My assistant placed the envelope on my mahogany desk, her hand trembling. Everyone was on edge today. The shipment from the docks was late, and I was in a mood to break fingers.

I ripped the envelope open.

Divorce papers.

I stared at the document. It was signed. Elena Rossi. Not Vitiello.

I laughed. It was a harsh, barking sound that made my underboss flinch.

"She has lost her mind," I said, tossing the papers back onto the desk. "She thinks this is a game. She thinks she can divorce the Don of Chicago because I renovated a house."

Sienna was sitting on the leather sofa, flipping through a magazine. She looked up, feigning concern.

"Is it Elena again?" she asked. "She is just acting out, Dante. It's the hormones. Or lack thereof."

Her cruelty usually amused me. Today, it grated on my nerves.

I picked up my phone and dialed Elena.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

"Pick up," I growled.

Voicemail.

I grabbed my coat.

"Where are you going?" Sienna asked, standing up. "We have a lunch reservation."

"Cancel it," I said. "I am going to end this tantrum once and for all."

I drove to the estate. I was going to tear those papers up in her face. I was going to remind her that she belonged to me until I said otherwise.

I stormed into the house.

"Elena!" I shouted.

Silence.

The house felt different. Hollow. It echoed.

I walked into the living room. It was empty. Not just devoid of people, but devoid of life. The vases were gone. The throw pillows were gone.

I ran up the stairs.

The master bedroom was stripped. The closet doors were open, revealing bare racks. No clothes. No shoes. No perfume bottles on the vanity.

"She left," I whispered.

Rage boiled in my chest. She had actually run. She thought she could hide from me? I would burn down the entire state to find her.

I saw a journal on the desk. It was the only thing left in the room.

I picked it up. I recognized it. She used to write in it every night when we were first married.

I opened to the last page.

Dante, Goodbye.

I threw the book into the trash can.

"Coward," I spat.

My phone rang.

I answered it immediately, ready to unleash hell.

"Where are you?" I roared.

It wasn't Elena.

It was Giulia. And she was screaming.

"She's gone, you bastard! She's gone!"

I froze.

"Stop lying, Giulia. Tell me where you are hiding her."

"I'm not hiding her!" Giulia sobbed, the sound raw and broken. "She's dead! Elena is dead!"

I laughed again. It was a reflex. A defense mechanism.

"Nice try," I said. "Tell Elena the joke isn't funny."

"I am at the funeral home on 5th!" Giulia screamed. "Come sign the cremation papers, you son of a bitch!"

The line went dead.

I stood there. The phone felt slippery in my hand.

Dead?

Impossible. She was just jealous. She was just dramatic. She was mine.

My assistant walked in. "Boss, I tracked Mrs. Vitiello's phone."

"Where is it?" I demanded.

"The morgue, sir. St. Mary's Hospital."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis.

I didn't speak. I just ran.

I drove like a madman. I ran red lights. I mounted the curb to bypass traffic.

I pulled up to the funeral home. Giulia's car was there.

I slammed through the double doors. The receptionist looked up, terrified.

"Where is she?" I shouted.

Giulia stepped out of a viewing room down the hall. Her face was swollen from crying. She looked at me with pure hatred.

I pushed past her.

I walked into the room.

There was a table in the center. A white sheet covered a shape.

"No," I whispered.

I walked forward. My legs felt like they didn't belong to me.

I reached out and pulled the sheet back.

Chapter 7

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