Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dante
Elena asked me if I loved her.
What a damn question. Ever since I found out she was pregnant and left the manor, I'd been losing my mind. I'd cornered Luca Lombardi, nearly hurt his mother, abandoned my family and business—the most important things in my life—and raced to her side to beg her to come back.
And she asked me if I loved her?
My right hand clenched tight, but I didn't want to show her my temper again. I unclenched my fist, walked over to Elena, and sat down on the doorstep beside her, mimicking her casual posture.
She glanced at me, surprised. I met her gaze. "Elena, that's a stupid question."
Elena's eyes flickered with uncertainty.
I said quietly, "Of course I love you. If I didn't care about you, didn't love you, then whether you were hurt, where you were taking our child—none of it would matter to me.
I wouldn't have dropped everything to find you.
But here I am, right in front of you. Isn't that the best answer I could give? "
I watched tears pool in her beautiful eyes, making them glisten.
I pulled her soft body into my arms, resting my chin on top of her head.
"I don't know exactly when I fell in love with you.
Maybe it was when you got humiliated at the wedding but didn't cry.
Maybe when you said you wanted to give me a child.
Maybe that night when you took care of me after I was hurt... "
I held her tighter. "When I saw you with Luca, I went insane with jealousy. I've never wanted to possess someone like that before. To ease my pain, I did something stupid—bringing Valentina back to the manor."
"But please believe me." I almost begged her. "I love you. You'll always be my wife."
Elena's head rested against my shoulder, her hands hanging at her sides, slightly clenched.
"Elena, who is he?"
Maggie appeared from around the street corner, carrying an insulated thermos. She looked surprised to see me. Elena immediately pushed away from me and stood up, flustered.
"He's..." Elena didn't know how to introduce me. She struggled for a long time without saying anything.
I recognized the middle-aged woman as Elena's mother from the photos in the file Marco had given me.
I stepped forward and extended my hand. "Hello, I'm Dante Moretti, Elena's husband."
Maggie's eyes went wide. She looked at me, then at Elena, reading the confirmation in her daughter's expression. Mrs. Clark didn't give me a warm welcome.
She immediately stepped between me and Elena, gripping the thermos like she wanted to smash it into my face.
I sensed her hostility. Elena must have told her everything. But I couldn't push back hard. I called out, "Mrs. Clark."
Maggie froze, her mouth falling open. She probably never expected this well-dressed man to humble himself like this.
Maggie pressed her lips together. She handed the thermos to Elena and pulled her aside. The two spoke in low voices. I couldn't hear what they said, but when Maggie looked back at me, she didn't seem as guarded.
Elena held Maggie's hand and talked to her. Maggie looked less tense.
When Maggie came back, she brought Elena into the shop and warned me, "I won't let you take my daughter away, no matter how powerful you are in New York. I'll protect my child. We're having dinner now. You need to leave."
She was kicking me out.
Inside was a clean little table. Elena opened the thermos—Maggie had made corn tortillas and stewed beans. She picked up a fork, then turned to look at me.
I didn't want to leave. God knows how much I wanted to stay by her side.
"I'll paint your walls." I walked over, rolled up my sleeves to my elbows, and picked up the paint bucket from the corner.
Elena refused. "Dante, I don't need your help. Please leave. I need time alone to think."
But I pretended not to hear.
I stepped onto the stool, dipped into the paint, and continued where she'd left off that afternoon. I could feel Elena's gaze on my back. I turned to look at her. "Eat properly. You're carrying our child. Leave this to me. I'll help you get this shop fixed up."
After Maggie and Elena finished eating, Elena sent Maggie home to rest. Maggie held her back and glanced at me. "What about you? Is he taking you back to New York?"
"No, Mom," Elena reassured her softly. "Go on home."
Maggie left reluctantly. Elena watched her go, then walked over to me. "Have you eaten dinner?"
My hand with the paintbrush paused. "No. I was in too much of a hurry today. Didn't have time or appetite. You can't imagine how long I've been looking for you."
Elena sighed. "Dante, I'm not worth all this."
I didn't answer that question. I knew that no matter what I said right now, Elena wouldn't believe me, because her mind was still full of the ways I'd hurt her in the past.
I remembered what Luca had said—if you love someone, you can't force them. You let them choose.
"I'll show you with my actions." I stood in front of Elena and touched her face with the back of my clean hand. "Leave this to me. You're going to be a mother now. You shouldn't overwork yourself."
She looked better than she had at the manor—her complexion rosier. She seemed to want to say something but held back. Finally, with a look of resignation, she said, "Do what you want."
For the next week, I stayed at a nearby five-star hotel. Every morning I'd come straight here to help Elena renovate her shop.
At first, Elena and Maggie resisted my presence, but I didn't explain much. I just quietly helped assemble shelving and decorate the walls. I'd never done this kind of work before, but being near Elena—even sweating and exhausted—gave me a strange sense of happiness.
Elena worked at a design table nearby, making clothes. The surface was covered with sketches. She used chalk to mark lines on fabric, head down, her profile soft in the morning light.
I tightened the last screw and stood the wooden shelf upright, steady against the wall.
Elena didn't notice yet, still focused on comparing her designs. That afternoon, a strange man walked into the shop. Elena's expression softened when she saw him. "Diego, you came."
Diego?
Male instinct kicked in. I pulled Elena into my arms and extended my hand to the man. "Hello, I'm Elena's husband."
Diego adjusted his glasses and nodded politely, shaking my hand. "Hello, Diego Ramirez. I'm Luca's friend."
Luca.
At that name, my defenses went up. I squeezed Diego's hand tighter. He made an exaggerated sound and quickly pulled his hand away, shaking it in front of Elena. "Good God! Your husband is brutal!"
Elena laughed behind her hand. "Did you talk to that fabric wholesaler you mentioned? Can we pick up the goods today?"
Diego nodded, then looked at me. "Is he coming too?"
Before Elena could answer, I pulled her close by the waist. "Of course I'm staying with my wife."
Maggie stayed to watch the shop. Diego drove Elena and me to the fabric market.
The Vallarta market was nothing like New York.
No skyscrapers, no suits and ties—just row after row of open-air vendors. Colorful awnings stretched out like a vivid painting. The fabric wholesaler Diego mentioned was on the east side, his stall piled high with every color and type of fabric—cotton, linen, satin—stacked taller than a person.
Elena stood before those piles, carefully running her hands over each piece, feeling the texture and weight, completely focused. Finally she chose several: cream-colored linen, light blue cotton, deep green satin.
I knew business management, but nothing about fabrics. I gathered everything into my arms. "Elena, what are you making with these?"
"It's hot here. Sundresses sell best." She looked up at me, smiling. "And my shop's location is good. Business should be decent."
"If you need advertising and marketing, I can have the company's marketing department handle promotion for you." My voice was steady, but my body had started sweating, droplets running down my face.
Elena noticed and instinctively wiped the sweat away. When her hand touched my face—that gentle touch, her warmth that didn't belong to me—heat flooded my body.
I swallowed and stopped walking, looking at her.
Elena stopped too. I wanted to drop everything I was holding, pull her into some empty alley, and kiss her hard. She seemed to read the desire in my eyes. Her face flushed instantly. "We—we should get back!"
Diego drove us back to the shop. Before leaving, he told Elena, "Call me if you need help."
Ridiculous. I was the family Don, standing right here, and he still needed to fawn over my wife? I was about to send him packing when Elena smiled and waved. "Okay, I will."
His car pulled away. Anger flared in my chest. I grabbed Elena's wrist, pulled her inside the shop, slammed the door shut, and pressed her body against it.
"What are you—" Her words were cut off as I swallowed them.
I kissed her lips hungrily, breathing in that natural floral scent on her skin. Every pore in my body felt satisfied. She pushed lightly against me—that kind of resistance was practically foreplay.
"Trying to seduce me, Elena?"
My voice went rough. My hand slipped under her hem, kneading her soft flesh. Her body trembled slightly. She bit her lip, eyes glistening as she looked at me. "We shouldn't... Dante."
I kissed her again. "You're my wife."
She passively accepted everything I gave her, her whole body going soft. My hard cock pressed against her hip bone. Elena gasped and pushed me away. "We can't..."
I wanted to continue, but a car horn sounded outside. I had to stop, opened the door, and looked out. It was the delivery truck.
I'd ordered things for the shop. Since they were here, I had to cool down. Workers started unloading. Elena and I stood watching. She seemed surprised. "Did you buy all this?"
I crossed my arms. "Yes. You'll need it."
They unloaded a solid wood display case, two vintage brass wall lamps, a framed oil painting of the sea that matched the shop's warm white walls perfectly, and a full-length mirror with a carved walnut frame.
And a comfortable armchair—compact but relaxing for tired muscles.
I pointed at the chair. "You're pregnant. Your body will get uncomfortable. This chair is perfect for expectant mothers."
She looked at me with complicated emotions. After a long moment, she said, "Thank you."
The shop transformed quickly. Warm white walls, brass-colored lights, Elena's finished dresses hanging on the walls—the cream linen dress and light blue cotton sundress, their hems swaying gently in the breeze.