Too Late For The Ruthless Don's Regret

Elena Rossi POV

I needed air. Desperately.

I hailed a yellow taxi outside the building, my hand trembling as I reached for the door handle.

I didn't have a destination. I just needed to be away from the suffocating scent of Mia's perfume that seemed to cling to the walls of my home, choking the life out of me.

"Where to, lady?" the driver asked, eying me in the rearview mirror.

"Just drive," I said, leaning my head back against the worn vinyl. "Anywhere but here."

A flash of movement caught my eye.

Mia ran out of the lobby entrance. She wasn't wearing a coat, despite the chill in the air.

"Elena! Wait!" she shouted, waving her arms overhead like a stranded castaway.

She looked frantic. But I knew better. It was another performance.

I slammed the taxi door shut, locking out her voice.

"Go," I told the driver. "Now."

The taxi pulled away from the curb, merging into the flow of traffic.

Mia didn't stop.

With a glance back at the garage, she ran into the street.

She didn't stumble; she calculated. She threw herself directly into the path of the taxi.

The driver slammed on the brakes. Tires screeched against the asphalt, burning rubber filling the air.

The car jerked to a halt inches from her legs.

Mia collapsed onto the hood, screaming as if she'd been hit by a freight train. It was Oscar-worthy.

Then I heard the roar of an engine.

Dante's black sports car peeled out of the garage exit, like a beast released from a cage.

He saw the taxi. He saw Mia draped dramatically on the hood.

But he didn't see the brake lights.

He saw his wife in a car that had just "hit" his precious donor and was trying to flee.

The engine roared louder.

"Crazy bastard!" the taxi driver yelled, looking in the rearview mirror, his eyes widening in panic.

Dante rammed us.

The impact was deafening. Bone-jarring.

Metal crunched. Glass exploded in a glittering shower.

My head slammed against the partition.

Stars burst behind my eyelids, bright and blinding.

The world tilted sideways.

The taxi spun, careening out of control until it crashed into a parked delivery truck with a sickening thud.

Silence followed the chaos. A heavy, ringing silence.

My vision was blurry. Blood ran warm down my neck, soaking into my collar.

Through the shattered side window, I saw Dante leap from his car.

He didn't run to the taxi.

He ran to Mia.

She was standing by the curb now, miraculously unharmed, dusting off her white dress as if she had simply tripped.

Dante fell to his knees in front of her, his hands checking her face, her arms, her legs, frantic with worry.

"Did he hit you?" Dante roared, his voice shaking with rage. "Did she tell him to hit you?"

Mia was sobbing, pointing a trembling finger at the wreckage I was trapped in.

"She told him to keep going, Dante! She saw me and told him to drive!"

Dante stood up.

He turned toward me.

His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred. A stranger's face.

"Don't you dare touch her," he screamed at me through the broken glass. "If you hurt one hair on her head, Elena, I will end you."

I sat there, pinned between the seat and the crumpled door.

My head was bleeding. My arm was throbbing in rhythm with my heartbeat.

And my husband was threatening to kill me for a crime I didn't commit, to protect a monster in a white dress.

A bubble of laughter rose in my throat.

It started low, a rasping sound, scraping against my windpipe.

Then it grew.

I laughed.

I laughed as the blood dripped onto my lap. I laughed until my ribs ached and tears streamed down my face.

It was the sound of a mind finally snapping under the weight of a lie.

The taxi driver looked at me in horror. "Lady, are you okay?"

I stopped laughing. The sound cut off abruptly.

I reached into my purse with shaking hands. I pulled out a stack of cash—emergency money I'd been hoarding for a rainy day. I just didn't realize the storm would look like this.

I threw it into the front seat.

"For the damage," I said, my voice eerily calm.

I kicked the door open, ignoring the protest of twisted metal.

I didn't look at Dante. I didn't look at Mia.

I walked down the street, blood dripping from my fingertips, flagging down another cab to take me to the ER.

Alone.