Elena POV
Seeking the only sanctuary I had left in this mausoleum of a house, I walked into my private study—only to find the perimeter had already been breached.
Vanessa was there.
She was ensconced in my leather armchair, legs curled under her like a cat claiming a sunbeam.
She was cradling one of my first-edition novels.
A cup of tea steamed on the coaster—*my* coaster, the one I had brought from my childhood home.
"Oh," she said, looking up. "I hope you don't mind. The light is just so much better in here."
She didn't get up.
She didn't close the book.
She looked up at me with wide, innocent eyes that barely masked a predator's satisfaction.
"It's my private study, Vanessa," I said.
"Dante said I could use any room I liked," she replied smoothly.
Before I could respond, the heavy oak door swung open.
Dante walked in.
He was buttoning his cuffs, his gun holster strapped over his crisp white shirt.
He barely glanced at me.
His eyes went straight to Vanessa.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked her.
"Yes," she sighed, sinking deeper into the leather. "It's so peaceful here."
I felt the air leave my lungs.
This was my space.
The one place I didn't have to be Mrs. Rossi.
And he had given it away without a second thought.
"Dante," I said, stepping into the invisible current flowing between them. "We need to discuss the investment in the port. The contracts are due."
Vanessa shifted in the chair.
"Do you remember the port in Capri, Dante?" she asked, her voice dreamy. "When Marco took us? The water was so blue."
Dante’s expression softened instantly.
The hard lines around his mouth relaxed.
"I remember," he said. "You wore that yellow dress."
I was invisible again.
I was standing three feet away from my husband, and I might as well have been on the moon.
They created a circuit of shared history and grief that I couldn't break.
I was the outsider.
I moved to my desk, pretending to organize papers so they wouldn't see my face.
I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
"I should go," Vanessa said after a moment, sensing she had made her point.
She stood up, leaving the book open, spine cracking, on the table.
She walked past Dante, her hand trailing possessively across his chest.
"Don't work too hard," she whispered.
When the door clicked shut, the silence was heavy.
Dante finally looked at me.
His eyes narrowed.
He was assessing me, like a general scanning a potential weak point in the line.
"You're quiet today," he said.
"Does it matter?" I asked, not looking up.
He crossed the room in two strides.
He gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him.
His fingers were calloused, warm.
For a second, my body betrayed me.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
I leaned into his touch, starving for a crumb of affection.
His thumb brushed my cheekbone.
"You are my wife, Elena," he said, his voice low, possessive. "Everything you are matters to the family."
To the family.
Not to him.
The revulsion hit me instantly, followed by a sharp, twisting cramp in my lower abdomen.
I gasped.
My hand flew to my stomach.
A wave of nausea rolled over me, turning the room gray.
"Elena?" Dante frowned.
He didn't look worried.
He looked annoyed that the conversation was being interrupted.
I gripped the edge of the desk until my knuckles turned white.
"I'm fine," I managed to say. "Just... indigestion."
I couldn't tell him.
If he knew about the baby now, while Vanessa was spiraling and he was distracted...
He would lock me away.
He would turn me into a prisoner for nine months.
Before he could press further, his phone buzzed.
He checked it.
His face hardened into the mask of the Capo.
"The shipment was intercepted," he said. "I have to go."
He released me.
He turned his back and walked to the door.
He didn't ask if I needed water.
He didn't ask if I needed a doctor.
Business called.
As he reached for the doorknob, he paused.
His eyes landed on the desk.
On the stack of papers I had shoved aside in my panic.
The modified legal draft was sticking out.
He walked back, snatching the paper before I could stop him.
"What is this?" he demanded.
He scanned the red ink.
He saw the crossed-out clauses regarding his rights to my assets.
"Preparing for a divorce, Elena?"
His voice was dangerous now.
Quiet.
Deadly.
I forced myself to stand straight, fighting the nausea.
"I am securing my future," I said coldly. "In our world, widows are common. I'm just being practical."
I refused to look away.
I refused to let him see the terror pounding in my chest.
"You are a Rossi," he said, crumpling the paper in his fist. "You have nothing that isn't mine."
"Dante!" Vanessa's voice called from the hallway. "They need you on the secure line!"
He threw the crumpled paper at my feet.
"We will finish this later," he warned.
He left.
I waited until his footsteps faded down the hall.
Then I bent down, picking up the crumpled ball of paper.
I smoothed it out.
My hands were shaking, but my resolve was iron.
I opened the hidden drawer in my desk.
I took out a burner phone and a passport I had bought from a forger three months ago.
I packed them into a small bag, along with the modified document.
I looked around the room that smelled of Vanessa’s perfume and Dante’s indifference.
"There won't be a later," I whispered.
