Elena POV
When I woke the next morning and walked into the bath chamber, the first thing I saw was a slip of unworn black lace, fallen from his carelessly tossed jacket and lying atop my own clothes in the laundry basket.
It was Sophia's deliberate mark of territory-a vicious postscript to the conversation I had overheard.
My gaze lingered on the flimsy fabric for three seconds. The stale perfume clinging to its edge stung my nostrils. I picked it up between two fingers, as one might a decaying rat, and dropped it into the rubbish bin.
I walked out to the kitchen, where Alessandro was standing by the stove.
He was cooking a lavish seafood porridge, its rich, savory steam filling the penthouse.
His sleeves were rolled up, his posture relaxed; he was playing the part of the devoted Underboss to perfection.
He set a steaming bowl on the dining table before me, offering a warm, deceptive smile.
I pushed the bowl away without breaking my gaze from his.
Instead, I picked up my tablet and silently reviewed my visa and extraction protocols under the guise of reading the morning's news.
Suddenly, Alessandro's telephone chimed on the marble counter.
He tapped the screen, and Sophia's sweet, provocative voice note filled the quiet room.
She complained of his roughness the night before, her tone dripping with a false innocence as she demanded he make it up to her.
Alessandro's dark eyes flashed with amusement.
Without a shred of shame, he pressed the microphone icon.
He recorded an explicit voice note back to her, his voice a low, gravelly purr.
He called her his little demon, murmuring promises of a private session later.
I sat motionless, a forced witness to this brazen exchange. The seafood porridge bubbled on the stove, steaming. I pressed my palm flat against the cold marble of the center island, using the stone's unyielding chill to force down the bile rising in my throat.
Looking at him, I realized this sick display of power had been happening before my very eyes for years.
Alessandro put his telephone down and looked at me, his demeanor shifting seamlessly back to that of the doting partner.
He noticed I had not touched my food.
With an effortless flick of his fingers, he signed, asking if I did not like it.
I looked down at the bowl.
Raising my own hands, I signed back that there was a bug in the food.
I held his gaze as I signed that it was tainted and utterly disgusting.
Annoyance flashed across Alessandro's handsome face, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
He grabbed the bowl and dumped the expensive food into the sink.
Turning back, he signed, asking if I wanted a sandwich instead.
I shook my head and stood.
I walked past the large wall calendar in the hallway.
Reaching out, I ripped off the page marking my final wedding dress fitting.
I dropped the crumpled paper into the trash bin.
The loud, harsh snap of the paper caught Alessandro's attention.
Even with my back to him, I could feel the focus of his eyes, a sudden, dangerous shift in the atmosphere of the penthouse.
His heavy footsteps echoed as he followed me down the hallway.
I stepped into the bedchamber and immediately began composing a message to the airline, confirming my one-way flight ticket.
I hit send and quickly locked the screen.
Alessandro pushed the door open just as I hid the device behind my back, his large frame invading my space.
His eyes were dark with suspicion.
He demanded to know who I was texting, his voice sharp.
My hands moved with a fluid calm as I signed that it was only a telemarketer.
