Runaway Mistress: The Mafia Boss Begs On His Knees

Dante POV

The tuxedo didn't just fit; it constricted, binding me like a straitjacket.

I stood at the high altar of St. Patrick's Cathedral, sweating under the heavy fabric despite the cool air of the sanctuary.

The pews were packed with the vultures of the underworld-every crime boss from Boston to Miami.

They were here to witness the union of the Moretti and Genovese families.

They were here to see me chain myself to a woman I couldn't stand.

I adjusted the gun in my holster beneath my jacket, the cold steel offering the only comfort in the room.

Just one more hour.

That was the deal I made with myself.

Marry her. Say the vows. Take the photos.

Then the Commission would be satisfied. The war would be over.

And I could go back to Elena.

I had it all planned out.

I had bought a villa in Tuscany. Secluded. Private.

I would move Elena there. I would visit every month, away from this life, away from this lie.

Sofia didn't care. She had the title. She had the ring. She had the kids.

She had promised me last night.

"Give me the wedding, Dante, and I will look the other way."

I believed her because I had to.

The organ music swelled, vibrating against my ribs.

The heavy oak doors groaned open.

Sofia began her descent down the aisle.

She looked like a queen.

The guests murmured in admiration.

I felt sick, bile rising in my throat.

I looked at the empty seat in the back row where I had imagined Elena sitting.

I wanted her to see this.

I wanted her to see that this meant nothing.

It was just business.

Why couldn't she understand that?

Why did she have to fight me at every turn?

Why did she look at me in the hospital like I was a stranger?

"I release you."

Her words echoed in my head, louder than the organ.

She didn't get to release me.

I owned her. I saved her life. I bled for her.

She was mine.

Sofia reached the altar.

She smiled at me. It was a sharp, predatory smile.

"You look handsome, husband," she whispered.

"Let's get this over with," I muttered.

The priest began to speak.

He talked about love. About sacrifice. About two souls becoming one.

I zoned out.

I thought about Elena's skin. The way she smelled like rain and vanilla.

I thought about the way she used to look at me before the ice entered her eyes.

I would fix it.

Tonight.

I would leave the reception early. I would go to the estate. I would kick down her door if I had to.

I would make her understand that this was all for us.

I had invested millions in this wedding to buy our freedom.

The priest turned to me.

"Dante Moretti, do you take this woman..."

I looked at Sofia.

For a second, her face blurred.

I saw Elena.

I saw Elena bleeding on the table. I saw Elena under the whip.

My chest tightened until I couldn't breathe.

"I do," I choked out.

The words tasted like ash.

I slid the ring onto Sofia's finger.

It felt cold.

It felt like I was handcuffing myself to a corpse.