Chapter 6

Elena Rossi POV:

Sofia stood there like a benevolent queen offering crumbs to a peasant.

The puppy in the basket whined, its claws scratching frantically against the wicker.

I couldn't move.

My feet were nailed to the polished floor of the ballroom. The air in my lungs turned to concrete.

I wasn't seeing a cute puppy. I saw the snarling jaws of the guard dogs that had patrolled the perimeter when I was ten.

I saw the white teeth that tore into my calf while the guards laughed, betting on how fast I could run.

Dante knew this.

He was the one who had stitched me up back then, his hands clumsy but gentle, promising he would never let anything hurt me again.

Now he stood beside Sofia, his face a mask of impatience.

"Sofia, you are being generous," a woman in emerald silk whispered loudly. "She should be on her knees thanking you."

Sofia pouted, tilting her head with feigned innocence.

"Elena, don't be difficult," she said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Ari is a purebred. He costs more than your mother made in a lifetime."

"Take it," Dante said again.

His voice was a lash.

He wasn't looking at me. He was scanning the room, checking the reactions of his Capos and their wives. He was managing an asset.

I stepped forward.

My hands shook so badly I could barely lift my arms. I reached for the basket.

The puppy, sensing the terror radiating off me, yelped and scrambled up the side. Then, it leaped.

It didn't jump into my arms.

It bolted toward the buffet table behind us. The leash trailed behind it, snagging on the tablecloth.

The massive tower of crystal champagne glasses wobbled.

"Watch out!" someone screamed.

The world seemed to tilt.

I saw the tower tip. I saw the avalanche of glass and golden liquid descending.

I saw Dante move.

He didn't reach for me.

He didn't check to see if I was in the impact zone.

He threw his body over Sofia.

He wrapped his massive arms around her, shielding her silk dress, her perfect skin, and her future as the Donna.

The crash was deafening. Shards of crystal exploded outward like shrapnel.

I felt a sharp, hot sting across my cheek. Then a deeper, wet slice across my forearm.

I didn't flinch.

I just watched them.

Dante was hunched over her, acting as a human shield.

The room went silent, save for the soft dripping of spilled champagne.

Dante pulled back, his hands cupping Sofia's face.

"Did it touch you?" he demanded, his voice ragged with panic. "Sofia?"

"I'm okay," she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "You saved me."

He exhaled, resting his forehead against hers for a second.

Then he stood up, brushing glass from his suit. He turned.

And finally, he saw me.

Blood was dripping from my fingertips onto the pristine white marble. A long, jagged cut ran down my forearm.

Blood was also trickling down my cheek, mixing with the champagne that had splattered me.

Dante's eyes widened. For a split second, the mask slipped.

He took a step toward me.

"Elena-"

"Oh, look at the mess," Sofia interrupted, pointing at the floor.

The spell broke.

The guests started murmuring. Dante's jaw tightened. He looked at my bleeding arm, then at the watching crowd.

He made his choice.

"Marco," he barked. "Get a soldier to take Elena to the ER."

He turned his back on me.

He offered his arm to Sofia.

"Come," he said to her. "Let's get you out of this chaos."

He walked her away. He walked her out of the ballroom, stepping over the shattered glass, leaving me bleeding in the center of the room while his people watched.

The soldier, a young kid named Luca, looked at me with pity.

"Miss Rossi," he said softly. "The car is out front."

I looked at the blood pooling at my feet. It was the same color as the wine Dante used to drink when he was blind.

"I don't need the car," I said.

My voice was dead.

I turned and walked toward the servant's exit.

I didn't need stitches.

I needed a plane ticket.