I lay in the hospital bed in the west wing of the estate, staring blankly at the ceiling. My lungs felt raw, scorched, as if I had inhaled broken glass. Every shallow breath was a reminder of the towel, the jug, and the man who had poured it.

Enzo stood by the window, a silent sentinel. He hadn't moved in an hour.

"He didn't sign the papers," Enzo said. His voice was low, devoid of the usual soldier's gruffness.

"I know," I rasped. My throat was swollen, the words scraping against the bruising.

"He thinks he broke you," Enzo continued. He turned to look at me, his eyes searching for cracks. "Did he?"

I sat up slowly. The room spun violently. I steadied myself against the cold metal railing of the bed, forcing the vertigo to submit.

"He broke the wife," I said, my voice gaining a jagged edge. "He didn't break me."

I reached for the burner phone Enzo had smuggled into the lining of the mattress. My hands were steady now. The trembling had stopped the moment the water stopped.

I dialed a number I had memorized years ago, back when I was the Queen of this empire, back when I managed Dante's ledger better than he ever could.

It rang twice.

"Speak," a heavy Russian accent answered.

"Nikolai," I said.

There was a pause. Then a low, amused chuckle. "Mrs. Moretti. To what do I owe the pleasure? Is the Reaper dead?"

"Not yet," I said. "But I can give you his legs. The West End Docks expansion. The blueprints, the security rotation, the blind spots."

The line went silent. The air in the room seemed to tighten. That territory was worth billions. It was the gateway to the Atlantic.

"And the price?" Nikolai asked.

"A favor," I said. "I need a stage. And I need you to be the villain."

"Done."

I hung up and handed the phone to Enzo. "Liquidate the offshore accounts. The ones under my maiden name. Get the boat ready."

"Elena," Enzo said, hesitation flickering in his gaze. "This is a one-way trip. If this fails, he will kill us both."

"If we stay, I am already dead," I said.

The door handle turned.

Enzo vanished the phone into his jacket with practiced speed. I lay back against the pillows, letting my shoulders slump, letting the fire in my eyes die down to a dull, defeated ash.

Dante walked in.

He looked impeccable. Fresh suit, hair slicked back, the scent of expensive sandalwood masking the smell of chlorine. But there was a tension in his shoulders. He walked to the bed and looked down at me. He was searching for defiance. He was waiting for the fight.

I didn't give it to him.

I lowered my eyes. I let a single, calculated tear slip out.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

Dante froze. He blinked, as if he hadn't heard me correctly.

"What?"

"I'm sorry," I repeated, my voice cracking perfectly. "I was jealous. I was irrational. You were right. Sofia is family. I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have made a scene."

The tension left his body instantly. He let out a long breath and sat on the edge of the bed. He reached out and touched my cheek. His fingers were warm. I didn't flinch. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to sink my teeth into his hand.

"I knew you were in there," Dante said softly. "I knew you just needed to be... reminded."

"I know my place now," I lied, the taste of it bitter on my tongue.

He leaned down and kissed my forehead. "Good. We have the handover ceremony at the docks tomorrow. The expansion is finally complete. I want you there by my side. I want everyone to see that the Queen is back."

"I would be honored," I said.

He smiled. It was the smile of a man who thought he had won. He thought he had tamed the wild thing. He didn't realize he had just invited the assassin into his bed.

Chapter 6

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