The Betrayed Princess's New Reign

Elena Moretti POV:

The assassin writhed on the expensive Persian rug. Two massive guards knelt on his back, pressing his face directly into the shattered glass of a broken champagne flute.

His screams echoed through the grand ballroom. The politicians and mafia bosses stood frozen in terror, their faces pale. Dante's fury was a physical weight in the room, suffocating everyone.

Dante handed Leo to the head nanny, who immediately rushed the baby behind the reinforced steel doors of the kitchen.

Dante stepped in front of me, his broad shoulders blocking me from the carnage. He walked slowly toward the assassin. He lifted his heavy leather shoe and stomped down violently on the man's shattered right wrist.

The sickening crunch of bone fragments grinding together made several guests gag. The assassin howled, his eyes rolling back in his head.

Dante drew his gun. He leaned down and used the hot steel barrel to lift the assassin's bleeding chin.

"Who sent you?" Dante's voice was a low, demonic rumble.

The assassin spat a mouthful of blood onto Dante's shoe. "Fuck you. And fuck that toxic bitch behind you. She ruined my family."

Dante's eyes went entirely black. He didn't blink. He lowered the gun and pulled the trigger.

*Bang!*

The unsuppressed gunshot deafened the room. The bullet blew out the assassin's left kneecap. Blood sprayed across the white tablecloths.

"No one insults my wife," Dante said coldly.

I placed my hand on Dante's tense bicep and gently pushed him aside. I stood up.

I picked up the hem of my burgundy gown and walked gracefully toward the bleeding man. I looked down at him. I didn't feel anger. I just felt bored.

I didn't speak to him. I turned my head slightly to the left.

I held out my open palm.

Mia stepped out of the shadows immediately. She unholstered the ivory-handled micro-pistol and placed it respectfully into my hand.

I checked the magazine. I pulled the slide back, ejecting a live round onto the floor, leaving only one bullet in the chamber. Then, I tossed the gun. It clattered against the floorboards, stopping inches from the assassin's face.

The entire ballroom gasped.

I stared into his terrified eyes. "There is one bullet left in that gun," I said, my voice smooth and chillingly calm. "If you can pick it up with your right hand and point it at me, I will let you walk out of here alive."

The psychological cruelty of the game paralyzed the room. I had learned this in Chicago. True power wasn't just killing a man; it was breaking his mind before his heart stopped.

The assassin stared at the gun. He tried to move his right arm. His shattered wrist flopped uselessly, a mangled mess of torn meat and bone. He couldn't even twitch a finger. Despair crashed over him as he realized he was already dead.

I smirked. I turned my back on him and walked slowly back to my seat.

I sat down, picked up my half-empty glass of champagne, and gave Mia a single, imperceptible nod.

Mia's eyes flashed with predatory obedience.

She walked forward, her black shoes stepping in the pooling blood. She bent down, picked up the ivory pistol, and pressed the muzzle flush against the center of the assassin's forehead.

She pulled the trigger.

*Bang!*

The back of his skull exploded. Thick, dark blood splattered across Mia's crisp black suit. She didn't blink. She didn't even flinch.

I raised my champagne glass toward the terrified crowd of bosses and politicians. I smiled warmly.

The guests snapped out of their shock, their hands trembling as they quickly raised their glasses to toast me back, terrified of becoming the next stain on the floor.

Dante walked back to my side. He wrapped his arm tightly around my waist, staring at the guards dragging the corpse away. His bloodlust was palpable.

"Tonight, I want the Hudson River dyed red with their blood."