I Took The Bullet He Lost His Mind

I thought last night was the worst it could get.

I was wrong.

The next morning, my phone exploded with calls.

"Elara, have you seen the news?" my friend Sarah's voice was panicked.

I opened my phone. A high-definition photo stared back at me.

Me, in a wine-stained white dress, standing miserably in the rain.

The headlines were sickening.

COSTELLO'S MISTRESS HUMILIATED AT ENGAGEMENT BASH.

FROM ART STUDIO TO BEDSHEETS: INSIDE THE DON'S AFFAIR.

My face was everywhere. Blown up, analyzed, shared.

The phone rang again.

"Miss Elara Vance? This is a reporter from the New York Herald. I'd like to ask about your relationship with Dante Costello—"

I hung up.

Another call.

"When did you and the Don get together?"

Hang up.

"Do you think Isabella Rossi's actions were justified?"

Hang up.

I turned off my phone and collapsed onto the sofa.

For five years, we'd been so careful. Never a single public touch.

Overnight, all of it was for nothing.

By the afternoon, the news had vanished.

Every article, every photo, gone as if it never existed.

I knew it was Dante’s work. He had the power to make anything that hurt his family disappear.

But another story quickly took its place.

COSTELLO DON AND FIANCéE'S STEAMY CAR KISS, WEDDING DATE APPROACHES.

The photo showed Dante pinning Isabella against the inside of a car in a passionate kiss.

Her legs were wrapped around his waist, her skirt hiked high.

His hand gripped her hip, pulling her hard against him.

They were devouring each other.

I stared at the picture, a knife twisting in my chest.

Yesterday, he said we were "strictly professional."

Today, he was all over Isabella.

Maybe I was just a toy from the beginning. He never cared about my feelings at all.

My phone rang. It was Antonio.

"Miss Elara, the Don wants to see you. Now."

I hesitated. "I've already resigned."

"This is not a request, Miss," Antonio's voice turned firm. "The car is already downstairs."

I knew I couldn't refuse.

In Dante's world, no one refused him.

Twenty minutes later, I was on the top floor of Costello Tower.

His private office. The place we first made love.

The faint scent of Isabella's perfume still lingered on the desk.

My stomach churned.

His secretary led me to the office door but stopped me just outside.

"Wait here, please," she said. "Miss Isabella is inside."

I stood outside the door.

It wasn't closed all the way.

Their voices carried, sharp and clear.

"That woman is still working for you. I don't like it." Isabella's voice was ice. "Dante, I want you to deal with her. Right now. In front of me."

"She's my best restorer." Dante's voice was flat.

"A restorer?" Isabella scoffed. "What is she restoring, Dante? Your art, or your body?"

A long silence.

"I'm not an idiot, Dante." Her voice was shaking with rage. "Last night, you made me and my family a laughingstock. And your solution? To throw the press a photo of us? You think I don't know what you're really thinking?"

Her voice turned venomous. "I see the way she looks at you. She loves you."

"That has nothing to do with me."

"Nothing to do with you?" Her voice was a shrill cry. "What about you, Dante? Do you have feelings for her? I want her out. I want her gone. Forever."

More silence. A long silence.

Then, his answer came, each word a shard of ice.

"She's an asset. Nothing more."

Something slammed into my heart.

Just then, the door opened.

Isabella walked out and saw me standing there.

A triumphant smile spread across her face.

"Oh, Elara, you're here." Her voice was sickeningly sweet. "Perfect timing. There's something I wanted to say to you."

She walked to the nearby drink station and deliberately knocked over a crystal glass.

CRASH. Shards scattered across the floor.

"Oops, how clumsy of me," Isabella faked a gasp. "But it's for the best. Some things are meant to be broken, aren't they?"

She bent down and grabbed the shard. Her hand flashed out, slicing open the back of mine.

Blood welled up instantly.

"Isabella!" I cried out.

"What? Does it hurt?" she sneered. "This is nothing. Do you have any idea how much it hurts to see your fiancé tangled up with another woman?"

I clutched my bleeding hand, glaring at her.

"There's nothing between me and Dante—"

"Nothing?" Isabella cut me off, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. "A poor girl who couldn't afford school, sponsored by the Don, who then willingly stays by his side for five years. Do you think anyone is stupid?"

She moved closer, her eyes filled with venom.

"Did you really think your pretty face and your body could make Dante fall in love with you? Wake up, Elara. You're just a toy he's tired of."

"Enough." Dante's voice came from the office.

He walked out, his gaze sweeping over us.

His brow furrowed when he saw the blood on my hand.

But his expression quickly returned to a cold mask.

"Isabella, go home. I have work to discuss."

"Work?" Isabella looked at him suspiciously, her tone dripping with displeasure. "Just get rid of her for good. Dante, choose. Her, or me."

Dante looked at me, then back at Isabella.

"She still has projects to finish," he said coldly. "I can't let personal feelings interfere with business."

"Personal feelings?" Isabella's voice turned dangerous. "You have personal feelings for her?"

"That's not what I meant," Dante clarified. "I was talking about your feelings, Isabella. Don't project."

Isabella’s eyes narrowed. "You can't fire her, or you won't?"