Runaway Nurse: The Mafia King's Remorse

Dante Vitiello POV:

Sofia’s palms pressed flat against my chest.

Her fingers traced the buttons of my shirt, slipping inside to graze my skin.

She smelled of expensive roses and desperation.

It was a scent that used to drive me wild when we were teenagers. Now, it just made my stomach turn.

I wasn't looking at her.

I was looking at the window behind her, staring blindly at the grey New York skyline.

The silence in my head was deafening.

It wasn't the peaceful silence of a quiet room. It was the hollow silence of a missing heartbeat.

"Dante?" Sofia whispered. "You're trembling."

I pushed her hands away.

I stepped back.

The movement was abrupt, violent. Sofia stumbled, catching herself on the edge of the sofa to keep from falling.

"What is wrong with you?" she snapped, her mask of vulnerability cracking instantly. "I just told you I was scared. There was someone in the hall."

"There was no one," I said. My voice was a low grind of gravel.

"I checked the security feed on my phone before I came up. The hall has been empty for the last hour."

Sofia's face paled.

She pulled her silk robe tighter around her body, as if shielding herself from the cold truth.

"I heard footsteps," she insisted, but her eyes darted away.

"You lied," I said.

It wasn't a question.

"Why did you lie, Sofia?"

She bit her lip. Tears welled up in her eyes with practiced ease.

"Because I needed you," she sobbed. "Because you've been so distant. You're always with her. That... servant."

*Her.*

*Elena.*

The name hit me like a physical blow.

I didn't answer Sofia.

I didn't care about her tears. I didn't care about her manufactured fear.

I turned around and walked to the door.

"Dante! Where are you going?"

"Home," I said.

I slammed the door behind me, severing her scream.

I didn't walk to the elevator; I ran.

I hit the button for the lobby repeatedly, as if I could force the machine to move faster through the sheer weight of my rage.

I needed to get back to the penthouse.

I needed to see Elena sitting on the couch, reading a book. I needed to see her look up and smile that quiet, reserved smile.

I needed to prove the cold dread in my gut wrong.

I drove the Maybach like a man possessed.

I ran three red lights. I cut off a taxi without glancing back.

I didn't care.

I pulled up to the building, screeching to a halt, and threw the keys to the stunned valet.

I didn't wait for the elevator this time either. I took the private lift.

The doors slid open.

The penthouse was silent.

"Elena?" I called out.

My voice echoed off the marble walls, mocking me.

There was no answer.

I walked into the living room.

Maria, the maid, was standing there. She was holding a feather duster like a shield, but she wasn't moving.

She looked terrified.

"Where is she?" I asked.

Maria swallowed hard.

"Sir..."

"Where is Elena?" I roared.

Maria flinched, shrinking back.

"She's gone, sir."

"What do you mean, gone? Did she go to the store? The library?"

"No, sir."

Maria pointed a trembling finger toward the hallway. Toward the bedroom.

"She took her things."

The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

I walked past Maria.

I walked down the hall.

The door to our bedroom stood ajar.

I stepped inside.

And the world ended.