Dante Moretti POV:

Elena released a sigh, the sound exaggerated and theatrical. She drifted over to the head of the table, coming to a stop beside my chair. She placed a perfectly manicured hand on my shoulder.

The weight of it settled there, heavy as a shackle.

"Don't be dramatic, Dante," she chided. "We are trying to be civilized here. Julian is family. He is my God-brother. You need to treat him with respect."

"God-brother," I repeated, the word tasting like ash on my tongue. "Is that the title we're hiding behind now?"

"He has potential," Elena insisted, her fingers digging into the fabric of my suit jacket. "He just needs an opportunity. You've been holding him back. You sent him to the docks to count crates like a common soldier."

"I sent him to the docks because he botched three shipments in a single month," I said, my eyes fixed on a burn mark marring the mahogany table. "He bled two hundred grand in product because he was too busy gambling in the back room to check the manifest."

"That was sabotage!" Julian shouted.

He slammed his open palm against the table again. "You set me up, Dante! You knew I was talented, and you were jealous. You were afraid I'd outshine you."

I slowly turned my head to look at him. The sheer magnitude of his delusion was almost impressive.

"Talent?" I asked, my voice low.

"Your only talent is spending money you didn't earn and disrespecting men you couldn't beat in a fair fight."

"See?" Julian pointed a shaking finger at me, looking for validation. "He's a tyrant, Elena! He bullies everyone. That's why the men hate him. That's why they want a change."

The mercenaries standing guard behind him nodded in agreement. They didn't know me. They didn't know the blood-soaked history of the Chicago Outfit. They saw a man in a bespoke suit and mistook me for a banker. They didn't see the blood that had permanently stained my hands.

"These men don't hate me," I said, scanning the room with a cold sweep.

"They don't know me. They are hired guns. They have no Omertà. They have no code."

"The code is dead!" Elena snapped.

She pulled her hand away, retreating to stand beside Julian again. "This is a business, Dante. A corporation. And I am the CEO. I hold the majority shares. I have the board's support."

She truly believed it. She believed that the Mafia was just another company listed on the New York Stock Exchange. She thought she could fire a Don like a mid-level manager caught stealing office supplies.

I remembered the night I found her in that diner. She had been on her hands and knees, scraping gum off the underside of a table. She had looked so fragile then, so desperate for a way out.

I gave her the world. I gave her power, status, protection.

And in return, it had rotted her soul from the inside out.

"You're not a CEO, Elena," I said softly. "And this isn't a board meeting. This is a tribunal. But you're not the judge."

I reached for the stack of resignation letters Julian had thrown onto the table. I picked them up, feeling the weight of the paper.

"You think these scraps of paper matter?" I asked.

"They prove you have no support," Elena said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Sign the transfer papers, Dante. Go into retirement. We'll give you a stipend. You can live in the villa in Tuscany. Just... go away."

I looked at the letters one last time.

Then, with a flick of my wrist, I tossed them into the air.

The papers fluttered down like dirty snow, covering the burn mark Julian had made.

"I'm not going to Tuscany," I said.

"And I'm not signing anything until I hear the truth."

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, my hands clasped together.

"Tell me, Elena. How long has your 'God-brother' been warming my side of the bed?"

Dante Moretti POV:

The silence that stretched between us was heavy, suffocating.

Elena's face paled for a fraction of a second, her carefully constructed mask slipping. But then she recovered, lifting her chin in a sharp display of defiance.

"It doesn't matter," she said, her voice hardening. "Our marriage was over a long time ago, Dante. You were always gone. Sicily, New York, Vegas. You were married to the mob, not to me."

"So you found comfort elsewhere," I said, my tone deceptively calm. "With him."

Julian stepped forward, squaring his shoulders in a poor imitation of dominance. He looked like a child trying to wear his father's armor.

"That's right," Julian bragged, a sneer curling his lip. "While you were in Sicily dealing with the families, I was here. Every night. In your house. In your bed."

He grabbed Elena and pulled her close, crushing his mouth against hers. It was a crude, possessive display, meant solely to humiliate me.

I watched them. I tracked the path of his hand as it slid down her back. I witnessed her melt into him, her loyalty evaporating like mist under the morning sun.

A fire ignited in my gut, searing and hot, but my face remained carved from stone. In my world, emotion is a weakness. Anger makes you sloppy. I needed to be precise.

When they pulled apart, Julian was grinning like a man who had already won.

"She loves me, Dante," he said. "She says I'm twice the man you are. And soon, I'll be the Underboss. Maybe even the Don, once we rebrand."

"Rebrand," I repeated flatly, testing the absurdity of the word.

"Yes," Elena said, breathless with the thrill of her own rebellion. "We're going to legitimize everything. No more violence. No more bodies. We're going to be a clean empire. And Julian is going to lead the security division."

I almost laughed. Julian couldn't secure a convenience store, let alone a global syndicate.

"You admit it then," I said, my voice dropping an octave. "You admit to adultery. You admit to treason."

"It's not treason if I'm the boss!" Elena shouted, her voice rising shrilly. "I own the casinos. I own the shipping lines. I tricked you into signing those power of attorney forms months ago. Remember? When you were sick?"

I remembered. A fever of 103 had been boiling my brain. She had brought me soup and papers, claiming they were tax documents. I had signed them because I trusted her.

Because she was my wife.

"You used my trust to steal from me," I said.

"I took what I deserved!" Elena cried, her hands balling into fists. "I was your doll for five years, Dante. 'Stand here, Elena.' 'Wear this, Elena.' 'Don't speak, Elena.' I am a person! And Julian sees me. He respects me."

"He respects the access codes to your bank account," I corrected darkly.

"Shut up!" Julian yelled, his face flushing. "You're just sore because you lost. Now, get out of my chair before I have the boys throw you out."

He gestured to the mercenaries. They took a step forward, hands hovering over their holsters.

"You want to remove me?" I asked softly. "Legally, I am still the owner. Nothing changes without my final signature on the dissolution agreement."

"Then sign it!" Elena slammed a leather folder onto the table, the sound cracking like a gunshot. "Sign it and leave. Or we will make you leave."

I opened the folder. The document was titled Transfer of Authority and Assets. It would strip me of everything. The title, the money, the territory.

I looked up at the Capos-the high-ranking captains-who had just entered the room silently through the back doors. They lined up against the far wall, their faces unreadable masks of experience.

"You called an audience," I said to Elena, closing the folder slowly.

"I called the shareholders," she corrected. "They need to witness the transition."

I looked at the Capos. Old men. Warriors. They had scars older than Julian himself.

"And where do you stand?" I asked them, my gaze sweeping the line.

Julian answered for them, arrogance dripping from every syllable. "They stand with the winner, Dante. They stand with us."

Dante Moretti POV

Elena turned to the Capos, her smile radiant yet entirely artificial.

"Gentlemen," she began, her voice smooth. "Thank you for coming. As you know, Dante has agreed to step down. He is weary. He desires a quiet life."

She cast a sharp glance at me, her eyes daring me to contradict the narrative.

"Please," she continued, gesturing broadly. "Pledge your loyalty to the new administration. To me. And to Julian, my acting Underboss."

The room fell into a heavy silence.

One of the Capos, Salvatore-a man who had sacrificed an eye fighting for my father-stepped forward. He looked at Elena. Then he looked at Julian. Finally, his one good eye landed on me.

"We pledge loyalty to the Boss," Salvatore rasped, his voice like gravel.

Elena clapped her hands together, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "Excellent! You see, Dante? It's done."

"They said 'The Boss'," I noted calmly. "They didn't say your name."

"I am the Boss!" Elena shrieked, her porcelain composure cracking. "I have the papers! I have the money!"

"Money runs out," I said, leaning back. "Respect lasts forever."

Julian marched up to Salvatore. He was a full foot shorter than the grizzled captain.

"Hey, old man," Julian barked, puffing his chest. "Say it properly. Say 'Boss Elena'. And show some respect to your acting Underboss."

Salvatore didn't move. He looked at Julian like he was a stain on the carpet.

"I was fighting in the trenches while you were still wetting the bed," Salvatore said, his tone dangerously calm.

Julian's face turned a deep, ugly red. He raised his hand to slap Salvatore.

"Don't," I commanded, my voice low but lethal.

Julian froze. He looked at me, then back at Salvatore. He lowered his hand, but his ego was visibly bruised.

"You see?" Julian said to Elena, spinning around. "They don't respect us. We need to clean house. Fire them all. We'll bring in new guys. Younger guys."

"We can't fire everyone, Julian," Elena whispered, her eyes darting nervously. "We need them to hold the streets."

"I can run the streets!" Julian insisted. He turned back to me. "You're a fallen king, Dante. Nobody wants you here. Just sign the damn paper."

"Why are you so eager?" I asked, studying them. "Is there a deadline I don't know about?"

Elena placed a hand on her stomach. The gesture was small, instinctively protective.

My eyes narrowed. I focused on her hand.

"Tell him," Julian said, a cruel smirk spreading across his face. "Tell him why we need the house and the money immediately."

Elena took a shaky breath. She looked at me with a mixture of defiance and pity.

"I'm pregnant, Dante."

The axis of my world stopped spinning for a second.

"It's Julian's," she added quickly. "We're going to be a family. A real family. Something you never gave me."

I felt a sharp pain in my chest, like a knife twisting between my ribs. I had wanted children. She had always claimed she wasn't ready. She said this life was too dangerous.

But for him? For this parasite? She was ready.

"You're carrying his child," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "While still married to me."

"Yes," she said. "So you see, you have to leave. I need to protect my baby. I need the Moretti name for him."

"You intend to give my name to a bastard?" I asked.

"It's just a name!" she yelled. "Sign the papers!"

I stood up, the chair scraping violently against the floor.

"You have crossed a line, Elena," I said. "You didn't just break my heart. You insulted my blood."