My Kidney For His Mistress: Never Again

Dante Moretti POV

"Dante, baby, don't be like that," Sofia purred, trailing her hand down my chest with practiced ease. "She's just jealous. She saw us at the temple. She's trying to make you mad by running to your enemy."

"She married him, Sofia!" I shouted, pacing the small space between the bed and the window. "She didn't just run. She signed the papers!"

"It's a fake marriage," she insisted, her voice dripping with dismissive confidence. "To get your attention. She loves you too much. Remember how she begged you not to abort the baby? She was pathetic. Someone like that doesn't just stop loving you."

She was right. Elena was obsessed with me. This had to be a ploy. A very expensive, very dangerous ploy.

"Matteo," I growled, the realization hitting me. "Matteo told her. He leaked the medical files."

I snatched the hotel phone from the cradle and dialed Matteo's private line.

He answered on the first ring.

"Congratulations," Matteo said. His voice was cold, void of its usual deference. "I heard the news. Falcone is a lucky man."

"You traitor," I hissed, gripping the receiver until my knuckles turned white. "You gave her the files. You told her about the kidney."

"I didn't have to," Matteo laughed. It was a dark, humorless sound that scraped against my nerves. "She woke up during the surgery, Dante. The anesthesia wore off too early. She felt the first cut. She heard you tell the doctor to take it anyway."

The room seemed to tilt on its axis. "That's impossible."

"She heard you say she was just a tithe. She heard everything. And you know what? I'm glad. Because watching you destroy her was making me sick."

"You are fired," I spat, my voice trembling with a rage I couldn't control. "You are dead to this Family."

"I quit three hours ago," Matteo said, unfazed. "And I'm not the only one. Half the Capos are questioning your judgment. You traded a loyal queen for a whore who faked a faint to steal a ring."

"Don't you dare talk about Sofia-"

Click.

He hung up.

I stared at the receiver, the dial tone buzzing like a hornet in my ear.

"What did he say?" Sofia asked, casually nibbling on a strawberry.

"He said she heard me."

"Oh well," Sofia said, bored, tossing the green stem onto a napkin. "She'll get over it. Women always forgive. Just buy her a bigger diamond when she comes crawling back."

She crawled onto my lap, straddling me with a predator's grace. "Forget her. Focus on me. Focus on our son."

She kissed me. Her lips were soft, tasting of sugar and artificial sweetness.

I kissed her back because I didn't know what else to do. I pulled her close, trying to lose myself in the sensation, desperate to drown out Matteo's voice.

But as I closed my eyes, all I could see was Elena falling off the bridge. All I could feel was the phantom weight of the soup thermos she had handed me this morning.

Make that soup.

I had ordered her around like a servant hours before she cut my heart out.

I pushed into Sofia, harder than necessary, trying to find the release, the victory I was supposed to feel. I had the woman I wanted. I had the heir.

But inside, I felt nothing.

It was like trying to warm myself against a painted fire.

Three days passed.

I stayed in the hotel, barricaded against the world. I didn't go to the office. I waited for the phone to ring. I waited for Elena to call and say, "Okay, I made my point, come get me."

The phone never rang.

The silence was louder than a gunshot.

On the third night, I couldn't take it anymore. I pushed Sofia off me as she tried to initiate sex again.

"Where are you going?" she complained, pouting.

"Home," I said, grabbing my jacket. "I'm going to the penthouse. She might have left a note. Or maybe she's there, waiting."

"I'm coming with you," Sofia said, sitting up.

"No. Stay here."

I walked out before she could argue.

I drove to the penthouse like a madman, weaving through traffic, ignoring the blare of horns. I burst through the front door.

"Elena!" I shouted.

Silence.

The air was stale, heavy with disuse. Dust motes danced in the dying light of the setting sun.

I walked to the closet. Empty.

I walked to the kitchen. The trash compactor was full. I opened it.

Sitting right on top was a yellow baby onesie. The one she had bought three years ago.

It was stained with coffee grounds.

My knees gave out. I sank to the floor, clutching the dirty fabric to my chest.

She hadn't just left. She had erased us.

And for the first time in my life, I was truly afraid.