Chapter 7

Elena Vitiello POV

The fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway hummed with a low, electric buzz. It was a sound that drilled straight into my skull.

I had slept on a hard plastic chair. My neck was stiff, and my dress was wrinkled and stained with dried snow.

Dante had slept in the chair next to Sofia's bed.

I stood up and trudged to the door of Room 304.

Dante was awake. He looked ragged. He saw me and stood up, coming out into the hall.

"How is she?" he asked.

That was his greeting. Not "Are you okay?" Not "I'm sorry I dropped you in the snow."

"Minor concussion," I said, my voice flat. "The doctors said she is fine. She is sleeping."

Dante let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours. His shoulders slumped.

"Good. Good."

He rubbed his face.

"Elena, I need you to do something."

I waited.

"Go to the gift shop. Or find a boutique nearby. Get a basket. Flowers. Something nice. She will be scared when she wakes up."

I stared at him. The audacity was breathtaking. It was almost impressive.

"You want your wife to buy a gift for your whore?"

The word hung in the air.

Dante's expression darkened. He stepped closer, looming over me.

"Do not use that word," he growled. "She is a victim. Be useful, Elena. Stop being petty."

Petty.

I wanted to scream. Instead, I nodded.

"I will be useful, Dante."

I turned and walked away.

I didn't go to a boutique. I went to the hospital cafeteria. I bought a black coffee and sat there, staring at the flight departures on my phone.

One hour. I just needed to survive one more hour.

I walked back up to the third floor. I didn't have a gift basket.

I heard laughter coming from Room 304.

It wasn't the laughter of a traumatized woman. It was the laughter of a woman who had won.

I stopped outside the door. It was slightly ajar.

"You should have seen him," Sofia was saying. She sounded gleeful. "He left her in a snowbank, Enzo. Literally dropped her. He is so easy to manipulate. It's about power, not love."

A man's voice chuckled. Low. Unfamiliar.

"He thinks he is the King of New York," the man said. "But you have him on a leash."

I pushed the door open.

Sofia was sitting up in bed, checking her makeup in a compact mirror.

A man in scrubs was standing by the window. He turned quickly when I entered. I saw a flash of a snake tattoo on his neck before he pulled his collar up and slipped out the door past me.

Enzo Genovese. A rival soldier. In disguise.

Sofia looked at me. Her smile didn't fade. It sharpened.

"Where is my basket?" she asked.

I walked to the foot of the bed.

"You don't love him," I said.

Sofia laughed. "Love? Oh, little bird. This isn't a fairy tale. I want the seat at the head of the table. Dante is just the chair I sit on."

She leaned forward.

"He dumped you in the snow, Elena. He chose me. He will always choose me. You are nothing. You are a placeholder until I get bored."

Something inside me snapped. It wasn't a loud snap. It was quiet. Final.

I walked around the bed.

Sofia watched me, amused.

I raised my hand and slapped her.

It was a hard slap. My palm connected with her cheekbone with a satisfying crack. Her head whipped to the side.

"You bitch!" she shrieked.

She lunged at me, claws out.

The door burst open.

Dante.

Sofia threw herself back onto the pillows. She burst into tears instantly.

"She hit me!" she wailed. "Dante! She's crazy! She tried to hurt me!"

Dante saw red. I saw it happen. The logic left his eyes.

He crossed the room in two strides.

He didn't ask what happened. He didn't look at me. He looked at the woman crying on the bed.

He shoved me.

It wasn't a gentle push. It was a forceful shove meant to remove a threat.

I flew backward.

My head hit the wall. Hard.

Pain exploded behind my eyes. I slid down to the floor.

I touched the back of my head. My fingers came away wet and red.

Dante didn't check on me. He was kneeling by the bed, stroking Sofia's hair, checking her cheek.

"Are you okay? Did she hurt you?"

He looked over his shoulder at me. His eyes were filled with disgust.

"Get out of my sight, Elena."

I looked at the blood on my fingers.

I looked at the husband who had just drawn my blood to protect his enemy.

"I will," I whispered.

I stood up. The room swayed.

I walked out of the room. I walked down the hall. I walked out of the hospital.

I hailed a taxi.

"To the airport?" the driver asked.

"No," I said. "Take me home. I have to take out the trash."