The Don's Regret: Choosing The Wrong Queen

I dragged myself toward the gate, every inch a fresh agony.

My vision was swimming in a haze of gray.

I heard shouting behind me.

"Stop!"

It was Marco.

He was sprinting toward me, shouldering past the guards who tried to block him.

He reached me just as I collapsed against the iron bars of the gate.

He didn't try to bring me back inside.

He saw the look in my eyes.

He knew.

He shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around me in one fluid motion.

"I have a car," he whispered, his voice urgent. "Around the corner."

"Marco," I rasped. "They'll kill you."

"Let them try."

He helped me stand.

I leaned all my weight on him, my legs threatening to give out.

We stumbled through the gate.

Just as we reached his old sedan, Dante materialized at the top of the steps.

"Marco!" he roared. "Step away from her!"

Marco froze.

He turned to face his Don.

"No," Marco said.

The word hung in the air, heavy and impossible.

No one said no to Dante.

Dante marched down the steps.

He looked like a gathering storm.

"She is a traitor," Dante said, his voice vibrating with rage. "She attacked my fiancée."

"She saved your life!" Marco yelled back. "For ten years, she has bled for you. She has killed for you. And you treat her like a dog!"

"She is my property!" Dante shouted. "I decide what happens to her!"

"She is a human being!" Marco stepped in front of me, shielding me with his own body. "And she is the only one in this godforsaken family who ever actually loved you."

Dante stopped.

That hit him like a physical blow.

I saw the flinch.

But his pride was too big.

His ego was too fragile.

"She is nothing," Dante spat. "She is a burden. She is a clingy, desperate child who doesn't know when to let go."

I heard the words.

Strangely, they didn't hurt anymore.

They just confirmed what I already knew.

"Move, Marco," Dante warned, his hand drifting to his holster. "Or I will move you."

Marco didn't budge.

Dante pulled his gun.

He aimed it squarely at Marco's chest.

"Don't," I whispered.

I pushed myself off the car.

I stepped in front of Marco.

I stood swaying on my feet, the world tilting on its axis.

I looked at the gun.

Then I looked at Dante.

"You want to shoot someone?" I asked, my voice hollow. "Shoot me."

Dante's hand wavered.

"Get out of my way, Elena."

"No."

I took a shaky step toward him.

"Do it. Finish what you started in the fountain."

He looked at me.

He looked at the blood soaking through the coat Marco had draped over my shoulders.

He looked at the dark bruises on my neck where his hand had been only moments before.

He lowered the gun.

He couldn't do it.

Not while looking me in the eye.

"Get out," he whispered.

"What?"

"Get out!" he screamed, the sound tearing from his throat. "Leave! If I see you on my land again, I will kill you. If I see you near Sofia, I will kill you. You are dead to this family. Do you hear me? You are dead!"

I looked at him one last time.

I memorized his face.

Not because I loved him.

But because I wanted to remember the face of the man who taught me that love is a weakness.

"I hear you," I said softly.

I turned to Marco.

"Let's go."

Marco helped me into the car.

He got in the driver's seat.

As we drove away, I watched Dante in the rearview mirror.

He was standing alone in the rain.

He looked small.

He looked miserable.

But I didn't feel sorry for him.

I felt light.

I was bleeding.

I was broken.

I had nothing but the clothes on my back.

But for the first time in three years, I could breathe.

"Where to?" Marco asked, his voice thick with emotion.

I looked at the road ahead.

It was dark and uncertain.

"Anywhere," I said. "Just drive."

Marco drove.

We passed the city limits.

We passed the state line.

I watched the sun come up over a landscape I didn't recognize.

I was in pain, but my mind was crystal clear.

I touched my neck.

The ring was gone.

The collar was gone.

I wasn't a canary anymore.

I wasn't a soldier.

I was just Elena.

And for now, that was going to have to be enough.