Shattered Vows: The Mafia Queen's Revenge

Elena POV

The guards at the door of the VIP box stepped aside when they saw the cold resolve set in my face.

I pushed the heavy door open.

Serena was already standing by the display table, fawning over the final three heirlooms.

"They are so beautiful, Dante," she cooed, picking up my mother's diamond bracelet.

"They are yours," Dante said, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

Serena turned to him and placed a hand over her flat stomach.

It was a deliberate gesture, a silent reminder of the mafia heir she was supposedly carrying.

Dante's expression hardened, a complex mix of duty and dark satisfaction settling over his features.

"Those belong to my family," I said, stepping into the room.

Dante took a slow sip of his drink.

"They are Serena's compensation. You owe her for the scar."

Serena picked up my father's signet ring, tossing it casually in her palm.

"It is a shame your parents were so weak," she sneered, her eyes locking onto mine.

"I heard the rival cartel cut them into pieces and strung them up like meat in a butcher shop. They must have died screaming."

A wash of white noise filled my ears, and the room seemed to tilt on its axis.

In a blur of motion, I lunged across the room.

I grabbed Serena by the hair, slammed her back against the mahogany table, and laid the edge of my stiletto against the soft skin of her throat.

A thin line of blood welled up.

Dante moved faster than I anticipated. His hand clamped around my wrist, a vise of bone and sinew. He used his weight, twisting my arm back with such brutal force that my fingers spasmed open and the blade clattered against the black-and-white tiled marble.

Without missing a beat, I reached behind my back, drew the concealed glock from the small of my back. The barrel, still cold from the air-conditioned hall, made contact with the silk stretched taut over her belly. In the room, thick with the scent of old whiskey, the sound of the hammer being cocked was as loud as a breaking bone.

"Elena!" Dante roared, his voice shaking the glass fixtures in the room.

"Put the gun down! Your parents died because of their own incompetence and the enemies they made! Do not take your failures out on her!"

His words were a blade twisting in my gut.

Horrific flashbacks crashed into my mind.

I remembered the smell of burning flesh, the sight of my parents' desecrated corpses, and Dante holding me, swearing an oath of blood that he would protect me forever.

I stared at the man who had shaped me into a killer, realizing my entire life was built on a foundation of rotting lies.

The grief hardened into something cold and solid, and I regained my composure.

Dante froze, his eyes fixed on the weapon threatening his unborn heir. He raised his hands in a slow, placating gesture, paralyzed by the standoff.

I kept the gun pressed to Serena's stomach with one hand, while my other hand pulled a lit cigarette from the ashtray on the table.

Serena whimpered, a thin, animal sound.

I slowly and deliberately crushed the burning cherry of the cigarette into the sensitive skin behind her ear.

She shrieked, thrashing against the table. Dante's jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek, but with the Glock pressed to Serena's womb, he did not dare take a single step forward.

I stepped back, tossing my gun onto the mahogany table.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a heavy men's wedding band.

"Here," I said, holding it out to Dante with a mocking smile. "Try it on. Since you are so eager to play house."

Dante frowned, his protective instincts warring with his confusion.

He instinctively reached his hand out to take the ring.

My sleeve blade flashed from my cuff.

With one clean, brutal swipe, I severed his ring finger at the knuckle.

Blood sprayed across the pristine white tablecloth.

"That is the first installment of your debt," I declared, my voice devoid of any emotion.

Dante did not even look at his bleeding hand.

He lunged forward, tackling me to the floor with his massive weight to shield Serena from me.

His knee pinned my legs, his heavy hands gripping my wrists, his face inches from mine.

"Do not force me to break my oath of protection to you," he growled, his breath hot against my face.

Pinned beneath him, feeling the familiar weight of his body that used to make me feel safe, I finally understood the devastating truth.

Our bond had rotted into a toxic wasteland, and the only way out was to burn it all down.

And I had just struck the match.