.

"You struck her?"

It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.

"She provoked me," I said. "She told me she wore the dress. She told me-"

"Enough!" Dante bellowed.

His voice echoed off the stone walls.

"Look at her, Elena! She is half your size. She is a widow. And you are behaving like a common street thug."

I saw the judgment harden his features. He looked at me as if Vitale's warnings were finally ringing true-as if my Vitiello blood had finally rendered me unstable.

He thought I was unstable.

He held the woman who was actively plotting our destruction, and he looked at me with disgust.

"Apologize," Dante said.

I stared at him. "What?"

"Apologize to Sofia," he commanded. "Now."

I looked at Sofia. She was burying her face in Dante's chest, pretending to sob.

But I heard her silence loud and clear.

Say it. Bow down to me. You lose.

I looked back at Dante. My husband. The man I had saved from a bullet two months ago. The man I had tried to build a life with.

"No," I said.

Dante stepped forward, releasing Sofia.

"Elena-"

"I would rather die," I said.

I turned around.

I didn't run.

I walked back through the gates.

"Elena! Get back here!"

I ignored him.

I walked up the driveway, my back straight, my heart shattering into a million jagged pieces with every step.

Behind me, I heard him comforting her.

It's okay. She's gone. I've got you.

I reached the heavy oak front doors of the Estate. I went inside.

I locked the door. Then I engaged the deadbolt. Then the security chain.

I went upstairs to our bedroom. I locked that door too.

I went to the closet and pulled out the green dress.

I took my scissors.

I cut it.

I sliced through the fabric until it was nothing but ribbons of green silk on the floor.

Then I sat on the bed and waited for him to come and break the door down.

But he didn't come.