Elena Vitiello POV
The Moretti compound rose like a fortress of limestone and iron, ablaze with light against the ink-black sky.
Security was tight-a wall of black suits and earpieces-but they didn't dare stop me.
I was still the wife of the Underboss.
For now.
I drove my car straight up the winding drive and abandoned it at the foot of the front steps, deliberately blocking the grand entrance.
I stepped out.
The night air was biting, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from the house, but I didn't feel it.
Inside, the heavy bass of the music vibrated through the floorboards, a rhythmic thrum that matched the pounding in my blood.
I walked through the double doors.
The main hall was packed with Soldiers, Capos, and the high society of the underworld.
In the center of the room, Sofia was dancing on a table.
She was laughing, holding a bottle of champagne, surrounded by men who looked at her like she was a prize waiting to be claimed.
My father, Antonio, sat in a velvet chair nearby, smiling proudly at the spectacle.
Dante stood by the bar, watching Sofia with a look of possessive amusement.
The music died down as people noticed me.
The crowd parted.
I cut a path straight toward them.
I didn't walk like a victim.
I moved like a ghost who had clawed her way out of the grave.
"Elena," Dante said, his voice carrying across the silent room. "You're supposed to be at home."
"I found something at home," I said, my voice unnervingly steady. "A ghost story."
Sofia hopped down from the table.
She sashayed toward me, smelling of excess and rot.
"Oh, look," she sneered. "The mourning widow. Did you come to wish me a happy birthday, sister?"
"I came to wish you a long life in prison," I said.
The room gasped.
"Watch your mouth," Antonio barked, standing up abruptly. "You are embarrassing the Family."
"The Family?" I laughed. It sounded jagged, like broken glass. "You mean the Family that let this psychopath push Mom off the balcony?"
Silence.
Absolute, suffocating silence.
Sofia's face went pale, then red.
"You're crazy," she shrieked. "She jumped! She was a weak, pathetic bitch, just like you!"
"I have the video, Sofia. I saw you push her. And I saw you," I turned to Dante, "sell her justice for a piece of territory."
Dante didn't flinch.
He set his glass down.
He walked toward me, his movements fluid and lethal.
"You are hysterical," Dante said calmly. "Go home."
"No."
My father stepped forward.
He didn't hesitate.
He slapped me.
The force of it knocked my head back.
My cheek stung, but the pain was distant, dulled by the shock of betrayal.
"You ungrateful child," Antonio spat, his face twisted in disgust. "Sofia is the future of this family. You are nothing."
I tasted blood in my mouth.
I looked at Dante.
He hadn't moved to stop it.
He was the protector who never protected-only possessed.
"Is that how it works?" I asked Dante. "You let him hit me too?"
Dante grabbed my arm, his fingers digging right over the fresh wound he had carved.
I cried out.
He pulled me close, his voice a low hiss in my ear.
"You are making a scene, Elena. You are threatening my position."
"I'm threatening your lie."
He tightened his grip.
"Listen to me carefully. You will go to that microphone. You will apologize to your sister. You will say you are off your medication. You will bow to her."
"Or what?" I challenged him.
His eyes were black pits.
"Or I bulldoze the Vitiello mausoleum tonight."
My breath hitched.
"You wouldn't."
"I have the demolition crew on standby for the new construction project," he said, his tone devoid of mercy. "One call. The crypt goes. Your mother's bones end up in a landfill."
He released me and shoved me toward the stage.
"Decide, Elena. Your pride, or her peace."
