The Mafia Widow's Revenge

The last time I had been to this lounge was the day before Lorenzo’s death. That night, I had to confront him personally—even though I had stayed out of the business ever since we became partners.

The reason for that confrontation is known to only a few people to this day—and I’d prefer to keep it that way.

When I turned down Luca's invitation to go to the club, I came here hoping she might show up. The fire I saw in her sharp hazel eyes at the cemetery told me she was hungry for the truth about what happened to her husband.

And I had been right. She’s here for answers. I underestimated her—maybe more than I’d like to admit.

I just hadn’t expected her to confront me so directly.

She walked into the lounge with a boldness that made it seem like she’d been coming here all her life. Her heels complemented the elegant lines of her legs, and her skin glowed under the lounge lights, a perfect match for the warm amber tones. Her long, dark hair framed her magazine-cover face and cascaded down her back in soft waves.

She seemed to enjoy the attention as heads turned in her direction—but her focus was only on me.

I couldn’t blame the men for looking at her the way they did. Hell, even I wasn’t immune. But the sharp edge in her gaze warned me not to let my guard down. Her eyes weren’t softened by grief or confusion anymore. No, there was steel beneath those hazel irises—cold, hard steel.

Still, I would’ve preferred to see something other than the cold hatred burning in those sharp hazel eyes.

She was challenging me—and I’m not the type to lose, especially when there’s a slim chance I might be able to change her opinion of me.

I downed the last of my Scotch and straightened up, my eyes following her as she disappeared deeper into the lounge. I gave her a small head start, letting her think she was in control. She wasn’t. Not yet.

I rose to my feet, adjusting my jacket as I followed her, keeping a safe distance. She moved through the casino with quiet confidence, her heels clicking against the polished floor in a steady rhythm. Heads turned as she passed, but she didn’t seem to notice—or care.

After a while, I realized she was heading toward her late husband’s private office.

Interesting.

From the shadows, I watched as she pulled a key from her bag.

Lorenzo’s key.

She unlocked the door but hesitated, standing there for a moment as if debating whether to go in. Her hand rested on the polished brass handle, her knuckles tightening.

Finally, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

I knew following her in there was a bad idea. I’m the last person she’d want to see.

From where I stood, I heard footsteps behind me. My instincts sharpened—someone was following her. It made sense, considering she was trying to expose them.

Without thinking, I slipped the pistol from the back of my pocket, my finger resting lightly on the trigger. Whoever it was, they’d be unlucky to walk away unscathed.

Then a figure stepped out of the shadows of the basement. My grip loosened the moment I recognized Dante—Lorenzo’s right-hand man. He was here to protect his boss’s wife.

But why was he dressed like that? No suit, no official look—he was in disguise, glancing around like he expected trouble.

I watched him move with calculated precision toward Lorenzo’s office, pausing at the door.

My hand tightened around the pistol. No matter how much she hated me, I wasn’t about to let anything happen to her.

ELENA

You shouldn’t be here!”

The sharpness of his voice startled me, and I nearly dropped the folder in my hand.

Instinctively, I reached for the last gift Lorenzo had left me. As much as I hated carrying a gun, I’d come to realize it was the one thing I could rely on lately.

Slowly, I turned around, keeping the gun tucked beneath my bag, my fingers tightening around the handle.

“Dante,” I breathed, shocked to see him here at this hour. My surprise deepened when I took in his appearance—dressed in disguise, not his usual suit.

“I mean it, Mrs. Russon. You shouldn’t be here,” he repeated, his tone calmer but no less urgent than it had been before. “It’s not safe.”

“I was just in the casino, so I figured I’d check the office.” I lied effortlessly. At this point, I didn’t trust anyone.

“It’s late, ma’am. Let me escort you back to the mansion,” he said, gesturing toward the exit.

“Why are you dressed like that?” The question slipped out before I could stop myself.

Dante smiled—a rare sight. His dark eyes locked on mine.

“This is my night shift attire, ma’am,” he said smoothly. Then he stepped behind me, his presence steady and controlled, as he led me toward the car.

As he walked me to the car, a question kept nagging at the back of my mind.

“How did you find me?”

“Huh?” I heard the surprise in his voice from where he sat behind the wheel.

“How did you know I’d come to the casino tonight?” I pressed, unwilling to believe it was just his bodyguard instincts.