Elena POV

My hands were shaking so badly that I couldn't even guide the key into the ignition of the sedan.

It was the disease.

The nerves in my fingers were misfiring-a glitch in the system, a secret I guarded with my life. Because in Dante's world, weakness wasn't just a liability; it was a death sentence.

I had to leave the car there.

I had to call an Uber.

The humiliation tasted like ash in my mouth.

The Underboss's mistress. The woman who had kept his bed warm and his secrets safe. Reduced to waiting on a curb for a stranger in a beige Toyota Camry.

When the car finally arrived, I slumped into the backseat, the bundle of magnolias still clutched in my lap.

The petals were already bruising at the edges.

"Rough day?" the driver asked, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

I didn't answer.

Taking the hint, he turned up the radio.

It was a local station, buzzing with the city's high-society gossip.

"...and in a shocking turn of events, the Cavallaro and Moretti families have announced a joint gala tonight," the host's voice boomed through the speakers. "Sources say Sofia Moretti has bought out every florist in the city. White magnolias are officially extinct in Chicago this weekend, folks. It's the scent of a royal union."

My stomach lurched.

White magnolias were mine.

Dante knew that.

He used to bring them to me when he felt guilty about the blood on his hands.

Sofia hadn't just bought flowers.

She had bought my symbol, commodified it, and used it to decorate the stage for her victory.

I looked down at the bouquet in my lap.

It wasn't a gift anymore.

It was a joke.

A cruel punchline.

I rolled down the window and threw them out onto the highway.

They scattered in the wind, crushed under the wheels of the traffic behind us in an instant.

When I got to the penthouse Dante paid for, the silence was deafening.

This place wasn't a home.

It was a gilded cage with a view of the city I wasn't allowed to touch.

I walked to the dining table.

There was a small cake sitting there.

I had bought it myself.

"Welcome Home," written in clumsy, shaky icing.

I sat down, the tremors in my legs making it hard to stand.

My mind drifted back to the night he claimed me.

He had cornered me in the back of my father's gambling den, his hand around my throat-not squeezing, just holding. Possessing.

"Be mine," he had said, his voice low and dangerous. "Let's see if you can survive my world."

I thought it was a proposal.

I thought it was love.

I sat in the dark, staring at the unlit candle on the cake.

I was surviving his world.

But I wasn't sure I could survive him.

Elena POV

My phone buzzed against the dark mahogany table, the vibration shattering the silence like a drill.

It was 2:00 AM.

The screen lit up with a message from a blocked number.

No text.

Just a video file.

My chest tightened painfully.

In our world, anonymous messages usually meant someone was dead.

I pressed play.

The video was grainy, a wash of high-contrast black and white security footage from the VIP room of The Vault, a club owned by the Family.

Dante was sitting on a leather sofa, a glass of whiskey loose in his hand.

His tie was undone, draped around his neck.

He looked like a king holding court in hell.

Sofia was next to him, coiled tight and leaning close, her hand resting possessively on his knee.

There were other men in the room-Capos, soldiers-laughing at something I couldn't hear.

"The girl?" Dante's voice came through the speakers, distorted by the recording but devastatingly unmistakable. "Elena?"

My heart stopped.

He took a sip of his drink, his face a mask of bored indifference.

"She was a placeholder," he said flatly. "A necessary tactic. I needed the Morettis to think I was unavailable. Jealousy is a powerful motivator. It forced Sofia's father to the table faster than a bullet would have."

Sofia laughed, throwing her head back in triumph.

"And it worked," she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "I hated her so much I agreed to the merger just to get you back."

"Strategy, cara," Dante said, clinking his glass against hers. "Just business."

The video ended.

I stared at the black screen, unable to breathe.

I wasn't a person to him.

I wasn't a lover.

I was a pawn.

A tactic.

A prop used to manipulate a business deal.

Suddenly, the front door lock clicked.

I froze.

Steps echoed in the hallway.

Heavy, uneven footsteps.

He was drunk.

"He needs rest, Sofia," Dante's voice drifted down the hall, thick and weary. "Leave it."

"He needs to cut the loose end," Sofia's voice whispered, sharp and venomous. "She's clutter, Dante. She's polluting our penthouse."

I stood in the shadows of the hallway, pressing my back against the cold wall, praying to disappear.

"She knows her place," Dante slurred. "Don't ruin my night."

"Make her leave," Sofia demanded. "Or I will."

Dante laughed.

It was a cruel, dark sound that scraped against my nerves.

"Do what you want," he said carelessly. "Just don't get blood on the carpet. It's imported."

He didn't defend me.

He didn't claim me.

He gave her permission to destroy me.

My legs gave out.

I slid down the wall, my hand clamping over my mouth to stifle the sob that was tearing my throat apart.

Elena POV

I stepped out of the shadows and into the unforgiving light of the living room.

Sofia was clinging to Dante's arm, her lipstick smeared, her eyes gleaming with triumph.

Dante blinked, his focus hazy from the alcohol. He swayed slightly, steadying himself.

He didn't look guilty.

He looked annoyed.

"Thank you," I said, my voice trembling but crystal clear. "For keeping the seat warm."

It was a pathetic jab, a paper shield against a firing squad, but it was all I had.

Sofia sneered. "The seat is mine, you little whore. It always was."

Dante untangled himself from her, running a hand wearily through his hair.

He looked at me, his gaze flat and dead.

"Stand down, Elena," he ordered.

"Stand down?" I choked out a bitter laugh. "I just heard you. I heard what you said. I am just a tactic?"

Dante sighed, rubbing his temples as if I were a migraine he couldn't shake.

"You're being dramatic," he said. "The marriage to Sofia is strictly business. It's the Commission. It's politics. It has nothing to do with us."

"Us?" I stepped closer, the word tasting like ash. "There is no us. You sold me out for a merger."

"I kept you fed," he snapped, his voice rising with sudden, jagged heat. "I kept you safe. I kept you in a penthouse while your father rotted in a shallow grave. You should be grateful."

Grateful.

The word hung in the air, sharp and heavy like a guillotine blade.

"She is a disposable toy, Dante," Sofia said, idly picking at her nails. "Throw her away."

Dante looked at me.

For a second, I saw something flicker in those dark depths.

Regret?

No.

It was just inconvenience.

"Go to your room," he said quietly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Don't ruin my night. We'll talk when you're rational."

"I want you to tell her to leave," I whispered, my pride hanging by a thread. "If I ever meant anything to you. Tell her to get out."

Dante stared at me.

Then, with a cold finality, he turned his back.

"Sofia is fragile," he lied, the falsehood smooth on his tongue. "She stays."

He walked toward the master bedroom.

Sofia followed him, pausing only to wink at me.

The door closed with a soft, definitive click.

I was left alone in the living room on my birthday, listening to the man I loved take the woman he chose to bed, while my body slowly ate itself from the inside out.