Elena Vitiello POV:
The sun dipped below the skyline, leaving the living room bathed in the orange glow of the streetlights outside. I sat on the couch, leaning over the coffee table. Spread out before me was a massive, hand-drawn map of the Moretti family's power structure.
Heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed from the hallway outside.
My hand froze, the pen hovering over the paper. Five years of living together meant my body recognized the exact cadence of his walk. My muscles tightened instinctively.
Keys jingled. The lock turned, the rusty cylinder letting out a sharp click.
The door pushed open. Dante stepped into the narrow entryway, bringing a rush of cold air and heavy exhaustion with him. He didn't even knock.
I flipped the map over on the table instantly. I stood up, crossing my arms, and stared coldly at the man who had abandoned me at the altar twenty-four hours ago.
Dante shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it onto the shoe cabinet. He loosened his silk tie, his eyes completely ignoring the hostile glare I was giving him as he walked straight into the living room.
He stepped up to the couch and reached out his arms, a natural, ingrained motion to pull me into a hug, acting as if the canceled wedding was just a minor scheduling error.
I took a sharp step backward. Dante's hands stopped in mid-air. His thick eyebrows pulled together in deep annoyance.
As he stood there, a cloying, sickeningly sweet scent of rose perfume hit my nose. It was heavy, overpowering his usual cedarwood. Sofia's favorite scent.
My stomach rolled violently. The nausea hit me so hard I had to turn my head away, bringing the back of my hand up to cover my mouth and nose.
Dante dropped his arms. "I made time in my schedule to come see you, Elena. Don't throw a tantrum."
A harsh laugh ripped from my throat. "You abandon your bride at the altar, and you have the nerve to stand in my apartment and demand gratitude?"
His jaw tightened. "Sofia just woke up. Her emotions are highly unstable. I am simply fulfilling my duty as a brother."
I stared right at his collar. Smeared against the crisp white fabric was a faint but undeniable smudge of pink lipstick.
"Fulfilling your duty?" I asked, my voice dropping to a deadly calm. "Does fulfilling your duty require moving her into the private villa that was supposed to be our home?"
Dante's eyes flickered away for a fraction of a second. He ran a hand through his dark hair, an aggressive, frustrated gesture meant to cover his guilt. "Stop being unreasonable. You know how fragile she is."
He turned his back on me and walked briskly toward the study. His hurried steps proved what I already knew—he wasn't here to comfort me.
I followed him to the doorway. I watched him pull open the bottom drawer of the heavy oak desk and dig out a thick manila folder stamped with a black and gold wax seal. It was the transfer deed for the Brooklyn port.
He tucked the folder under his arm and turned to leave, not even sparing me a second glance.
As he passed through the living room, he suddenly stopped. He looked over his shoulder, his blue eyes calculating and cold.
"You will visit Sofia at Margaret Private Hospital tomorrow," he ordered.
My eyes widened in disbelief. My fingernails dug so hard into my palms I felt the skin break. "Are you out of your mind?"
"She lost the last five years of her memory," Dante said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "She only remembers you as her best friend."
He took a step closer, his physical presence looming over me. "You will play the part of her best friend. You will not say a single word that might upset her. Do you understand?"
I looked up at his face. The man I had loved for five years was dead. In his place stood a selfish, cruel stranger. The last remnants of my affection turned to ash in my mouth.
I needed to know what was going on in that hospital. I had to find a weakness. I forced the burning hatred out of my eyes, relaxing my facial muscles into a blank, compliant mask.
"Fine," I said flatly.
Dante nodded, a satisfied smirk touching his lips. He reached out and patted the top of my head, a dismissive, patronizing gesture. "You have always been sensible, Elena."
The second his hand left my hair, I jerked my head to the side, my skin crawling as if a rat had crawled across it.
Dante didn't notice. He marched to the door, yanked it open, and slammed it shut behind him, fleeing the apartment like it was a prison cell.
The moment the lock clicked, I spun around and ran to the bathroom. I pumped three squirts of harsh liquid soap into my hands and scrubbed my hair where his fingers had touched me, rubbing the strands until my scalp burned.
I rinsed the soap away, watching the water swirl down the drain. I looked up at the mirror, my eyes practically glowing with malice. Let the white swan play her games. I wanted to see exactly what she was hiding.
"Sensible? I will show you exactly how terrifying my sensible side can be."
