Too Late To Beg: The Scapegoat's Revenge

In my previous life, I spent every waking moment cleaning up the messes of Dante Moretti, the heir to the Chicago Outfit.

I dragged him away from drugs and strippers just so he wouldn't miss his Initiation Ceremony.

Because of my loyalty, he became a Made Man.

But a year later, when he needed a scapegoat for his own incompetence, he didn't thank me.

He framed me for being a rat.

I was forced to watch my parents executed in front of me before I was thrown into a freezing solitary cell to rot.

The last thing I felt was the biting cold leeching the life from my body while he continued to live like a king.

I died realizing my love was just a weapon he used against me.

But when I blinked, the suffocating darkness dissolved into blinding strobe lights.

I was back in the club.

It was the night before his Initiation.

Dante stood in front of me, high and arrogant, demanding his car keys so he could go see a stripper named Roxy instead of preparing for his oath.

In the past, I begged him to stay. I saved his reputation.

This time, I looked at the man who murdered me and felt nothing but ice.

I pressed the keys into his hand.

"Go," I said, condemning him to his own destruction.

"Have the night of your life, Dante."

Chapter 1

Elena Vitiello POV

The last sensation I felt was the biting cold of a solitary confinement cell leeching the warmth from my dying body, but the first thing I hear is the deafening bass of the club thumping against the chest of the man who murdered me.

I blink, and the suffocating darkness of the dungeon dissolves into a blinding assault of strobe lights.

Standing in front of me is Dante Moretti.

He is the heir to the most ruthless Capo in the Chicago Outfit, a man whose hands are stained with enough blood to paint the city red.

He leans against the bar with that lethal, arrogant grace that makes women weak and men tremble.

His shirt is unbuttoned halfway, revealing the ink that marks his kills.

He stands like a king surveying his kingdom, radiating a raw, predatory power that demands submission.

In my previous life, I loved him.

In that previous life, I spent the next twenty-four hours saving him from himself, dragging him away from the drugs and the stripper named Roxy so he wouldn't miss his Initiation Ceremony.

Because of that act of loyalty, he became a Made Man.

And because of that act of loyalty, when he needed a scapegoat for his own incompetence a year later, he framed me for being a rat.

I watched my parents executed in front of me.

I rotted in a hole until my heart stopped.

"Earth to Elena." Dante snaps his fingers in front of my face, his grin crooked and cruel. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

I have. I am looking at one.

The air smells of expensive whiskey and cheap perfume, a stark contrast to the stench of rot and urine that filled my nose mere seconds ago.

My wrists feel light.

I look down. No shackles. Just my pale skin.

"I said, give me the keys," Dante demands, extending a hand that feels heavy with the weight of my future execution. "Roxy has a surprise for me. Don't be a buzzkill just because you're jealous."

His Enforcers, Luca and Marco, snicker behind him.

"Yeah, Elena, don't be a prude. Let the Prince have his fun before he takes the Oath."

In the past, this was the moment I would have begged.

This was the moment I would have grabbed his arm and pleaded with him to think about his father, the Capo, and the honor of the Family.

I remember the sting of his rejection, the way he mocked my concern.

I look at his eyes. They are already glassy, dilated with the anticipation of the drugs Roxy has waiting for him.

I know exactly what happens tonight.

He goes to Roxy. She drugs him to make him miss the ceremony on orders from a rival family.

If I stop him, he becomes powerful enough to kill me.

If I let him go, he destroys himself.

A cold, unfamiliar smile stretches across my lips. It feels like armor.

I reach into my purse.

The metal of the car keys digs into my palm.

"You're right," I say, my voice steady, devoid of the tremor that used to define my interactions with him.

Dante looks surprised. He expected a lecture. He expected tears.

"I am?" he asks, blinking.

"It's your last night of freedom," I say, pressing the keys into his hand. "Go. Have the night of your life, Dante."

He stares at me for a second, searching for the catch, but the drugs in his system are already making him impatient.

He closes his fist around the keys.

"Finally," he sneers, turning his back on me. "At least you learned your place."

He walks away, flanked by his men, heading toward the exit and toward his own destruction.

I watch him go.

I don't feel love. I don't feel hate.

I just feel the phantom pain of a bullet in my father's chest, and I know that tonight, the old Elena died in that cell.

I pick up my drink and take a sip.

It tastes like vengeance.