The Don’s Broken Vow

Early the next morning.

Dante left in a hurry, claiming there was an emergency meeting with "The Commission."

I watched his retreating figure, picked up my phone, and made two calls.

The first was to Manhattan’s largest charitable foundation; the second was to a private jewelry appraisal house on Fifth Avenue.

I stepped into the study and double-locked the door.

Hidden behind a secret panel in the bookshelf was a safe with a code only I knew.

The door swung open, revealing no cash or weapons, but seven pieces of jewelry laid out in perfect order.

Before I married into the Moretti life, I was a jewelry designer.

Over the last decade, I had personally designed every symbolic piece Dante wore.

I had been naive enough to believe that these gems, into which I’d poured my soul, could lock our love together like a blood oath.

Now, every single one of them felt like a stinging slap to the face.

They weren't testaments of love—they were trophies of my own stupidity.

I brought them to the appraisers.

"Mrs. Moretti, these... these are museum-quality one-of-a-kinds."

The old appraiser, peering through his monocle, had hands that were visibly shaking.

"Are you certain you want to liquidate everything?

"You’ve requested that all funds be donated anonymously to the Brooklyn orphanages. This is enough money to buy half a block."

"Sell it all," I said, sitting on the leather sofa, my voice flat and devoid of emotion.

"Keeping a dead man’s belongings only brings bad luck."

Once the paperwork was finalized, I stepped out of the appraisal office, only to run straight into Sophia at the corner of the hallway.

She was decked out in a new white Chanel suit and towering stilettos, her blonde hair shimmering under the lights with a blinding glare.

She wore that nauseating, victor's smirk on her face.

"Well, if it isn't Mrs. Moretti. Oh, wait—the wedding hasn't happened yet. Legally speaking, right now you're just a... high-end nanny, aren't you?"

Sophia blocked my path, intentionally flaunting the ruby bracelet on her wrist.

It was a top-tier Pigeon’s Blood ruby that Dante had snagged at an auction six months ago.

I had practically begged him for it, wanting to use it as the centerpiece for our wedding anniversary gift.

At the time, he’d told me the stone’s "color wasn't good enough; it’s not worthy of you."

"Dante said this ruby makes my skin look so pale and perfect, he insisted I have it.

" Elena, you’ve designed so much jewelry; has Dante ever given you anything decent?"

Sophia leaned in close, dropping her voice to a sharp, venomous whisper.

"Then again, an orphan raised in the slums like you wouldn't know the first thing about being truly cherished.

"You’re just a hound Dante keeps around. He pats your head when you're obedient, but the second you aren't... he'll kick you to the curb."

I looked at her coldly.

Rage was screaming inside me, but my expression only grew more frozen.

"Sophia, for a mistress who’s so proud of her position，

"It seems your street-walking mother in Brooklyn never taught you the meaning of 'shame.'"

"Shame? How much is shame worth compared to the power of the Moretti family?"

Sophia let out a cold laugh and suddenly gave me a violent shove.

"Elena, you’ve held this spot for too long. It’s time to get lost!

"Dante can’t stay away from my body right now. How do you plan to compete with that?"

I braced myself, found my footing, and swung my hand back for a slap.

Crack!

The crisp sound echoed through the empty hallway.

"That," I said, "was to teach you how to shut your mouth."

Sophia clearly hadn't expected the usually submissive Elena to actually throw a punch—or a slap.

She was stunned for a second, then a flash of malice crossed her eyes. She let herself fall toward the marble floor with exaggerated force.

Clutching her stomach, her face turned deathly pale in an instant as she let out a piercing shriek.

"Ah! My stomach... it hurts so much... Dante, help me!!"

Just then, the heavy, hurried thud of leather shoes echoed from the end of the hall.

Dante appeared, his face a mask of pure anxiety.

He charged over. When he caught my icy stare, he visibly stiffened, a flicker of intense guilt and shame crossing his features.

But hearing Sophia’s shrill cries, he gritted his teeth and, without a second thought, shoved me aside.

"Elena, get out of the way!"

He used so much force that I was caught completely off guard, my body slamming back against the wall.