Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Dante
The conference room was packed. The mid-year strategy meeting dragged on, two factions battling it out across the long table over competing development plans.
My head throbbed. The noise grated on me. Truth was, they were all just fighting for their own interests—whoever's proposal I picked would run point for the second half of the year, get promoted, and see a fat raise.
Just as I was feeling restless, my phone screen lit up. I picked it up and saw that the message was from Elena.
"Are you coming home for dinner?"
Her tone was soft. Things between us had shifted lately. I could feel my resistance to her weakening. She'd become what a wife should be—caring for me, taking care of the manor and Salvador, and—
Reminding me, every so often, that she wanted to give me an heir.
I waved Marco over. "You finish this meeting. Take notes and bring them to me."
Marco nodded. I grabbed my phone and got the hell out of that noisy room. Out in the empty hallway, I pressed one hand against the cold glass window, tapping my fingers against it.
I was debating whether to go home for dinner.
Elena's face floated into my mind—round, pale. She wasn't thin. Far from it. She had curves. That night I'd been drugged, yeah, I'd been pissed, but I couldn't deny—being with Elena had felt good.
She was soft. Full-figured in all the right ways. When my fingers touched her skin, it was like touching the finest silk in the world. And she smelled like flowers—not perfume, something natural, primal.
Heat stirred in my body. I cleared my throat and called her.
She picked up fast, her voice bright. "Dante, are you done?"
"No." I let exhaustion creep into my voice. "Company's slammed today. We're trying to convert those casinos we acquired into shopping centers. The proposal discussions are going nowhere."
I found myself telling her more than I meant to.
This kind of ordinary phone call with a wife—it was something I'd always wanted. Sure, I'd grown up under Salvador's iron fist, clawed my way up from the bottom through darkness and blood. But deep down, what I'd always craved was simple: a normal, happy family.
"I know you'll figure it out, Dante." Elena's voice was gentle, encouraging. Then, cautiously, "If you're tired, I'll make that mushroom soup you like tonight. I'll add some cream this time, make it richer... Want to try it?"
She thought she was being subtle. But I knew exactly what she really meant by asking me to come home for dinner.
All this woman thought about was producing an heir. What did she think I was? Some kind of breeding tool?
Irritation flared hot in my chest. "I'm not done yet. We'll see how tonight goes."
I hung up. My tie felt tight. It was fine a moment ago, but now I couldn't breathe.
Marco summarized the meeting for me. Both proposals were solid, but one about building new shopping centers had real potential—long-term profit for the company. I ran the numbers. Late into the night, I approved the second proposal.
By now, dinner at the manor would be over. Elena was probably in bed.
I stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at Manhattan's quiet night. Marco asked, "Back to the apartment?"
I shook my head and grabbed my coat. "The manor."
Late-night New York streets were empty. The headlights carved two straight beams across the asphalt. I leaned back in my seat, eyes closed, thoughts scattered—Elena's text, the carefulness in her voice, the irrational irritation I'd felt hanging up on her.
At the manor, the whole place had gone quiet. One floor lamp glowed in the living room, warm yellow light pooling on the dark marble. Lucia came out, surprised to see me. "Dante, you're back? Should I prepare dinner?"
I waved her off. "No."
I headed for my bedroom. On the second floor, the hallway was silent, but Salvador's door wasn't fully closed. Light spilled through the crack. Voices inside.
I stopped.
"Tell me—why haven't you made any progress?"
Salvador's voice. Strained, labored, punctuated by ragged breathing. Weaker than before, but that accusatory tone hadn't changed.
I started to walk away. But my feet wouldn't move. Something pulled me back. I stepped closer to the wall, staying out of sight of the doorway.
"I've tried." Elena's voice. Calmer than I expected.
"Tried? Dante barely comes home. You think I don't know?" Salvador let out a cold snort. "I told you to use your head. What's a woman's greatest advantage? Do I need to spell it out?"
"I know." Elena cut him off.
Salvador went silent. Probably shocked she'd interrupted him.
"Mr. Morreti, you're giving me too much credit.
" Elena's voice stayed even, almost self-mocking.
"Dante is the Don of the Moretti family.
He controls New York's entire underworld.
I'm just a wife he doesn't even want. The only thing I can do is dress up and tell him I'm ready.
But if he doesn't want to, what am I supposed to do? Hold a knife to his throat?"
Salvador let out an angry grunt, like he was too furious to speak. For some reason, imagining him speechless gave me a twisted satisfaction. He thought he controlled everything. But in the end, he lost to my defiance.
"One more thing." Elena continued, her voice still soft, but the words rebellious.
"If it came down to force, I couldn't take Dante anyway.
He could lift me with one hand. No matter how clever I am, I can't challenge a Don's authority.
Mr. Morreti, I can do everything within my power.
But making a baby isn't something I can do alone. "
The hallway went dead quiet. I could hear the grandfather clock ticking downstairs.
I expected Salvador to explode. But he didn't. He coughed violently, wheezing like a broken bellows, finally choking out, "Get out!"
Elena seemed to tuck him in, pour him water for the night. "Rest well, Mr. Morreti."
Footsteps approached the door. I stepped back, slipping into the shadows around the corner.
Elena came out, closing the door gently behind her. She didn't leave right away. She stood there for a few seconds, smoothing her hair, then let out a long breath—like someone who'd just dodged a bullet.
She climbed the stairs to the third floor. When she passed my hiding spot, she didn't see me. She kept her head down, moving at an unhurried pace. Her hair had come loose from its bun, a few strands falling around her face. She wore a faded cotton dress. She didn't look like a Don's wife at all.
I didn't go to my room right away. I stood there, thinking.
Elena's tone with Salvador was telling. Respectful but distant. Obedient but defiant. That wasn't how conspirators spoke to each other. It wasn't even how someone who owed a debt spoke to their benefactor.
That last line of hers had shut Salvador down completely.
I was curious now. Was this woman really Salvador's pawn?
If she was, she should be playing along with him, not pissing him off until he coughed.
I went back to the bedroom, questions swirling. Elena was in the shower. I paced the room. The walk-in closet and vanity were piled with things—designer brands, haute couture pieces you couldn't even buy in stores, reserved only for the most elite families.
But all of it was untouched. She hadn't worn a single dress. Hadn't put on a single piece of jewelry.
The bathroom door opened. I turned. Elena stood there in just a towel, her wet hair wrapped loosely in a hair cap. Her expression was stunned. "Dante, you're back?"
She wore nothing but that towel and her wedding ring. She looked almost bare. The towel wasn't even tied properly—it barely covered what it needed to. I noticed her flustered expression but didn't look away. I walked toward her.
The closer I got, the clearer she became. Defined collarbones. Full shoulders. A slender neck, almost glowing white. Two long legs pressed together nervously. Even her toes curled.
Elena looked shy or panicked—I couldn't tell which. She backed up. I raised my hand. She suddenly squeezed her eyes shut, her upper body shrinking back defensively, like I was about to slap her.
Was she out of her mind?
I pulled a strand of hair from her mouth, my tone annoyed. "Why are you such a mess? Your hair's all over the place."
She slowly opened her eyes, realizing she'd misread me. Her face flushed red. "I thought you weren't coming back, so I didn't really... fix myself up."
"I'm just here to grab a file. Then I'm leaving." I watched her expression. When she heard I was leaving, disappointment flickered across her face. I couldn't help smirking. "What, hoping I'd stay? Make a baby with you?"
The words came out sounding crude. I watched her reaction—from embarrassed to hesitant to determined. She met my eyes. "Can we?"
God, she was adorable. I laughed and tapped her forehead. "No!"
She winced, covering her head. "What file do you need? I can help you find it."
"An old one. A shopping center design proposal with architectural blueprints." I knew exactly where it was, but watching her so eager to help—I wanted to mess with her.
Elena tightened the towel, securing it at her chest, and stood on her toes searching the bookshelf. Her bare arms moved across the dark wood. The contrast—black shelves, white skin—was intoxicating.
I felt my body starting to react. I coughed and grabbed the file. "Found it."
Elena looked at me, surprised. "Oh. Good."
Her hands clutched at her chest, barely covering herself. Honestly, she looked more tempting now than when she'd kissed me that first time.
"Get some sleep. I'm heading back to Manhattan."
I tore my gaze away and got the hell out of that room before I lost control.
Out in the garden, the cool night air calmed the heat building inside me. Marco came up. "Thought we were staying at the manor?"
"Back to the apartment." My moods were all over the place. Marco was used to it by now. We headed back toward Manhattan.
In the car, I told Marco to look into Elena's family. "Focus on debts, enemies, anything like that. I think Salvador's holding something over her. That's why she's going along with this."
Marco paused. "Didn't Mr. Morreti already give you a file?"
"I want the real story, not whatever Salvador fed me." I cut him off. "Her parents—what they do, if she has siblings, where she grew up, why she came to work at the manor. Check everything."
Marco glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "You think Salvador's file is fake?"
"I think everything that goes through Salvador's hands is fake," I said. "He's hiding something critical. Dig deep. Make sure the information's real."
Marco nodded. "Got it. When do you need it?"
"As soon as possible."
Marco's hands tightened on the wheel. "Dante, we're stretched thin. The guys looking for Valentina in Mexico haven't come back yet. If I'm checking into Elena now, which is more important—her or finding Valentina?"
Valentina.
The name hit me like a punch. I hadn't thought about her in a while. Last time was before the wedding. Back then, I thought finding Valentina would solve everything.
But now it was done. Elena and I were married. Even if Valentina came back, I couldn't promise her anything.
"Elena's more important."
The words came out before I could think.
To cover how strange that sounded, I added, "We need to figure her out first. Get rid of Salvador's plant. Then when Valentina comes back, there won't be any complications."
Marco didn't say anything. Just nodded. The car went quiet again.
I stared out the window at the blurred cityscape rushing past. That last sentence felt ridiculous. I'd said it to Marco—but really, I was saying it to myself. And I wasn't sure how much of it I believed.