Too Late To Beg: The Don's Regret

Elena POV

I stumbled into the bathroom and snatched a towel, pressing it hard against my stomach. The pain was a dull roar now, a constant, throbbing companion.

When I emerged, Dante stood in the middle of the room, looking utterly unmoored. The monster was shrinking, revealing the confused boy underneath. But I didn't care about the boy anymore.

"Why?" he asked, his voice cracking. "Why get pregnant again? If you hated me?"

I leaned heavily against the doorframe for support.

"Because Nonna made a deal with me." It wasn't a total lie. She had implied it heavily enough. If I gave the family a male heir, she would grant me a villa in Tuscany and full custody of Mia.

I met his gaze, my eyes dry.

"I wanted to buy my freedom, Dante. I used your sperm like currency."

His face went ashy white. The idea that he, the great Don, had been used? It shattered his ego more than my lack of love ever could.

"You... you planned it?"

"I wanted a baby, yes. But mostly, I wanted out."

I looked toward the window. The sun was beginning to rise, casting a bleak grey light over the estate. The Fortress I had designed.

"And the irony is," I said softly, my voice hollow, "losing the baby was the only thing that actually set me free. Because now I'm useless."

I pushed off the doorframe and hoisted my bag onto my shoulder.

"I'm leaving, Dante. And this time, if you try to stop me, I will bleed to death on your floor. And think of the press then."

He didn't move. He looked at the blooming red stain on my shirt, then at my face.

"You'll come back," he said. His voice lacked conviction. "You have nowhere to go. You have nothing."

"I have myself," I said.

I walked past him. I walked out of the room, down the long corridor lined with portraits of his ancestors. Men who killed. Women who suffered.

I walked down the grand staircase where I had lost my first child, the memory of that fall echoing in every step.

The front door was heavy. It took all my remaining strength to push it open.

The cold winter air hit me like a slap. It felt wonderful.

I didn't look back. I didn't look at the garage where the Ferraris were parked. I walked straight to the main gate.

Marco was there. He held out a plain manila envelope, his posture stiff.

"Plane ticket," he said, refusing to meet my eyes. "Economy. One way. And a check for five thousand dollars. That's it."

It was more than I expected.

"Thank you, Marco."

He hesitated, shifting his weight. "He knows about the blueprints?"

"He will soon."

I walked through the gates. A taxi was waiting. I had called it from the burner phone I kept taped under the bathroom sink.

I got in.

"Airport," I told the driver.

As the car pulled away, I watched the Moretti estate shrink in the rearview mirror. It looked like a mausoleum.

I touched my flat stomach.

"Goodbye, little one," I whispered. "You saved me."