Elena POV

I stumbled into the bathroom and snatched a towel, pressing it hard against my stomach. The pain was a dull roar now, a constant, throbbing companion.

When I emerged, Dante stood in the middle of the room, looking utterly unmoored. The monster was shrinking, revealing the confused boy underneath. But I didn't care about the boy anymore.

"Why?" he asked, his voice cracking. "Why get pregnant again? If you hated me?"

I leaned heavily against the doorframe for support.

"Because Nonna made a deal with me." It wasn't a total lie. She had implied it heavily enough. If I gave the family a male heir, she would grant me a villa in Tuscany and full custody of Mia.

I met his gaze, my eyes dry.

"I wanted to buy my freedom, Dante. I used your sperm like currency."

His face went ashy white. The idea that he, the great Don, had been used? It shattered his ego more than my lack of love ever could.

"You... you planned it?"

"I wanted a baby, yes. But mostly, I wanted out."

I looked toward the window. The sun was beginning to rise, casting a bleak grey light over the estate. The Fortress I had designed.

"And the irony is," I said softly, my voice hollow, "losing the baby was the only thing that actually set me free. Because now I'm useless."

I pushed off the doorframe and hoisted my bag onto my shoulder.

"I'm leaving, Dante. And this time, if you try to stop me, I will bleed to death on your floor. And think of the press then."

He didn't move. He looked at the blooming red stain on my shirt, then at my face.

"You'll come back," he said. His voice lacked conviction. "You have nowhere to go. You have nothing."

"I have myself," I said.

I walked past him. I walked out of the room, down the long corridor lined with portraits of his ancestors. Men who killed. Women who suffered.

I walked down the grand staircase where I had lost my first child, the memory of that fall echoing in every step.

The front door was heavy. It took all my remaining strength to push it open.

The cold winter air hit me like a slap. It felt wonderful.

I didn't look back. I didn't look at the garage where the Ferraris were parked. I walked straight to the main gate.

Marco was there. He held out a plain manila envelope, his posture stiff.

"Plane ticket," he said, refusing to meet my eyes. "Economy. One way. And a check for five thousand dollars. That's it."

It was more than I expected.

"Thank you, Marco."

He hesitated, shifting his weight. "He knows about the blueprints?"

"He will soon."

I walked through the gates. A taxi was waiting. I had called it from the burner phone I kept taped under the bathroom sink.

I got in.

"Airport," I told the driver.

As the car pulled away, I watched the Moretti estate shrink in the rearview mirror. It looked like a mausoleum.

I touched my flat stomach.

"Goodbye, little one," I whispered. "You saved me."

Dante POV

The silence in the estate was not peaceful; it was a predator.

It was a massive compound, filled with guards, maids, and the constant, low-frequency hum of empire business, but the quiet pressing against my eardrums was deafening.

It was the heavy, suffocating silence of absence.

I sat in the library, a tumbler of scotch in my hand. It was only 10:00 AM.

Sofia sauntered in. She had draped herself in Elena's silk robe again.

It looked wrong on her. Like a child playing dress-up in stolen finery. Too broad in the shoulders, too short in the hem. Cheap.

"Dante, baby," she whined, her voice grating against my hangover. "The staff won't listen to me. I told the chef to make eggs benedict and he just looked at me like I was trash."

"You are trash," I muttered, the words tasting like bile.

"What?"

I looked up at her. The caked makeup, the orange tint of her fake tan, the naked desperation in her eyes. I had brought her here to hurt Elena. To prove that I didn't need my wife. To prove that Elena was merely an asset, easily replaced.

But looking at Sofia now, wearing the ghost of my wife's clothes, all I felt was a violent surge of nausea.

"Get out," I said.

"But Dante—"

"Get out!"

The glass left my hand, shattering against the wall inches from her head.

She squeaked in terror and scrambled out of the room.

I rubbed my temples, trying to massage away the pressure building behind my eyes. The image of Elena—bleeding, standing tall, telling me she didn't love me—was seared into my retinas.

She was bluffing. She had to be. She had nowhere else to go. She was an orphan. I was the gravity holding her world together.

I picked up my phone and dialed her number.

Disconnected.

A spike of adrenaline, cold and sharp, pierced my chest.

I called Marco immediately.

"Where is she?" I demanded.

"She's gone, Don Moretti."

"Where?"

"I cannot say. Nonna's orders."

I hung up and stormed out of the library, cutting a path straight to the East Wing.

Nonna Rosa was sitting in her sunroom, calmly sipping tea as if the world wasn't ending.

"Where is my wife?" I asked, my voice shaking with a rage I could barely contain.

"She is not your wife anymore, Dante. The annulment is filed."

"Bring her back."

Nonna set her cup down with a delicate clink. "Why? She is broken. She cannot breed an heir. She is a drain on our resources."

I slammed my hands on her table, rattling the fine china. "Bring her back!"

She looked at me with pity. "You look like a child who lost his favorite toy."

"She's not a toy!" I yelled.

Nonna stood up, smoothing her skirt. She walked over to the window, turning her back on my temper.

"She is gone, Dante. She left the country this morning."

I felt the blood drain from my face, leaving me cold. "Left the country?"

She had nothing. No money. No connections.

"She had her mind," Nonna corrected softly. "She traded the family's security blueprints for her safe passage."

I stared at her, the air leaving my lungs. Elena... my sweet, quiet Elena... had blackmailed the Family?

"She hates you, Dante," Nonna said, her voice devoid of sympathy. "And she hates me. And she is right to do so."

"No." I shook my head, denial rising like bile. "She loves me. She begged me."

"That was survival," Nonna said. "We broke her. And now, the jagged pieces have cut their way out."

I turned and ran.

I ran to the garage. I threw myself into my car. I didn't know where I was going. The airport? It was futile.

I drove to the cliffs overlooking the sea. The place where we used to go when we were teenagers. Before I became the Don. Before the darkness swallowed me whole.

I looked at the empty passenger seat.

I remembered the way she used to look at me. Like I was the sun around which her universe revolved.

And I remembered the look in her eyes last night.

Dead.

My chest constricted. I couldn't draw breath. It wasn't anger. It wasn't pride.

It was terror.

I had won every war. I had slaughtered every enemy. I had conquered the city.

But I had lost the only thing that made the victory count.

I screamed. A raw, animalistic sound that tore through my throat until I tasted copper, the cry lost to the crashing waves below.

She was gone.

And she wasn't coming back.