The Don's Regret: Choosing The Wrong Queen

I didn't get in the car.

Instead, I bolted toward the tree line, vanishing into the woods.

I spent three agonizing days holed up in a cheap motel on the edge of the city, waiting for him to hunt me down.

But he didn't come.

He sent a text.

Stop playing games. Come home when you're done throwing your tantrum.

He thought this was a tactic.

He thought I was maneuvering for his attention.

He simply couldn't conceive of a world where I wasn't desperate for his approval.

I watched the news from my cramped, dimly lit room.

The headlines were screaming about the charity gala tonight.

It was the event of the season.

It was also where Dante was rumored to announce his engagement.

A cold, hard resolve settled in the pit of my stomach.

I wasn't going to hide anymore.

I wasn't going to let him believe he had broken me.

I used the last of my emergency cash to buy a dress.

It wasn't one of the modest, elegant black numbers Dante preferred me to wear.

It was red.

It was bold.

It was a declaration of war.

I arrived at the hotel ballroom an hour late.

The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and crisp champagne.

I walked in, and the silence rippled outward.

Heads turned.

People whispered behind manicured hands.

They knew exactly who I was.

They knew I was Dante's shadow.

But they had never seen me like this.

I spotted him across the room.

He was wearing a tuxedo that fit him like a second skin, a glass of whiskey loosely gripped in one hand.

His other arm was around her.

Sofia.

She possessed the kind of flawless beauty that only old money could buy.

Her skin was porcelain perfect.

Her dress was a pristine white.

She looked like an angel.

And I? I looked like the devil coming to collect a debt.

Dante saw me.

His eyes narrowed into slits.

He didn't look happy to see me; he looked lethal.

He murmured something to Sofia and began to stalk toward me.

The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea.

He stopped inches from my face.

I could feel the heat radiating off his body.

"I thought you were smarter than this," he hissed, his voice pitched low so only I could hear the venom.

"Smarter than what, Dante?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain steady.

"Showing up here. Trying to embarrass me."

He gripped my arm.

His fingers dug painfully into my flesh.

"You think this dress changes anything? You're still just my soldier, Elena."

"I resigned," I said flatly.

He laughed.

It was a cruel, dry sound void of humor.

"You don't resign from this family. You leave in a pine box."

Sofia drifted up to us.

She slipped her hand into Dante's free hand, staking her claim.

She looked at me with pity.

It was worse than hate.

"Is this the help you told me about, Dante?" she asked.

Her voice was light, airy, and laced with poison.

"She looks... distressed."

Dante didn't look at me.

He looked down at her, and his eyes softened instantly.

"Don't worry about her, Sofia. She's just leaving."

Sofia stepped closer to me, invading my space.

"You know," she whispered, "Dante told me how hard you worked. It's sweet, really. But some people are born to lead, and some are born to serve. You should go find someone in your own tax bracket."

The people standing nearby chuckled.

I felt the heat rise in my cheeks.

I felt stripped naked in front of the entire elite of the city.

They were looking at me like I was a stray dog that had wandered into a palace.

Dante raised his glass.

"To the future," he boomed, addressing the room.

"To the union of our families."

He pulled Sofia close and kissed her cheek.

The room erupted in polite, thunderous applause.

I stood there, frozen.

He was erasing me.

He was doing it publicly.

He was doing it with a smile.

I looked at him.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to tell everyone about the blood on his hands.

About the blood on my hands.

But I didn't.

I took a deep, shuddering breath.

I plucked a glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray.

"Congratulations," I said.

My voice didn't shake.

Dante looked surprised.

He expected tears.

He expected a scene.

He didn't expect dignity.

I raised my glass to them.

"I hope you deserve each other."

I downed the drink in one swallow and turned around.

I walked out of the ballroom.

My head was high.

My back was straight.

But inside, I was screaming.

I walked out into the cool night air.

I thought the worst was over.

I was wrong.