Chapter 3

Dante Moretti POV:

The silence that stretched between us was heavy, suffocating.

Elena's face paled for a fraction of a second, her carefully constructed mask slipping. But then she recovered, lifting her chin in a sharp display of defiance.

"It doesn't matter," she said, her voice hardening. "Our marriage was over a long time ago, Dante. You were always gone. Sicily, New York, Vegas. You were married to the mob, not to me."

"So you found comfort elsewhere," I said, my tone deceptively calm. "With him."

Julian stepped forward, squaring his shoulders in a poor imitation of dominance. He looked like a child trying to wear his father's armor.

"That's right," Julian bragged, a sneer curling his lip. "While you were in Sicily dealing with the families, I was here. Every night. In your house. In your bed."

He grabbed Elena and pulled her close, crushing his mouth against hers. It was a crude, possessive display, meant solely to humiliate me.

I watched them. I tracked the path of his hand as it slid down her back. I witnessed her melt into him, her loyalty evaporating like mist under the morning sun.

A fire ignited in my gut, searing and hot, but my face remained carved from stone. In my world, emotion is a weakness. Anger makes you sloppy. I needed to be precise.

When they pulled apart, Julian was grinning like a man who had already won.

"She loves me, Dante," he said. "She says I'm twice the man you are. And soon, I'll be the Underboss. Maybe even the Don, once we rebrand."

"Rebrand," I repeated flatly, testing the absurdity of the word.

"Yes," Elena said, breathless with the thrill of her own rebellion. "We're going to legitimize everything. No more violence. No more bodies. We're going to be a clean empire. And Julian is going to lead the security division."

I almost laughed. Julian couldn't secure a convenience store, let alone a global syndicate.

"You admit it then," I said, my voice dropping an octave. "You admit to adultery. You admit to treason."

"It's not treason if I'm the boss!" Elena shouted, her voice rising shrilly. "I own the casinos. I own the shipping lines. I tricked you into signing those power of attorney forms months ago. Remember? When you were sick?"

I remembered. A fever of 103 had been boiling my brain. She had brought me soup and papers, claiming they were tax documents. I had signed them because I trusted her.

Because she was my wife.

"You used my trust to steal from me," I said.

"I took what I deserved!" Elena cried, her hands balling into fists. "I was your doll for five years, Dante. 'Stand here, Elena.' 'Wear this, Elena.' 'Don't speak, Elena.' I am a person! And Julian sees me. He respects me."

"He respects the access codes to your bank account," I corrected darkly.

"Shut up!" Julian yelled, his face flushing. "You're just sore because you lost. Now, get out of my chair before I have the boys throw you out."

He gestured to the mercenaries. They took a step forward, hands hovering over their holsters.

"You want to remove me?" I asked softly. "Legally, I am still the owner. Nothing changes without my final signature on the dissolution agreement."

"Then sign it!" Elena slammed a leather folder onto the table, the sound cracking like a gunshot. "Sign it and leave. Or we will make you leave."

I opened the folder. The document was titled Transfer of Authority and Assets. It would strip me of everything. The title, the money, the territory.

I looked up at the Capos-the high-ranking captains-who had just entered the room silently through the back doors. They lined up against the far wall, their faces unreadable masks of experience.

"You called an audience," I said to Elena, closing the folder slowly.

"I called the shareholders," she corrected. "They need to witness the transition."

I looked at the Capos. Old men. Warriors. They had scars older than Julian himself.

"And where do you stand?" I asked them, my gaze sweeping the line.

Julian answered for them, arrogance dripping from every syllable. "They stand with the winner, Dante. They stand with us."