Chapter 6

Elena Vitiello POV

The doctor had been explicit: absolutely no heels.

He warned me that my body was still in shock from the nephrectomy, that my remaining kidney was working overtime to filter the toxins of my stress.

But Dante didn't care about medical advice. Not unless it was for Sofia.

He cared about optics.

"Smile," he whispered, his hand resting heavy on the small of my back. It felt less like a caress and more like a brand.

"That necklace looks good on you. It cost me a fortune."

We were standing in the center of the charity auction. The ballroom was stifling, thick with the perfume and judgment of the same people who had watched him leave me at the altar only two days ago.

Now, he was buying my forgiveness, one paddle raise at a time.

"Sold to Mr. Moretti for two hundred thousand!" the auctioneer boomed.

Dante squeezed my waist, his fingers digging into my skin.

"See? I get you whatever you want."

He wasn't buying gifts for me. He was buying silence. He was purchasing the image of the benevolent Don who spoils his loyal little pet.

"I need the restroom," I murmured, fighting a wave of dizziness.

He let go immediately.

"Hurry back. The press wants photos."

I walked away, my legs trembling with every step. The fresh incision on my side burned like fire against the silk of my dress.

I pushed into the sanctuary of the ladies' room. It was empty, or so I thought.

I gripped the cold marble sink, staring at my pale, ghostly reflection.

The lock clicked behind me.

I saw her in the mirror before I turned. Sofia.

She was wearing a white dress-always white, as if she were a virgin saint instead of a parasite.

"You look tired, Elena," she said, leaning casually against the door. "Is the missing kidney bothering you?"

I didn't turn around. I couldn't bear to look at her.

"Get out of my way, Sofia."

"He cut you open for me," she said, her voice dripping with poisonous honey. "I didn't even ask him to, you know. I just cried a little about the pain, and he offered you up like a sacrificial lamb. He gutted you to keep me whole."

I turned on the tap. Cold water rushed over my shaking hands.

"Enjoy it. It's the only part of me you'll ever have."

"Oh, I have all of him," she laughed, stepping closer. The sound echoed off the tiles.

"Do you know why he made you abort that baby three years ago? It wasn't because of the timing. It was because the thought of your blood mixing with his made me sick."

My breath hitched.

"I told him I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep if there was a bastard running around," she whispered. "So he killed it."

My hands stopped moving. The water ran clear, but all I saw was red.

"You are a monster," I whispered.

"I'm the Queen," she corrected, her eyes gleaming. "And you are just the spare parts."

Suddenly, she raised her hand and slapped her own face. Hard.

The sound cracked through the tiled room like a gunshot.

She let out a shriek that would wake the dead.

"Help! Dante! Help me!"

The door burst open seconds later. Dante was there, his eyes wild with panic.

"She hit me!" Sofia sobbed, clutching her reddening cheek. "I just wanted to thank her for the kidney, and she slapped me! She said she wishes I died on the table!"

Dante didn't ask me what happened. He didn't look at my wet hands or my shaking frame.

He lunged at me.

"You ungrateful bitch," he snarled.

He shoved me.

He didn't mean to throw me across the room, perhaps. He just wanted me away from her.

But I was weak. I was missing an organ. I had no balance.

I flew backward.

My lower back slammed into the sharp edge of the porcelain sink.

Agony exploded in my spine, blinding and absolute. I slid to the floor, gasping for air that wouldn't come.

I felt something warm and wet trickle down my leg.

My stitches. He had torn my stitches.

"Dante," I wheezed.

He didn't look down. He had Sofia in his arms, cooing at her, checking her face for a mark she had put there herself.

"I'm taking you home, baby," he told her, his voice tender. "She won't touch you again."

He carried her out.

He left me on the bathroom floor, bleeding into my designer dress, surrounded by the smell of lavender soap and betrayal.

I lay there for ten minutes, waiting for the black spots in my vision to clear.

Then, I dragged myself up.

I limped out the service exit, clutching my side. I needed to get to the car, but as I passed the private smoking lounge, I heard voices.

"You can't keep doing this, Dante." Matteo.

"She slapped Sofia," Dante said. "She's out of control."

"Sofia slapped herself. You know it. I know it. And you just threw a woman who saved your life into a sink."

"I have to protect Sofia. She is the mother of my dynasty."

I froze in the shadows, pressing myself against the wall.

"What are you talking about?" Matteo asked.

"Sofia and I are trying," Dante said. His voice was calm, terrifyingly matter-of-fact.

"We are going to have a son. A pureblood heir. Elena... Elena is comfortable. She manages the books well. I'll marry her to keep her father's soldiers, but she will never carry my child again. The heir comes from Sofia."

"You are sick," Matteo said. "Elena will leave you."

"She is my property," Dante laughed, the sound dark and low. "She will never know. And even if she did, she loves me too much to leave."

I pulled out my phone. My hand was steady now. The pain gave me a strange, icy clarity.

I recorded the last ten seconds.

She is my property. She will never know.

I stopped the recording. I saved it to the cloud.

I didn't go back to the party.

I walked out into the night, the blood drying sticky on my skin, and for the first time in years, I finally felt clean.