Too Late To Beg: The Scapegoat's Revenge

Elena Vitiello POV:

The obscene sound of moaning tore through the speakers, magnified to a deafening roar.

It echoed off the vaulted ceilings, crude, unmistakable, and violating.

Then, a voice. Roxy's voice.

"Come on, baby, don't you have to be at the estate? It's your big day."

Then, Dante's voice cut through. Clear as crystal. Slurring, arrogant, and dripping with hate.

"Fuck the estate. Fuck the Don."

The entire room froze. It felt as though the air had been sucked out of the hall.

On the recording, Dante laughed—a cruel, wet sound. "The old man is a dinosaur. Once I get my button, I'm going to run this city my way. No more stupid rules. No more Omertà."

The Capo's face leached of color. He looked like a corpse propped up in his chair.

\ The recording continued, relentless.

"What about that girl? Elena?" Roxy asked.

"Elena?" Dante snorted, the sound echoing violently in the silent hall. "That pathetic little virgin? She's just a tool. I use her to do my homework. Once I'm Made, I'm going to toss her to the wolves. Maybe I'll let the boys have a turn with her."

The audio cut off abruptly.

The silence that followed was heavier than the violence that had preceded it.

It was the silence of a grave.

I forced myself to stand. My ribs screamed in agony, shooting white-hot fire up my side, but I stood straight.

I raised a trembling hand, pointing a bloody finger at Dante.

"I wasn't in a hotel room with him," I said, my voice steady and cold despite the pain. "I was at home. With my parents. That recording was sent to me by the woman he was actually with. A stripper from the Irish mob."

I turned slowly to the Don.

"He didn't just miss his Oath, Don Salvatore. He sold you out for a line of coke and a lap dance."

Dante collapsed. It was as if his legs just gave out beneath the weight of his sins.

He fell to the floor, weeping. "It's a fake! It's AI! She faked it!"

But everyone knew Dante's voice. Everyone knew his arrogance.

The Capo turned slowly toward his son. The look in his eyes was not love anymore. It was pure, unadulterated horror.

He realized that his son hasn't just ruined himself; he had destroyed the entire family line.

"You spoke against the Blood," the Don said softly.

His voice was quiet, but it carried more weight than a scream.

"Get him out of my sight," the Don commanded.

Two massive guards grabbed Dante by the arms. He screamed, dragging his heels on the marble, begging for his father, begging for his mother.

His mother turned away.

His father stared at the floor.

As they dragged him past me, Dante locked eyes with me.

"You're dead," he mouthed, his face twisted in madness. "I'll kill you."

I looked at him, and I felt absolutely nothing.

"You're already a ghost, Dante," I said.

The guards hauled him out.

The Don looked at me. He looked at my bruised face, my bleeding lip.

"Consigliere," the Don said. "See that Elena and her family are escorted to the infirmary. And then... bring her to my office."

The Capo was stripped of his gun on the spot.

I took my father's arm. He was weeping, not from pain, but from relief.

We walked out of the hall.

The soldiers who had spat on me moments ago parted like the Red Sea, their heads bowed in fear and respect.

I didn't look at them.

I walked out into the sunlight.

I had won the battle. But I knew the war had just begun.

Dante was alive. And a wounded animal is the most dangerous kind.

But this time, I had the teeth.