Elena Vitiello POV:

I slowly lowered my wine glass. The crystal clinked softly against the table.

I looked down at Luca, writhing on the floor like a crushed insect. For the first time since he walked in, a flicker of emotion crossed my face. It was pure, unfiltered disgust.

Seeing him groveling brought back the stench of the Chicago warehouse. He had looked exactly like this when he begged me to forgive him for choosing Sofia, crying crocodile tears while my heart shattered.

Luca saw the shift in my expression. His twisted mind immediately misinterpreted my disgust as fear of the man sitting across from me.

He scrambled to his knees, his expensive suit ruined. "Elena, listen to me! I see it now. I see what a monster Sofia is. I know how wrong I was!"

He reached into his pocket with trembling hands. He pulled out his phone and frantically swiped at the screen.

He flipped the phone around, shoving the screen toward me like a trophy.

It was a photograph. The image was violently bloody. Sofia was lying on a concrete floor. Her face, the beauty she had used as a weapon, was slashed to ribbons, covered in deep, raw lacerations. Both of her legs were bent at horrifying, unnatural angles, the bones clearly shattered.

"I did this!" Luca bragged, his voice hysterical and desperate. "I punished her for what she did to you! I destroyed that bitch for you, Elena!"

Matteo groaned from the floor, clutching his broken leg. "We paid the price, Elena. Please, just come home with us."

Luca stared at me, his eyes wide with sick hope. He genuinely believed that presenting me with a mutilated body was a "blood oath." He thought this gruesome picture would instantly erase my scars and buy back my love.

The restaurant fell into a dead, heavy silence.

Across from me, Dante’s posture shifted. A flash of pure, unadulterated killing intent ignited in his black eyes. He had sworn to peel the skin off whoever hurt me. Now, the idiot on the floor had just handed him the names.

I looked at the bloody screen. I didn't feel fear. I didn't even feel the vindictive thrill of revenge. I only felt a hollow, crushing sorrow for the absolute stupidity of men who thought blood and violence could be traded for a woman's soul.

I pushed my chair back and stood up. The heavy emerald velvet of my skirt swept across the carpet.

I walked slowly toward Luca. I stopped right in front of him, looking down at his pathetic, hopeful face. I was a god staring at a rat in the sewer.

Luca’s face lit up. He thought he had won. He reached his free hand toward his pocket, trying to pull out the cheap ring box.

I lifted my foot.

I slammed the needle-thin stiletto heel of my shoe directly onto the wrist of the hand holding his phone.

I put my full weight into it. The sharp metal heel pierced his skin, grinding directly against his bone.

Luca let out a bloodcurdling scream. His fingers flew open. The phone clattered to the floor, the bloody image of Sofia flickering once before the screen went black.

I bent at the waist, leaning close to his face. My eyes were completely devoid of warmth.

"Do you honestly think," I whispered, my voice slicing through his screams like a razor, "that breaking a piece of trash pieces my forgiveness back together?"

Luca sobbed, sweat pouring down his face as my heel dug deeper. "I love you! I did it because I love you!"

I let out a short, mocking laugh. "Your love is cheaper than the garbage on the New York streets."

I leaned in an inch closer, destroying his last delusion. "You didn't ruin Sofia because you love me. You ruined her because your fragile ego couldn't handle the fact that you were played by a cheap bitch."

Luca’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. His breath hitched. I had just ripped away the last moral high ground he was clinging to.

Matteo opened his mouth to defend him. I shot Matteo a glare so cold and lethal he instantly clamped his mouth shut, trembling.

I lifted my heel, pulling it out of Luca’s flesh. I turned my back on them and walked gracefully back to Dante’s side. Looking at them any longer made my eyes feel dirty.

I picked up the silk Hermes napkin off the table. I carefully wiped the smear of Luca’s blood off the edge of my stiletto.

When I was done, I tossed the crumpled silk over my shoulder. It landed directly on Luca’s face.

Luca clutched the perfume-scented silk, his psychological defenses shattering completely. Snot and tears mixed on his face as he sobbed uncontrollably. He finally understood. The girl from Chicago was dead.

Dante slowly pushed his chair back and stood up to deliver the final sentence.

"You disgust me more than the mud on my shoes."

Elena Vitiello POV:

Dante stepped out of the shadows, his massive frame dominating the room.

He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't yell. He merely raised his hands and slowly, methodically adjusted his silver cufflinks. It was a chilling habit, a physical tell that meant he was about to deliver a death sentence.

He walked over and stood directly above Luca. He looked down at the sobbing, broken man on the floor. Dante’s eyes held no anger. He looked at Luca the way a man looks at an annoying insect on the pavement.

That look of absolute, untouchable dismissal did more damage to Luca’s pride than a bullet ever could.

Luca trembled, slowly lifting his head to meet Dante’s gaze. His face paled as he felt his soul being shredded by the sheer weight of Dante’s power.

Dante reached into the inner breast pocket of his tailored suit. He pulled out a small, square black velvet box.

He didn't spare Luca another glance. He turned his back on the trash on the floor and faced me.

The icy, lethal aura surrounding Dante vanished instantly. His black eyes softened, filling with a heavy, burning reverence that stole the breath from my lungs.

Dante dropped to one knee right in front of me.

He flipped the black box open.

Resting against the dark velvet was a massive pigeon-blood ruby ring, surrounded by flawless diamonds. It caught the light of the crystal chandeliers, reflecting a deep, mesmerizing, and terrifyingly beautiful red glow. It was a priceless artifact, the ultimate symbol of the New York Outfit’s Queen.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Luca freeze. His jaw dropped. His trembling hand instinctively moved to his pocket, gripping the box that held the cheap, generic diamond he had bought.

The staggering chasm in wealth, power, and devotion hit Luca like a physical blow to the face.

Dante reached out and gently took my left hand. His thumb brushed over my knuckles. With steady, deliberate pressure, he slid the heavy ruby ring onto my ring finger.

I didn't pull away. I looked down at the blood-red stone, accepting the weight of my new life.

Dante stood up. He brought my hand to his lips and pressed a warm, firm kiss against my knuckles.

He slowly turned his head, looking back at the two men bleeding on the carpet.

His voice boomed through the empty restaurant, a low, terrifying rumble that commanded total obedience.

"She is Moretti now."

It was a declaration of war. It was an absolute, impenetrable shield placed around me.

Luca’s mind snapped. The last pillar holding up his sanity crumbled into dust.

He shook his head frantically, his eyes rolling. "No," he whined, a pathetic, high-pitched sound. "No, no..."

Dante looked at him like he was looking at a corpse. He didn't even raise his voice when he gave the order.

"Throw this garbage back into the rain."

The bodyguards moved instantly. Two massive men grabbed Luca by his armpits, hauling him off the floor with brutal force. They dragged him backward toward the entrance.

Another guard grabbed Matteo by the collar of his suit. He dragged him like a dead dog, Matteo’s broken prosthetic leg scraping a harsh, ugly line across the pristine carpet. Matteo was in too much pain to even scream.

As Luca was dragged away, he twisted his neck wildly, trying to lock eyes with me one last time. He wanted me to look at him. He wanted me to care.

I didn't even give him a passing glance. I kept my eyes lowered, calmly admiring the way the light caught the facets of my new ruby ring.

The heavy glass doors were shoved open. The freezing wind and driving rain howled into the warm restaurant.

The guards swung their arms and threw Luca and Matteo out into the storm. They hit the flooded pavement hard.

The glass doors slammed shut, locking with a heavy click.

They were outside in the cold, dark mud. I was inside, bathed in light and power.

Through the thick glass, I saw Luca slam his fists into the puddles, throwing his head back in the rain.

"No! She's mine! She's mine!"

Luca POV:

The freezing rain felt like needles against my skin.

It washed over my face, soaking through my expensive suit until it clung to me like a heavy, useless rag. The water couldn't wash away the burning shame in my chest. It only magnified the pathetic reality of what I was: a stray dog kicked out of the palace.

I lay in the muddy puddle for a long time, my chest heaving.

Then, the side door of the restaurant opened. The massive, black Rolls Royce Phantom rolled out into the alleyway, its engine purring like a sleeping beast.

The windows were tinted pitch black. I couldn't see inside, but I knew she was in there. Elena. And that monster.

A wave of pure, unadulterated madness hijacked my brain. She was my property. She was supposed to be mine.

I scrambled up from the mud, my shoes slipping on the wet asphalt. I ran like a maniac toward the slow-moving car.

I slammed my bleeding hands against the thick bulletproof glass of the rear window. My split knuckles left bloody handprints on the dark tint.

"Elena!" I screamed, my voice tearing my throat. "Elena, look at me!"

The car didn't stop. It didn't speed up. It just kept rolling smoothly forward, completely ignoring my existence.

Suddenly, the two black SUVs trailing the Rolls Royce slammed on their brakes.

Four guards stepped out into the downpour. They didn't draw their guns. They didn't pull out batons. They just walked toward me with the cold, mechanical efficiency of slaughterhouse workers.

The lead guard didn't say a word. He just pivoted and drove his heavy combat boot directly into my stomach.

The force of the kick lifted me off my feet. I flew backward through the air, crashing onto the hard, flooded asphalt ten feet away.

I rolled onto my side, vomiting a mouthful of blood and rainwater.

"Stop!" Matteo screamed from the curb, dragging his broken body forward. "We are Lieutenants of the Chicago Outfit! You can't—"

The guard nearest to Matteo sneered. He dropped into a low crouch and delivered a brutal sweeping kick directly to the mechanical joint of Matteo’s prosthetic leg.

A sickening *crack* of snapping metal echoed over the rain. The prosthetic shattered completely. Matteo let out an agonizing shriek and collapsed into the puddle, clutching his stump.

The guards swarmed me.

It wasn't a fight. It was a one-sided, systematic destruction of my body.

Fists and steel-toed boots rained down on me. They knew exactly where to strike. They avoided my temple and my throat. They aimed for the ribs, the kidneys, the joints. They were maximizing the pain while keeping me conscious to feel every second of it.

I tried to throw a punch, but my street-brawling skills were a joke to these elite killers. A boot slammed into my chest. Three ribs snapped with a wet crunch.

Another fist crashed into my jaw, instantly shattering the bone that had just barely healed from Chicago.

I choked on my own blood, curling into a fetal position as the rain washed the red down the storm drain.

The lead guard grabbed a fistful of my wet hair. He yanked my head back, forcing my swollen eyes open to look down the street.

The red taillights of the Rolls Royce were disappearing into the New York night.

"Come near Mrs. Moretti again," the guard whispered, his voice dead and cold, "and your skull is next."

He released my hair, letting my head smack against the pavement. The guards turned, climbed back into their SUVs, and vanished.

The street was empty. The only sounds were the violent rain and Matteo’s pathetic, breathless whimpering.

I lay on my back, the freezing rain pounding into my open, bloodshot eyes. I couldn't breathe. The pain in my ribs was excruciating, but the agony in my mind was worse.

I was nothing. My anger, my desperation, my "love"—it didn't even qualify as a speed bump in her new world.

My trembling fingers twitched. I reached down into the muddy water and found the velvet box that had fallen from my pocket. It was crushed.

I pulled out the cheap diamond ring.

It looked so incredibly stupid sitting in the mud.

I closed my fist around it. I squeezed so hard the cheap metal band cut deep into my palm, drawing fresh blood.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and a wretched, broken laugh tore out of my shattered jaw.

A massive garbage truck rumbled past us, its tires hitting a deep pothole. A wave of foul, stinking street water splashed over me, burying me in the filth.

"I lost her... I really lost her."