He Chose The Mistress Over His Queen

I was polishing a diamond engagement ring that cost more than a small island when I heard the truth.

My fiancé, the ruthless Don Dante Moretti, was telling his mistress I was nothing more than a glorified bank account.

But it wasn't until the accident that I understood the depth of his cruelty.

While training in the estate gym, a support cable snapped. I fell twenty feet, shattering my leg on impact.

Through the haze of blinding pain, I waited for Dante to save me.

Instead, he rushed to his mistress, Livia-the woman who had cut the wire.

He held her close, soothing her because the loud noise had "startled" her, while I lay broken and bleeding on the floor.

"She won't die," I heard him whisper to her later. "Pain is a good teacher."

My love for him turned to ice in that moment. He didn't just want my father's money; he was letting her plan my assassination to get it.

They thought I was just a porcelain doll to be discarded once the wedding contracts were signed.

They forgot that even a pawn can kill a king.

I wiped the tears from my face and walked straight into the territory of the Valenti Syndicate-Dante's sworn enemy.

"I don't want protection," I told the rival Don, placing the surveillance evidence on his table.

"I want to burn his entire dynasty to the ground."

Chapter 1

Elena POV

I was polishing the diamond engagement ring that cost more than a small island when I heard my fiancé tell his mistress I was nothing more than a glorified bank account.

But it wasn't until I realized he was letting her plan my assassination that I decided to burn his entire dynasty to the ground.

The ring sat heavy on my finger-a beautiful, glittering shackle.

I perched on the edge of the imported silk bed in the master suite of the Moretti estate. The room was cold. It was always cold here.

The walls were gilded in gold leaf and crushed velvet, yet they felt less like a home and more like the bars of a very expensive cage.

I glanced at the clock. Time for breakfast.

I rose and moved to the mirror. My reflection stared back at a woman who looked more like a porcelain doll than a person.

I was Elara, the dutiful fiancée. The Principessa.

I wore the Moretti blue because it was the color Dante liked. I avoided the floral perfume because he hated it. I had molded myself into a statue of perfection for a man who looked at me like I was a piece of furniture.

Three maids swept into the room. They bowed, but the gesture lacked respect.

"Good morning, Signorina," one said.

I could practically smell the disdain radiating off them-a sharp, metallic tang mixed with the scent of cheap laundry detergent. They knew. Everyone in this house knew.

"Don Dante requests your presence," the maid said, refusing to meet my eyes.

Her gaze remained fixed on the floor, likely to hide a smirk.

"Tell him I am coming," I replied. My voice was calm, even as I screamed on the inside.

I stepped out into the hallway. The estate was massive, a fortress built on blood and old money.

Don Dante Moretti was the King of this city. He controlled the streets, the politicians, and the bullets.

He was a god of war, a man who had slaughtered the entire Russian mob single-handedly three years ago to secure his borders. He was terrifying. He was beautiful. And he was supposed to be mine.

I passed the open windows. The lingering scent of gunpowder and expensive leather hung in the air. Dante.

But then another smell hit me. Cloying. Sweet. Like overripe peaches rotting in the sun mixed with heavy musk. Livia.

My stomach churned. I continued past the gardens.

Two soldiers stood guard by the fountain, smoking cigarettes. They didn't see me.

"The boss is in a mood today," one muttered.

"Livia kept him up all night," the other laughed.

My heart stopped.

"What about the Princess?" the first one asked.

"She's just a placeholder," the soldier spat, smoke curling from his lips. "A walking bank account. Once the Don gets her father's ports, she'll be nothing more than decoration. Livia is the real deal."

I froze in the shadow of a marble pillar.

A walking bank account.

The words cut deeper than any knife.

I forced my legs to move. I had to see him. I had to look him in the eye and find a shred of the man I thought loved me.

I reached his study. The heavy oak door was cracked open. I shouldn't have looked. But I did.

Dante sat in his massive leather chair, looking every bit the king on his throne. Dark hair, a jaw cut from granite, and eyes that could freeze water.

And Livia was perched on the arm of the chair. Her hand was tangled in his hair.

His hand rested high on her thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles on her skin. It was intimate. It was possessive.

"Does it bother you?" Livia asked, her voice a sultry purr. "The engagement party is next week."

Dante laughed. It was a cruel, hollow sound.

"Let the city celebrate," he said dismissively. "Elara is a political necessity. We need the shipping routes. That is all."

Livia leaned down, pressing a kiss to his neck. "And me?" she whispered.

Dante gripped her thigh tighter. "You are my obsession," he vowed. "You are my Queen."

My soul shattered.

I didn't make a sound as I backed away from the door.

My hands shook. My breath came in short, painful gasps.

I turned and ran. I fled down the hallway, past the smirking maids, past the gossiping soldiers.

I burst out the front gates and scrambled into my car.

I drove until the estate was nothing more than a speck in the rearview mirror. I parked on the edge of a cliff overlooking the city.

I looked down at the ring on my finger. It sparkled in the sunlight-a perfect, glittering lie.

"I will never love you again," I whispered to the empty sky.

The words tasted like ash on my tongue. But as I spoke them, something inside me shifted.

The sadness began to harden, calcifying into something cold. Something sharp.

I wasn't just a bank account. I was the daughter of the shipping magnate who fed this city.

Dante thought he was using me. He was about to find out that even a pawn can kill a king.

Elena POV

Sleep was a luxury I couldn't afford.

I spent the night staring at the ceiling, feeling the loyalty in my blood wither and die like dead leaves.

When the sun rose, I was a different person.

I chose a black dress.

It was the color of mourning, but I wasn't wearing it to grieve. I was wearing it for war.

With my head held high, I walked into the War Room.

The air was thick with cigar smoke and stale aggression.

Don Salvatore sat at the head of the table.

He was Dante's grandfather, the Consigliere. He looked like a benevolent old man, but his eyes were cold and unblinking, like a reptile waiting to strike.

Dante was there.

He looked up as I entered, irritation flashing across his features.

"Elena," he said, his tone dismissive. "We are in a meeting. Get out."

I didn't flinch.

I walked to the table and slammed a thick file down on the mahogany surface.

The sound echoed like a gunshot in the sudden silence.

"The engagement is over," I said.

My voice was steady, betraying none of the tremors inside me.

Silence descended on the room.

Don Salvatore chuckled, a dry, rasping sound.

"My dear," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "A Mafia union is a blood oath. You don't just cancel it like a magazine subscription."

"It's a business contract," I corrected him, locking eyes with the old man. "And your grandson has breached the terms."

Dante stood up.

He towered over me, casting a long shadow across the table.

"What are you talking about?" he growled.

I pointed at the file.

"My father controls sixty percent of the shipping containers you use for your northern smuggling routes," I said.

Dante's eyes narrowed.

"I have frozen your access," I continued, savoring the words. "As of this morning, the Moretti family is locked out of the ports."

The color drained from Dante's face.

"You wouldn't dare," he whispered.

"I just did," I said. "I want an annulment. I want safe passage out of this city. Or I will choke your revenue stream until you are begging on the street."

Don Salvatore looked at the file, flipping it open to see the embargo orders.

He realized the gravity of the threat.

"We need to consult the Commission," Salvatore said quickly, his demeanor shifting from arrogant to cautious. "Elena, be reasonable."

"I am being reasonable," I said. "I'm leaving."

I turned and walked out.

My heart was pounding against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of adrenaline.

I had just threatened the most dangerous men in the city.

And for the first time in years, I felt alive.

I walked down the hallway toward the exit.

The door to Dante's bedroom opened.

Livia stepped out.

She was wearing a silk robe that was too big for her-it was Dante's.

She smelled of sex and his cologne, a cloying mixture that turned my stomach.

She saw me and smiled.

It was a sweet, poisonous smile.

"Leaving so soon?" she asked.

"Get out of my way, Livia," I said.

"Dante kept me up all night," she bragged, leaning against the wall with performative exhaustion. "We had so much... family business to discuss."

She laughed.

I snapped.

I tried to walk past her, but she stepped in front of me.

I pushed her arm aside.

It was a gentle shove, just enough to get her out of my personal space.

But Livia seized the opportunity. She threw herself backward.

She hit the floor with a loud thud.

"Ow!" she screamed. "Elena! Stop!"

She curled into a ball, fake sobbing.

"Why did you push me?" she wailed.

Footsteps thundered down the hall.

Dante appeared.

He saw Livia on the floor.

He saw me standing over her.

He didn't ask what happened. He didn't look at me.

He rushed to Livia, kneeling beside her.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice tender.

"She pushed me," Livia sobbed into his chest. "I just said good morning."

Dante looked up at me.

His eyes were full of hate.

"What is wrong with you?" he shouted.

He used his Don's Voice-a tone honed to command absolute submission.

It usually made my knees weak.

Today, it just made me angry.

"She threw herself down," I said. "She's lying."

"Livia is fragile," Dante spat. "She is under my protection. You are bullying her because you are jealous."

"Jealous of a whore?" I asked, my voice dripping with disdain.

Dante stood up.

He got in my face, invading my space with menacing intent.

"Apologize," he ordered.

"No," I said.

"Apologize to her, Elena," he hissed. "Or you will regret it."

He was humiliating me.

He was choosing his mistress over his fiancée, over his business partner, over the truth.

I looked at Livia.

She was peeking out from behind her hands.

She was smirking.

I looked back at Dante.

"You are a fool," I said.

Dante grabbed my arm.

His grip was bruising.

"Get out of my sight," he said. "Go to your room. We will deal with your attitude later."

He shoved me away.

He turned back to Livia, lifting her into his arms like she was a broken bird.

He carried her away.

I stood alone in the hallway.

My arm throbbed where he had grabbed me.

I touched the spot, feeling the heat of the forming bruise.

"You will regret this, Dante," I whispered to the empty air.

"Today you chose her. Tomorrow, you lose everything."

Elena POV

I needed to feel something-anything-other than this suffocating emotional agony.

Desperate for a distraction, I went to the gym.

It was a massive facility located on the west wing of the estate, filled with state-of-the-art equipment that rivaled professional training centers.

Mechanically, I changed into my workout gear.

My hands were shaking, but I forced them to grip the rough ropes of the obstacle course. I needed to burn the frustration out of my blood.

I started to climb.

Physical pain was simpler, cleaner, easier to handle.

If my muscles burned, I didn't have to think about Dante carrying Livia away.

I reached the top of the rope and transitioned to the high-wire walk.

It was twenty feet above the mats-a dangerous drop, but I craved the focus it required.

I balanced carefully.

Then, below me, across the gym, I saw them.

Dante and Livia were at the archery range.

He was standing behind her, his large frame eclipsing hers as he adjusted her stance.

His chest was pressed firmly against her back.

He whispered something in her ear, and she giggled-a light, tinkling sound that echoed in the cavernous room.

Nausea rolled in my stomach, acidic and sharp.

I grit my teeth and focused on the wire.

One foot in front of the other.

I was halfway across when I heard it.

Snap.

It wasn't a gradual tearing sound.

It was sudden, violent, like a gunshot.

The main support cable gave way.

The wire dropped out from under me.

Gravity took over.

I fell.

Twenty feet is a long way down when you aren't expecting it.

I hit the mat.

Crack.

The sound of my own bone snapping was louder than the impact.

Agony exploded in my leg.

It blinded me, robbing the air from my lungs.

White hot pain shot up my spine.

I screamed.

It was a raw, animalistic sound that tore through my throat.

Through my blurred vision, I looked toward the archery range.

I expected Dante to be running toward me.

I expected him to be terrified.

But he wasn't looking at me.

He had turned to Livia.

Livia had dropped her bow and was clutching her chest, pretending to be startled by the noise of the cable snapping.

"Oh my god!" she shrieked. "That noise scared me!"

Dante wrapped his arms around her.

"It's okay," he soothed her. "It's just an accident. You're safe."

He was comforting her.

I was lying on the floor with a shattered leg, possibly bleeding internally, and he was comforting the woman who wasn't even scratched.

"Dante..." I choked out.

He finally looked over his shoulder.

He saw me on the floor.

He didn't run.

He walked.

He walked slowly, his face twisted with annoyance.

"Clumsy," he muttered as he got closer.

My spirit broke.

It wasn't the bone.

It was the indifference.

The Family Doctor rushed in a moment later.

He knelt beside me, cutting away my pant leg.

He looked up at the cable.

He frowned.

"This is a clean cut," the doctor whispered, his voice low so only I could hear. "This cable was sawed halfway through with a blade."

I froze.

I looked at Livia.

She was watching from a distance, a small smile playing on her lips.

She did this.

Darkness swarmed my vision, and I passed out from the pain.

When I woke up, I was in the infirmary.

My leg was in a cast.

I was groggy from the morphine, my head swimming in a heavy fog.

I heard voices.

Dante was standing by the window.

Livia was with him.

"Is she going to die?" Livia asked. She didn't sound worried. She sounded hopeful.

"No," Dante said.

He sounded cold.

"She won't die," he whispered. "This just reminds her who holds the real power. Pain is a good teacher."

I closed my eyes.

He knew.

He knew she had cut the cable.

He knew she had tried to kill me, or at least maim me.

And he was protecting her.

He was letting her get away with it.

The last ember of love I had for Dante turned to ice.

My heart didn't feel like flesh anymore.

It felt like a stone.

I lay there in the dark, listening to them leave.

I didn't cry.

I was done crying.

I made a promise to myself in that hospital bed.

I would heal.

And then I would hunt.