Luca POV:
The black Rolls Royce stopped smoothly under the grand awning of Le Bernardin in Manhattan.
The doorman rushed forward with a massive umbrella, pulling the heavy door open. Matteo and I stepped out into the freezing rain. I tugged at the cuffs of my suit, trying to shake off the damp chill of the motel. This restaurant was the absolute peak of high society, a place even the Chicago elite struggled to book.
I looked at the glass double doors. The restaurant was completely empty of civilians. Instead, two rows of New York Outfit elites stood at attention, their tailored jackets bulging with concealed weapons.
I took a deep breath. I touched the velvet ring box in my pocket to anchor myself. I pushed the glass doors open.
The brilliant light of the crystal chandeliers blinded me for a second after sitting in that dark motel all day.
Then, my eyes adjusted.
In the exact center of the empty dining room, sitting at a table set with fine silver, was a woman.
She was wearing a breathtaking emerald-green velvet dress. It was completely backless. The fabric dipped dangerously low, boldly displaying the jagged, violent silver burn scar that stretched across her shoulder blade.
The moment I saw that scar, it felt like a sledgehammer slammed into my chest. My eyes instantly burned with hot tears. It was the physical proof of my cowardice, but to her, it was a badge of honor.
It was my Elena. The girl I thought was still crying in the mud.
Matteo let out a choked breath beside me. He leaned heavily on his crutch, his eyes dropping to the floor in overwhelming shame.
I took a desperate step forward. "Little bird," I croaked, using her old Chicago nickname. My voice cracked.
The woman slowly turned her head. She held a crystal glass of red wine. Her eyes met mine, and they were completely, utterly dead. She looked at me the way a person looks at a blank wall.
My footsteps faltered. My mind raced, trying to rationalize it. She was just angry. She was playing hard to get.
I forced a desperate, loving smile onto my face and took another step toward her.
That was when I noticed the shadow sitting across the table from her.
He wore a pitch-black, hand-tailored suit. He was leaning back lazily in his chair, twirling a solid silver steak knife between his long fingers.
Dante Moretti lifted his eyes.
The sheer, suffocating weight of his aura slammed into me. It was the look of an apex predator who had slaughtered hundreds of men. It was a terrifying, absolute suppression that made the Chicago Underboss look like a child.
I froze in my tracks. Pure fear spiked in my veins.
Then, I saw the way Dante looked at Elena. It wasn't just protective; it was a dark, sick, consuming possessiveness.
Jealousy and panic exploded in my brain, instantly overriding my fear. My property. He was looking at my property.
"Elena!" I screamed, lunging forward, reaching my hand out to grab her. "Why are you sitting with this monster?!"
I didn't even make it within ten feet of the table.
A bodyguard the size of a tank materialized from my blind spot. He didn't reach for his gun. He didn't need to.
His massive hand clamped around my throat like a vice. With one effortless motion, he lifted my entire body off the carpet.
My feet kicked wildly in the air. My face instantly flushed dark purple as my windpipe crushed. I slammed my fists against his arm, but it was like punching solid iron.
"Luca!" Matteo yelled. He raised his crutch to hit the guard.
Another bodyguard stepped out of the shadows. He delivered a brutal, sweeping kick directly to Matteo’s prosthetic knee joint.
Matteo screamed as his remaining balance was destroyed. He crashed hard onto the expensive carpet, his crutch clattering away.
Through my blurring, oxygen-starved vision, I looked at Elena.
She didn't flinch. Her eyelashes didn't even flutter. She calmly brought the crystal glass to her lips and took a slow sip of red wine.
Dante stopped twirling the knife. He dropped it onto his porcelain plate. *Clink.*
The bodyguard instantly opened his hand, slamming me face-first into the floor like a bag of garbage.
I coughed violently, gasping for air, my lungs burning. I pushed myself up on my elbows, looking up at the two of them on their thrones.
I stared into Elena’s flat, emotionless eyes. The horrifying truth finally pierced my delusion. My princess was gone. She was someone else's Queen.
"Elena," I wheezed, blood dripping from my lip. "Elena, tell me he forced you!"
