Too Late To Beg: The Scapegoat's Revenge

In my previous life, I spent every waking moment cleaning up the messes of Dante Moretti, the heir to the Chicago Outfit.

I dragged him away from drugs and strippers just so he wouldn't miss his Initiation Ceremony.

Because of my loyalty, he became a Made Man.

But a year later, when he needed a scapegoat for his own incompetence, he didn't thank me.

He framed me for being a rat.

I was forced to watch my parents executed in front of me before I was thrown into a freezing solitary cell to rot.

The last thing I felt was the biting cold leeching the life from my body while he continued to live like a king.

I died realizing my love was just a weapon he used against me.

But when I blinked, the suffocating darkness dissolved into blinding strobe lights.

I was back in the club.

It was the night before his Initiation.

Dante stood in front of me, high and arrogant, demanding his car keys so he could go see a stripper named Roxy instead of preparing for his oath.

In the past, I begged him to stay. I saved his reputation.

This time, I looked at the man who murdered me and felt nothing but ice.

I pressed the keys into his hand.

"Go," I said, condemning him to his own destruction.

"Have the night of your life, Dante."

Chapter 1

Elena Vitiello POV

The last sensation I felt was the biting cold of a solitary confinement cell leeching the warmth from my dying body, but the first thing I hear is the deafening bass of the club thumping against the chest of the man who murdered me.

I blink, and the suffocating darkness of the dungeon dissolves into a blinding assault of strobe lights.

Standing in front of me is Dante Moretti.

He is the heir to the most ruthless Capo in the Chicago Outfit, a man whose hands are stained with enough blood to paint the city red.

He leans against the bar with that lethal, arrogant grace that makes women weak and men tremble.

His shirt is unbuttoned halfway, revealing the ink that marks his kills.

He stands like a king surveying his kingdom, radiating a raw, predatory power that demands submission.

In my previous life, I loved him.

In that previous life, I spent the next twenty-four hours saving him from himself, dragging him away from the drugs and the stripper named Roxy so he wouldn't miss his Initiation Ceremony.

Because of that act of loyalty, he became a Made Man.

And because of that act of loyalty, when he needed a scapegoat for his own incompetence a year later, he framed me for being a rat.

I watched my parents executed in front of me.

I rotted in a hole until my heart stopped.

"Earth to Elena." Dante snaps his fingers in front of my face, his grin crooked and cruel. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

I have. I am looking at one.

The air smells of expensive whiskey and cheap perfume, a stark contrast to the stench of rot and urine that filled my nose mere seconds ago.

My wrists feel light.

I look down. No shackles. Just my pale skin.

"I said, give me the keys," Dante demands, extending a hand that feels heavy with the weight of my future execution. "Roxy has a surprise for me. Don't be a buzzkill just because you're jealous."

His Enforcers, Luca and Marco, snicker behind him.

"Yeah, Elena, don't be a prude. Let the Prince have his fun before he takes the Oath."

In the past, this was the moment I would have begged.

This was the moment I would have grabbed his arm and pleaded with him to think about his father, the Capo, and the honor of the Family.

I remember the sting of his rejection, the way he mocked my concern.

I look at his eyes. They are already glassy, dilated with the anticipation of the drugs Roxy has waiting for him.

I know exactly what happens tonight.

He goes to Roxy. She drugs him to make him miss the ceremony on orders from a rival family.

If I stop him, he becomes powerful enough to kill me.

If I let him go, he destroys himself.

A cold, unfamiliar smile stretches across my lips. It feels like armor.

I reach into my purse.

The metal of the car keys digs into my palm.

"You're right," I say, my voice steady, devoid of the tremor that used to define my interactions with him.

Dante looks surprised. He expected a lecture. He expected tears.

"I am?" he asks, blinking.

"It's your last night of freedom," I say, pressing the keys into his hand. "Go. Have the night of your life, Dante."

He stares at me for a second, searching for the catch, but the drugs in his system are already making him impatient.

He closes his fist around the keys.

"Finally," he sneers, turning his back on me. "At least you learned your place."

He walks away, flanked by his men, heading toward the exit and toward his own destruction.

I watch him go.

I don't feel love. I don't feel hate.

I just feel the phantom pain of a bullet in my father's chest, and I know that tonight, the old Elena died in that cell.

I pick up my drink and take a sip.

It tastes like vengeance.

Elena Vitiello POV:

The morning sun sliced through the blinds of the Family training center, blinding and unforgiving.

I continued packing my bag, my movements methodical despite the tightness in my chest.

Dante wasn't supposed to be here. By all rights, he should have been passed out in Roxy's bed, sleeping through the alarm meant to wake him for the most important day of his life.

But of course, he decided to stop by before heading to the "after-party."

He breached the classroom like he owned the very foundations of the building, kicking the door open with a violence that rattled the frame.

He was still high from last night, his eyes bloodshot and wild, his shirt rumpled against his chest.

He thinks he has time. He thinks the world waits for Dante Moretti.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked, stepping in to block my path.

I clutched my bag tighter. Inside lay my Letter of Recommendation for the legitimate Legal Division.

It was my ticket out. It was the result of four years of being the top student, the "math prodigy" the Family liked to exploit but never respect.

In my past life, I had given this up to run his books, to clean his messes.

"I have an appointment with the Consigliere," I said, trying to step around him.

He snatched my arm. His grip was bruising.

"You think you're better than us?" he hissed, invading my personal space. "You think you can just walk away into the clean world while we do the dirty work?"

"It's just a job placement, Dante."

"It's a betrayal," he spat.

He yanked the bag from my shoulder with enough force to make me stumble.

I lunged for it, panic flaring in my chest-or at least, the performance of it. "Dante, give it back."

He laughed, a dark, jagged sound, digging through the contents until he found the crisp, ivory envelope.

The seal of the University was embossed in gold, shimmering in the harsh light.

"This?" he waved it in the air mockingly. "This is what you care about?"

"It's my future," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"Your future is where I say it is," he countered.

He looked me dead in the eye, challenging me to fight him, to scream, to be the emotional wreck he fed on.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he began to tear the envelope in half.

The sound of the thick paper ripping was louder than a gunshot in the quiet room.

He shredded it again, and again, until my ticket to freedom was nothing but ivory confetti on the linoleum floor.

He threw the pieces in my face.

"Oops," he said, his eyes glinting with malicious innocence. "Looks like you're staying."

My hands trembled at my sides.

The old Elena would be crying by now. She would be on her knees, trying to tape the pieces back together in a desperate attempt to salvage her dreams.

But I just watched the paper settle on the ground.

Because I knew something he didn't.

I knew that the Legal Division was scheduled to be raided by the FBI in exactly three weeks. Everyone in that department would be indicted.

By destroying that letter, he hadn't just trapped me; he had unwittingly given me the perfect alibi. He just saved me from a federal prison sentence.

He thinks he broke me. He thinks he just clipped the canary's wings.

I looked up at him, my eyes bone dry.

"Are you done?" I asked.

Dante's smile faltered. He couldn't understand why I wasn't broken.

"Get out of my face," he growled, unsettled by my lack of reaction.

He stormed out, his entourage trailing behind him like loyal dogs.

I knelt down, but not to fix the letter.

I picked up the pieces and dropped them into the trash can.

Composing myself, I walked down the hall to the Consigliere's office.

I knocked three times.

The door opened. The Consigliere, a man of ice and iron, looked at me.

"I've changed my mind," I told him, injecting a tremor of defeat into my voice. "I don't want the Legal placement. I want the assignment in the remote Accounting branch."

It was a quiet job. Unnoticed. Vital.

It was the perfect place to hide assets, to move my parents' money, and to prepare for war.

The Consigliere nodded, impressed by my sudden humility.

"Smart choice, Elena."

I walked out of the building.

Dante thinks he trapped me in the underworld.

He has no idea he just locked himself in the cage with the predator.

Elena Vitiello POV

The silence in the Don's estate is heavy, suffocating, like the air before a storm breaks.

It is Initiation Day.

The great hall is filled with Made Men in black suits, the air thick with stale cigar smoke and the cloying scent of expensive cologne.

The Don sits at the head of the long table, his face a mask of granite.

Beside him, the Capo-Dante's father-is sweating.

He keeps checking his watch. He keeps glancing at the heavy oak doors.

They are waiting for Dante.

And Dante is not here.

I stand in the back with the other Associates and family members, my hands clasped demurely in front of me.

My mother grips my arm, her fingers digging painfully into my skin.

"Where is he?" she whispers, terrified. "Elena, do you know?"

"No, Mama," I lie smoothly. "I haven't seen him since yesterday."

Last night, the Capo had banged on our door, demanding to know where his son was.

I told him the truth: I gave him his keys, and he left.

I didn't tell him where he was going. That wasn't my job.

The clock on the wall ticks.

Ten minutes past the start time.

Twenty minutes.

The Don taps his heavy signet ring against the mahogany table. Click. Click. Click.

It is the sound of a death sentence.

To be late for your own Initiation is an insult. To miss it entirely is treason.

The Capo stands up, his voice shaking. "Don Salvatore, please. There must be an accident. My son would never-"

The doors crash open.

Every head turns.

Dante stumbles in.

He is a wreck. His shirt is torn open, missing buttons; his hair is wild, and he reeks of stale alcohol and sex.

He can barely walk in a straight line.

The silence in the room transforms into shock, then curdles into disgust.

He missed the Blood Oath because he was hungover.

The Capo's wife, Dante's mother, lets out a choked sob and covers her mouth.

The Capo looks like he wants to shoot his own son right there.

Dante blinks, the bright lights of the chandelier hurting his eyes. He looks around, realizing too late the gravity of his mistake.

He sees the Don's cold stare. He sees his father's murderous rage.

Sheer panic floods his face. He needs an excuse. He needs a victim.

His eyes scan the room frantically until they land on me.

I am standing still, watching him with the same impassive expression I've worn since I woke up.

He points a shaking finger at me.

"Her!" he screams, his voice cracking.

The room gasps.

"She did this!" Dante yells, stumbling forward. "She was jealous! She drugged my drink! She locked me in a hotel room and tried to seduce me!"

My father steps in front of me, his face going pale.

"Dante, what are you saying?" my father asks.

"She's a whore!" Dante roars, desperate to shift the blame, desperate to save his own skin at the cost of my life. "She tried to blackmail me into marrying her so she could be a Capo's wife! When I refused, she drugged me!"

The accusation hangs in the air, heavy and poisonous.

In the Mafia, seducing a Made Man-or a future one-against his will, and causing him to dishonor the Don, is punishable by death.

He isn't just ruining my reputation.

He is signing my death warrant.