I Took The Bullet He Lost His Mind

I was just a student who couldn't afford tuition. For five years, I was also the secret lover of Mafia Don Dante Costello. Publicly, I was his personal art restorer. In private, he spent his nights making me his, holding me close and kissing me breathless. Then his family arranged his engagement. To Isabella Rossi. A princess from a rival family. At their engagement party, Isabella stabbed the back of my hand with a shard of broken glass. He made me apologize. To her. For making a scene. Fighting back tears, I bowed my head to Isabella. When Isabella lost a bet and had to play Russian Roulette—one bullet, six chambers—he made me take her place. My hand shook as I raised the gun to my head. "You saved my life once," I told him. "Now you can have it back." The moment I vanished from his world, the ruthless Mafia Don who had everything under control...completely lost his mind. Chapter 1 For five years, I was two things: Don Dante Costello’s art restorer, and his secret. His lover. Then his family forced an engagement, and on the night of the party, I decided to leave the man I was never meant to have. "I quit." I handed my resignation to Antonio, his majordomo. "Are you sure?" Antonio looked surprised. "The Don has always been pleased with your work." Pleased? I almost laughed. He was Dante Costello. The Don. Head of New York's most powerful crime family. And I was just the girl whose education he'd sponsored. The art restorer working off a debt. A life sentence. We were from two different worlds. "I've made up my mind." My voice was calmer than I expected. "The debt is paid. It's time for me to leave." "This requires the Don's personal approval." "Then tell him." I turned toward the door. "I can't wait long." Walking out of the manor, I touched the necklace at my throat—a small palette knife charm. Cheap, but it meant something. I’d bought it for myself when I graduated from art school. It was a reminder of the life I was supposed to have. A normal life. He found me on a rainy night ten years ago. He sponsored my education. I never imagined anything more would happen between us. Back then, I only felt awe and gratitude. After graduation, I agreed to work for him to repay his massive "kindness." I knew I could never belong in his world. But one night, Dante was drunk. His lips found my skin, and I was powerless to resist. Five years later, I had to face the truth. I was in love with him. But I had to leave. I went back to my apartment and carefully placed the last restored oil painting into its protective case. As I was about to pack, a text from Dante came through. [You promised you'd come to my engagement party. I had a dress sent over.] A knock on the door. One of Dante’s men stood there with a white satin gown. "The Don is waiting for you, my lady." Did he want me to watch him be happy with another woman? I fought back tears and changed into the dress. This relationship needed an ending. It needed closure. The car stopped at the venue. I took a deep breath and stepped out. Champagne towers sparkled under crystal chandeliers. Guests in expensive clothes laughed and chatted. Every painting on the walls had been touched by my hands, restored by me, brought back to life. But tonight, I was just an outsider. I scanned the room for a familiar face. And then I saw him. Dante stood in the center of the room, his black tuxedo making him look even taller, more imposing. His arm was wrapped around a beautiful woman—Isabella Rossi, his fiancée. She wore a deep red gown, like a blooming rose. My chest tightened. I remembered that night three months ago. He was holding me. He moved inside me, hard and fast, kissing the tears from my eyes. He said he didn't want to marry Isabella. That his family was forcing him. That he wanted to be with me forever. The next morning, he acted like nothing had happened and announced the engagement. "Look who's here." A sharp voice came from behind me. I turned. Isabella was walking toward me with a glass of red wine, a perfect social smile on her face. "Elara, you look absolutely...stunning tonight." Her voice was sickly sweet. "Thank you," I answered, keeping it short. "White suits you," she said, stopping in front of me, a flash of malice in her eyes. "A pure color for a pure profession, isn't it? Restoring old paintings. Such...elegant work." I felt the eyes of the room turn to us. "Isabella, I just came to—" "Came to what?" she cut me off, her voice suddenly shrill. "To ruin my engagement party? To remind my fiancé he still has a mistress?" The air froze. All conversation stopped. Everyone was staring. Mistress. The word was a knife in my heart. "I didn't—" Suddenly, Isabella threw her wine at me. The cold liquid soaked the white satin, blooming like a blood-red flower across my chest. Dead silence. "Oh, my goodness, I'm so sorry," Isabella gasped, covering her mouth in a theatrical show of surprise. "My hand slipped. Just like how some people are prone to 'slipping' into places they don't belong. Like the Don's bed." People started whispering. I could hear the words "Don's mistress" and "paying off her debt with her body." I just stood there, feeling the wine drip from my dress onto the floor. Just then, the crowd parted. Dante walked over. My heart pounded. Would he defend me? Would he tell everyone I wasn't some mistress, but the woman he'd loved? He stopped in front of us, his gaze shifting between me and Isabella. "What's going on?" His voice was calm. Cold. The same coldness from the morning he woke up next to me. "Darling, I am so sorry," Isabella immediately threw herself into his arms. "I was just trying to say hello to Miss Vance, and I accidentally bumped into her." Dante's eyes, the same ones that had stared into mine in bed and whispered words of love, were now ice. "Mr. Costello," I began, my voice trembling, "I can explain—" "There's no need." He cut me off, then addressed the crowd. He paused, his gaze sweeping over the silent room. Then he spoke the words that shattered what was left of my heart. "Miss Vance is an employee," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "Nothing more. Her relationship with this family is strictly professional. She has no right to disrupt this evening, or to upset my fiancée." The world started to spin. His eyes were so cold, they felt like they could tear me apart. But he was the one who asked me to come... "Security," Dante’s voice cut through the room. "Get her out." Isabella smiled smugly in his arms. I looked at them. At the man I told myself not to love, but fell for anyway over five long years. He was holding another woman, turning a blind eye to my humiliation. The guards started toward me. "Don't bother," I said, straightening my back. "I can see myself out." I turned and walked away. Behind me, I heard Isabella’s sweet voice. "Darling, let's dance." I pushed open the doors and was met with a wall of cold rain. I stood there, letting it wash away the tears on my face and the wine on my chest. Ten years ago, I’d stumbled into the street. His car hit me. I remember lying on the wet asphalt, the rain washing over me, ready to die. He had stood over me like a god, a dark savior pulling me from the wreckage of my life. Tonight, he was the one who threw me back into the fire. Back at my apartment, I'd just changed out of the wet dress when my phone buzzed. A text message: [Don't ruin my union with Isabella. You know the consequences. Those nights were a mistake. Forget them. —D.C.] I stared at the screen, my heart turning to ice. A mistake. Everything we had was just a mistake. My finger hovered over the screen for a long time before I finally replied: [Don't worry, Mr. Costello. I'm done loving you.] Chapter 2 I thought last night was the worst it could get. I was wrong. The next morning, my phone exploded with calls. "Elara, have you seen the news?" my friend Sarah's voice was panicked. I opened my phone. A high-definition photo stared back at me. Me, in a wine-stained white dress, standing miserably in the rain. The headlines were sickening. COSTELLO'S MISTRESS HUMILIATED AT ENGAGEMENT BASH. FROM ART STUDIO TO BEDSHEETS: INSIDE THE DON'S AFFAIR. My face was everywhere. Blown up, analyzed, shared. The phone rang again. "Miss Elara Vance? This is a reporter from the New York Herald. I'd like to ask about your relationship with Dante Costello—" I hung up. Another call. "When did you and the Don get together?" Hang up. "Do you think Isabella Rossi's actions were justified?" Hang up. I turned off my phone and collapsed onto the sofa. For five years, we'd been so careful. Never a single public touch. Overnight, all of it was for nothing. By the afternoon, the news had vanished. Every article, every photo, gone as if it never existed. I knew it was Dante’s work. He had the power to make anything that hurt his family disappear. But another story quickly took its place. COSTELLO DON AND FIANCéE'S STEAMY CAR KISS, WEDDING DATE APPROACHES. The photo showed Dante pinning Isabella against the inside of a car in a passionate kiss. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, her skirt hiked high. His hand gripped her hip, pulling her hard against him. They were devouring each other. I stared at the picture, a knife twisting in my chest. Yesterday, he said we were "strictly professional." Today, he was all over Isabella. Maybe I was just a toy from the beginning. He never cared about my feelings at all. My phone rang. It was Antonio. "Miss Elara, the Don wants to see you. Now." I hesitated. "I've already resigned." "This is not a request, Miss," Antonio's voice turned firm. "The car is already downstairs." I knew I couldn't refuse. In Dante's world, no one refused him. Twenty minutes later, I was on the top floor of Costello Tower. His private office. The place we first made love. The faint scent of Isabella's perfume still lingered on the desk. My stomach churned. His secretary led me to the office door but stopped me just outside. "Wait here, please," she said. "Miss Isabella is inside." I stood outside the door. It wasn't closed all the way. Their voices carried, sharp and clear. "That woman is still working for you. I don't like it." Isabella's voice was ice. "Dante, I want you to deal with her. Right now. In front of me." "She's my best restorer." Dante's voice was flat. "A restorer?" Isabella scoffed. "What is she restoring, Dante? Your art, or your body?" A long silence. "I'm not an idiot, Dante." Her voice was shaking with rage. "Last night, you made me and my family a laughingstock. And your solution? To throw the press a photo of us? You think I don't know what you're really thinking?" Her voice turned venomous. "I see the way she looks at you. She loves you." "That has nothing to do with me." "Nothing to do with you?" Her voice was a shrill cry. "What about you, Dante? Do you have feelings for her? I want her out. I want her gone. Forever." More silence. A long silence. Then, his answer came, each word a shard of ice. "She's an asset. Nothing more." Something slammed into my heart. Just then, the door opened. Isabella walked out and saw me standing there. A triumphant smile spread across her face. "Oh, Elara, you're here." Her voice was sickeningly sweet. "Perfect timing. There's something I wanted to say to you." She walked to the nearby drink station and deliberately knocked over a crystal glass. CRASH. Shards scattered across the floor. "Oops, how clumsy of me," Isabella faked a gasp. "But it's for the best. Some things are meant to be broken, aren't they?" She bent down and grabbed the shard. Her hand flashed out, slicing open the back of mine. Blood welled up instantly. "Isabella!" I cried out. "What? Does it hurt?" she sneered. "This is nothing. Do you have any idea how much it hurts to see your fiancé tangled up with another woman?" I clutched my bleeding hand, glaring at her. "There's nothing between me and Dante—" "Nothing?" Isabella cut me off, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. "A poor girl who couldn't afford school, sponsored by the Don, who then willingly stays by his side for five years. Do you think anyone is stupid?" She moved closer, her eyes filled with venom. "Did you really think your pretty face and your body could make Dante fall in love with you? Wake up, Elara. You're just a toy he's tired of." "Enough." Dante's voice came from the office. He walked out, his gaze sweeping over us. His brow furrowed when he saw the blood on my hand. But his expression quickly returned to a cold mask. "Isabella, go home. I have work to discuss." "Work?" Isabella looked at him suspiciously, her tone dripping with displeasure. "Just get rid of her for good. Dante, choose. Her, or me." Dante looked at me, then back at Isabella. "She still has projects to finish," he said coldly. "I can't let personal feelings interfere with business." "Personal feelings?" Isabella's voice turned dangerous. "You have personal feelings for her?" "That's not what I meant," Dante clarified. "I was talking about your feelings, Isabella. Don't project." Isabella’s eyes narrowed. "You can't fire her, or you won't?" Chapter 3 "I'm giving you three days. Get rid of this woman." Isabella yanked her hand from Dante’s. The sweet, clinging fiancée was gone. Clearly, the mafia princess had little patience for her husband-to-be's affairs. She strode out on her high heels. As she passed me, her purse brushed against my cut hand. Hard. A sharp pain shot through me. I bit my lip to keep from screaming. After she left, Dante closed the office door. He stared at me, his eyes devoid of their old warmth. "Antonio said you want to resign? I don't approve. But after what happened today, I'll give you two options." He walked to the bar and poured himself a whiskey. He didn't pour one for me. "Option one: you pay the Rossi family fifty million dollars for the damage to their name." I stared at him. "What?" "Last night's scandal hurt both of our families' reputations," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Someone needs to take responsibility." "I didn't do anything!" "Your presence there was the mistake." He took a sip of his drink. "Option two: you apologize. Publicly. To Isabella. To my capos. You admit you seduced me. You swear you'll disappear. In return, I'll transfer you to my estate on the West Coast. You can continue your work there." I felt my blood run cold. Work? He just wanted to lock me away forever. He wanted me to apologize... to say everything between us was my fault... "Are you insane, Dante?" My voice shook. "You want me to apologize? For what? For loving you? You were the one who—" "Choose, Elara." His eyes flickered for a second, but then they turned to ice again. "And if I refuse?" He put down his glass and walked toward me. "Then you'll lose everything. Even if you leave me, I'll make sure you can never work in this country again." He stopped in front of me. "You know I have that power." I stared at him, this man I thought I knew. "I'll take the second option," I said through gritted teeth. "But this is the last time." "Family meeting. Tomorrow, 3 PM." ... The next day, I stood in the Costello family meeting room. About a dozen men in expensive suits, the core of the family, sat around a long table. Isabella sat to Dante's right, a victorious smile on her face. "Gentlemen," Dante stood up. "We are gathered today to resolve an...unpleasant misunderstanding." His eyes met mine. "Elara, please." I took a deep breath and stood. "I... I want to apologize for what happened," my voice was a whisper. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have been there." "Louder," Isabella commanded. "Let everyone hear you." I clenched my fists. "I apologize for my actions," I raised my voice, the words tasting like ash. "I was the one who pursued Mr. Costello. I acted inappropriately. It was a mistake, and I couldn't control myself." The room was silent. A few of the old men exchanged glances. Some shook their heads, others sneered. "I promise... I will never bother this family again," I forced the words out. "I will leave. And I will not be back." "Good," one of the white-haired men nodded. "It's not a crime for a young person to make a mistake, as long as they learn from it." I remembered two years ago, in this very room, Dante had shown them a Renaissance painting I'd restored. "Elara is a genius," he'd said then. "She can bring dead art back to life." The pride and admiration in his eyes back then felt like a cruel joke now. "Meeting adjourned," Dante announced. As everyone left, Isabella brushed past me. Her shoulder knocked into mine. She leaned in, her perfume thick and suffocating. "Good girl," she whispered. "Next time, cry. It makes the act more convincing." Soon, only Dante and I were left. "Does the cut still hurt?" he asked, gesturing to my bandaged hand. I stared at him, unable to believe he had the nerve to ask. "Are you pretending to care?" "After you finish your projects, I'll give you a week of paid leave. Then you can pack for the West Coast estate." He ignored my question. "Get some rest." "Thank you for your mercy, boss," I sneered. "Can I go now?" He nodded. I turned to leave, but stopped at the door. "Dante," I said, looking back at him. "Do you remember the 'Sleeping Venus'? I spent three months restoring it, and you said it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen." His expression tightened. "I finally get it." A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "You never loved me. You loved what I could do. I fix your broken things. I bring them back from the dead." I met his eyes. "The difference, Dante, is that a painting can't love you back. And it can't cause you trouble." I didn't wait for his answer. I just walked out. Back in my apartment, I started packing. I threw everything related to Dante into a trash bag. The books he gave me, the photos we took, even the files from my work projects. I was cutting all ties with my past. The next day, I stood at the grand opening of a new hotel funded by the Costello Group. It was my last project before leaving New York. I was in charge of the restoration and display of all the hotel's art. "Ladies and gentlemen," the host's voice boomed. "Please welcome our chief art consultant, Miss Elara Vance, to introduce the hotel's art collection." I took a deep breath and walked onto the stage. This was the peak of my career, and also my farewell. "Thank you all," I adjusted the microphone. "Tonight, we are thrilled to present..." But a sudden stir rippled through the crowd. Guests started whispering, giving me strange looks. Confused, I looked back at the large screen behind me. My heart stopped. Chapter 4 It wasn't my presentation. It was a slideshow. High-definition photos. Of me and Dante. In bed. Me, on top of him, head thrown back in pleasure. His hands gripping my waist, his face a mask of pained ecstasy. Another photo of me, kneeling before him. My lips on his... "Oh my god!" "What is this?" "That's disgusting!" Gasps and murmurs erupted from the audience. I stood frozen on the stage, feeling the entire world watching my most private moments. When were these photos taken? I had no idea. "Turn it off! Turn it off now!" I yelled at the tech crew. But the photos kept changing. Each one more explicit than the last. I saw Isabella in the audience, covering her mouth with her hand to hide a smirk. It was her. It had to be. I stormed off the stage. Straight for her. "You did this!" I grabbed her arm. "How did you get these photos?" "I have no idea what you're talking about," Isabella said, feigning innocence. "Maybe you took them yourself? For blackmail?" "You bitch!" I raised my hand to slap her, but a strong hand caught my wrist. It was Dante. His face was a mask of cold fury. He didn't look at me. He didn't look at Isabella. His eyes scanned the room, a predator assessing a threat. "Enough," his voice was a low growl that cut through the silence. It wasn't directed at me. It was a command to the entire world. He snapped his fingers, and two of his men instantly moved to the tech booth. The screen went black. Then, his icy gaze finally landed on me. "You're done here." "She did this! Dante, those photos—" "Security," he cut me off, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "Escort Miss Vance out. Now." Two guards in black suits moved toward me. "Don't touch me!" I ripped my arm from Dante's grasp. "I'll walk out myself!" But as I turned, my heel twisted. I lost my balance and tumbled down the stage steps. The back of my head slammed against the marble floor. The world spun. My vision blurred. I heard someone scream, but the sound grew distant. Then, everything went black. ... I woke up in a hospital. My head was wrapped in bandages, and an IV was taped to my arm. "You're awake?" A gentle male voice. I turned my head. A young man with glasses was sitting by my bed. Mark. The accountant from my company. "Did you bring me here?" My voice was weak. "Yeah," he nodded. "You fell down the steps and hit your head pretty hard. The doctor said you have a mild concussion." I remembered everything that happened, and tears started to fall. "Those photos... they're all over the internet now, aren't they?" Mark's expression grew heavy. "I'm so sorry, Elara." I closed my eyes. My career was over. My reputation was ruined. Everything was gone. "Actually... I've always wanted to tell you," Mark said suddenly. "I think you're special. Not just for your talent, but for who you are." I opened my eyes and looked at him. "You don't have to bow down to anyone," he continued. "You deserve better." He pulled a bouquet of white roses from behind his back. "These are for you. I hope you feel better soon." I looked at the flowers, a warmth spreading through my chest. In five years, no one had ever been this kind to me. "Mark..." The door to my hospital room didn’t open. It splintered inward. The bang echoed in the small space, and Mark and I both flinched. Standing in the doorway, silhouetted like the devil himself, was Dante Costello. He ignored me. His eyes locked on Mark. Three words snarled from between his teeth. A death threat. "Get. The. Fuck. Out." Chapter 5 "I said, get out!" Dante's voice boomed through the room like thunder. Mark's face went pale, but he stood up, shielding me. "Sir, please calm down. Elara was just injured—" "Her injuries are none of your fucking business." Dante took a step forward, a predator stalking prey. "Who the hell are you?" "I'm her friend." Mark's voice trembled, but he held his ground. "I have a right to be concerned about her." Dante let out a humorless laugh. "Friend?" He turned to me. "Elara, since when did you start making normal friends?" "Dante, don't do this." I struggled to sit up. "Mark was just being kind—" "Kind?" Dante cut me off. "Do you know what 'kindness' can get you? Killed." He pulled out his phone. "Find me everything on a Mark Thompson. Everything." His voice was lethally quiet. "I want his family tree. His mother. His father. And find out where his little sister goes to high school." The color drained from Mark's face. "Don't!" I screamed. "Dante, are you crazy?" "I'm not crazy." He hung up and looked at Mark. "I'm protecting my property." "That's a threat!" Mark said angrily. "Yes, it is," Dante said without a hint of shame. "Now, get out. And never go near her again." Mark looked at me, his eyes full of apology and helplessness. "I'm sorry, Elara." He set down the white roses and hurried out of the room. The door closed, leaving me alone with Dante. "Are you satisfied?" I looked at him coldly. "Another innocent person hurt because of you." "Innocent?" Dante walked to my bedside. "Elara, you're so naive. In my world, there are no innocent people." "What about me? Am I not innocent?" His expression faltered for a second. "You're different." "How am I different?" I gave a bitter laugh. "You hurt me, too." Silence. After a long moment, he spoke. "I'll make it up to you." "I don't want your compensation." "A top-tier restoration project in Milan," he said, ignoring me. "An original from the Renaissance. Only five people in the world are qualified to touch it." I had to admit, my heart skipped a beat. It was the opportunity I'd dreamed of my entire career. "What's the catch?" I asked warily. "Forget what happened. Isabella won't bother you again." His voice softened. "I promise." "What's your promise worth?" "Elara." He suddenly sat on the edge of the bed. "I know you hate me. But we have to keep working together. You have to work for me." "No." I shook my head. "I'm quitting." I reached for my bag on the nightstand, intending to pull out the new resignation letter I'd prepared. Just then, his phone rang. "Isabella?" He answered, his voice instantly softening. "What is it, baby?" I watched his expression change, my heart twisting in my chest. "What? Now?" He frowned. "Alright, I'm on my way." He hung up and stood. "I have to go," he glanced at me. "Rest up. Be back at the office tomorrow." "Wait—" But he was already gone. Just like always. One call from Isabella, and he dropped everything. I lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. The next day, I went back to the office and found Mark's desk empty. "Where's Mark?" I asked a coworker. "He was transferred to the London office," she said quietly. "Left last night." My heart sank. Dante always kept his word. I stormed into his office. "You transferred Mark?" "I did." He didn't look up from his papers. "Is there a problem?" "I'm terminating my contract, effective immediately." I slapped my resignation letter on his desk. "I refuse to work for you another day, even if you get me blacklisted from every gallery in the country." He finally looked up at me. "Early termination requires my special approval." "Then approve it." "No." "Why not?" "Because I still need you." He stood up. "Your contract has two years left." "Two years? I can't wait two years!" "Then you'll have to live with it." He walked toward me. "Elara, you belong to me." "I don't belong to anyone!" Just then, his phone rang again. "Isabella?" He answered, his voice immediately tense. "What? Where are you?" I watched his face shift from gentle concern to outright panic. "The Blue Moon Club? What are you doing there?" his voice rose. "Dammit! I'm on my way!" He hung up, his face grim. "What's wrong?" I asked. "Isabella got into a game with Marco Valenti," he said, shrugging on his jacket. "She lost. Big." Marco Valenti. I'd heard the name. The most sadistic old Don in New York, known for being unpredictable and brutal. "What does that have to do with me—" "You're coming with me," he cut me off. "Now." "I'm not going." "It wasn't a request." His eyes turned dangerous. "You want out?" He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing me. "Fine. One last thing. Come with me tonight. Do exactly as I say. And then you get your 'freedom.'" I looked at him, knowing I had no other choice. Chapter 6 The air in the Blue Moon’s private room was dead. I followed Dante inside and immediately felt it. Isabella sat at the card table, her face chalk white, her hands shaking. On the table was a silver-plated revolver. "Dante!" She saw us and threw herself into his arms. "Save me! I'm so scared!" Across from her sat Marco Valenti, a cruel smile on his seventy-year-old face. "Right on time," he said to Dante. "Your fiancée owes me fifty million. Plus interest." "I can give you the money," Dante said, holding Isabella tight. "Right now." "No, no, no." Marco shook his head. "Money is boring. I want her to play a more interesting game." He pointed to the gun on the table. "Russian Roulette. Six chambers, one bullet. If she's lucky, she walks out of here alive." Isabella started sobbing. "I won't do it! Dante, I don't want to die!" "She knew the stakes when she sat down," Marco sneered. "The penalty is death." Dante shielded Isabella behind him, his eyes filled with killing intent. "Let me take her place." "No." Marco shook his head. "It must be her. The pact is clear. Or..." His gaze shifted to me, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Let the girl take her place. Who cares if she dies?" "Absolutely not," Dante refused instantly. A flicker of warmth went through me. At least he was still protecting me. "Then your fiancée can do it herself." Marco picked up the gun, loaded a single bullet, and spun the cylinder. "I'll count to three. The game begins." "One." Isabella screamed, clinging to Dante. "Dante, save me! I can't die! We're supposed to get married! I'm supposed to have your children!" "Two." "Wait!" Dante suddenly shouted. He looked at the weeping Isabella, then he looked at me. I saw the struggle in his eyes, the agony. Then, he made his choice. He looked at me, his face blank. His voice was flat. Devoid of emotion. "Elara. Take her seat." My world collapsed. "What?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "That's an order." He wouldn't meet my eyes. Isabella stopped crying immediately, a hint of a triumphant smile on her face. "Thank you, darling." She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. "I knew you'd protect me. After all, I'm the one you're going to marry." She looked at me, her eyes full of venomous satisfaction. "And she's just a disposable employee, isn't she?" Marco clapped his hands in delight. "Excellent! This is much more interesting! It seems Mr. Costello knows how to make the right choice!" Two guards pushed me into the chair. I looked at Dante. His expression was as cold as a stranger's. "Why?" My voice was barely a whisper. "You saved my life ten years ago. Are you going to be the one to kill me now?" "It's the only choice," he said, his voice flat. "Isabella is a Rossi. Her life is tied to an alliance that keeps my men safe. Her life has value." He paused, his gaze turning me to stone. "And you... you work for me." Just an employee. The words were a knife to the heart. Isabella was smiling smugly. "Did you hear that? That's your place in his heart. Don't delude yourself any longer." Marco pushed the gun across the table to me. "The rules are simple. Spin the cylinder, put it to your temple, and pull the trigger. If it's empty, you win. If it's not..." He made a throat-slitting gesture. My hands were shaking. "I won't play." "Then all three of you die," Marco's voice turned dangerous. "No one breaks my rules." He leaned in, his breath a cold whisper against my ear. "Play the game, Elara. Do as I say." His jaw tightened. He went rigid, hard as stone. "This is for the greater good." The words were ground out between his teeth. The greater good. I laughed, a broken sound. Tears streamed down my face. "You know, Dante?" My voice broke. "I never asked for anything. I just wanted to be more than a stranger to you." I picked up the gun. The weight of it was real in my hand. "But now I get it. To you, I’m not even a stranger." Isabella watched, a smug smile on her face. She was enjoying this. "You should have learned your place," she sneered. "Did you really think fucking him for a few years would change anything?" Marco started the countdown. "Ten seconds, sweetheart. Make a choice." I pressed the muzzle to my temple. The metal was cold against my skin. I could feel death breathing on me. I saw Dante flinch, a sharp, violent jerk, as if the bullet had already hit him. "You know what I hate the most, Dante?" I stared at him. "It's not that you don't love me. It's that you let me believe you would protect me." "You saved my life once. Now I'm giving it back." I pulled the trigger. Click. Empty. I was alive. But there was no relief. I saw Dante’s eyes squeeze shut for a second. His throat worked, a hard swallow, like he was forcing something down. "Again," Marco said, his voice giddy with excitement. "Best two out of three." I raised the gun again. Spun the cylinder. No hesitation this time. The second pull. I saw Dante's hand, hanging by his side, clench into a fist. His knuckles were white. His eyes never left me, but the coldness was gone. Replaced by something I couldn't read. A mix of pain and raw fear. Click. Still empty. The third time. I closed my eyes. I thought of all the good memories from the last ten years. All of it was a lie. This time, I didn't look at Dante, but I could feel his stare burning into me. Click. Still empty. "Damn it!" Marco slammed his hand on the table. "Lucky bitch! Get out! Both of you!" The game was over. Isabella threw herself into Dante's arms. "Oh, thank God! We're safe!" She turned to me, her eyes dripping with poison. "So sweet of you to be willing to die for me. But that's your job, isn't it?" I stood up, watching them hold each other. Dante stroked Isabella's hair, comforting her. But he looked drained, all the strength gone from his body. He was paler than she was. His eyes were locked on me, right over her shoulder. The look of a dying animal. I walked to the door. "Elara." Dante's voice stopped me. It was raw. Hoarse. I turned back. "You did well," he said, and I could hear the tremor in his voice. "I'll give you what you want." I pushed the door open and stumbled out onto the street. My legs trembled until I couldn't stand anymore. Where the muzzle had pressed against my skin, a cold imprint remained, like a kiss from death. I looked back at the man who had sacrificed me for another woman without a second thought. The last bit of love I had for him was buried forever, along with those three unfired bullets. Maybe death was the only way I could ever truly be free of him. Chapter 7 Three days later, I finally had the termination agreement. Dante had kept his promise and signed the document. I looked at the paper, feeling a lightness I hadn't felt in a long time. "Congratulations, Miss Elara," Antonio said, handing me a folder. "Here are the files for your projects." I opened it. Inside was a record of my five years of work. Every painting, every artifact, held a piece of my soul. "There is one last event you need to attend," Antonio continued. "Tonight at eight. A celebration hosted by the Rossi family. It will be your final duty." I frowned. "I thought the contract was terminated." "It officially takes effect tomorrow," Antonio explained. "Consider tonight a farewell." Fine. One last time. I went back to my apartment and changed into a simple black evening gown. The woman in the mirror looked calm, but the light in her eyes was gone. This was the price. The price for loving the wrong man. At 8 PM, I arrived at the Rossi family estate. A lavish party was underway to celebrate the engagement. Dante and Isabella were officially announcing their wedding date. Three months from now. I stood in the crowd, watching the couple embrace on the stage. Isabella was in a red gown, a blooming rose. Dante's arm was around her waist, a rare smile on his face. "Honored guests," Isabella said into the microphone. "Thank you all for joining us at our first celebration since our engagement." The room erupted in applause. "Tonight, I have a special surprise for my fiancé." She gestured for Dante to roll up his shirt sleeve. My heart suddenly hammered against my ribs. He had a tattoo on his wrist. A star compass. Ours. From three years ago. "Guidance," he'd said. Because I was his. I remembered that afternoon, lying on the tattoo parlor beds, he held my hand and said, "This is our secret. It will never change." But when Dante rolled up his sleeve, I didn't see our tattoo. The star compass was still there, but it was surrounded by a new design. The Rossi family crest. A coiled serpent, encircling the compass. The new ink completely changed the meaning of the original. "We've... updated it," Isabella announced, her voice dripping with triumph. "It symbolizes our future. Not his past." She took his hand and kissed the modified tattoo. More applause. I stood in the corner. My numb heart couldn't feel a thing. The tattoo that once symbolized our love had been completely covered by her family's crest. Just like my mark on his life was being erased, piece by piece. "Isn't it beautiful?" Isabella had appeared beside me. She raised her wine glass, a victorious smile on her face. "Did you see it? The tattoo," she continued. "Dante told me it was an impulsive mistake from his youth. It's finally been corrected." I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. "Dante said it himself. Some mistakes are so ugly, they need to be completely buried." Her eyes raked over me, a smug, vicious smile playing on her lips. "You understand what I'm saying, don't you, Elara? You are the mistake he's trying to bury." I looked at her, the woman who would be Dante's wife. "You win," I said quietly. "Of course." Isabella smirked. "It was never a competition. Did you really think an art restorer could compete with a mafia princess? That whole business with Marco? The Russian Roulette?" She let out a little laugh. "It was a test. My test. To see who he'd protect when the chips were down. He chose me." She leaned closer. "He served you up on a silver platter, darling. You never stood a chance." So my life was on the line… just for a mafia princess to punish her fiancé's mistress. And when faced with her, Dante would never choose me... She turned to leave, then looked back. "By the way, the tattoo artist said the original design was hard to cover completely. But Dante insisted. He wanted it gone." Her smile turned even more vicious. "He said he didn't want to leave any trace behind." Didn't want to leave any trace behind. Those words finally pierced through my numbness. I looked at Dante on the stage, laughing and talking with his guests. On his wrist, the altered tattoo glinted under the lights. Our past, my existence—he had erased it all. Isabella's high heel stepped on my foot. "Remember this. Some things were never meant for someone as low as you." Chapter 8 "Someone as low as me?" I repeated the words, my voice soft. The guests around us were watching, whispering. "Isabella, I'm leaving tomorrow," I tried to explain. "The contract is—" "Leaving?" Isabella cut me off, her voice sharp. "You think you can just walk away?" She looked around, making sure she had an audience. "Everyone, did you know? This Miss Elara actually thought she could compete with me, the real fiancée." She laughed mockingly. "A restorer who slept her way to the top, really thought she could become the Don's wife?" The guests murmured, some shooting me looks of contempt. "What's even funnier," Isabella went on, "is that she thought Dante would give up the alliance between our two families for her. What a joke!" I felt their scornful gazes, but I was already numb. "Are you finished?" I asked calmly. "Not even close," Isabella's eyes flashed with malice. "I want everyone to know your real place in Dante's heart. You're worth less than a dog." I turned and walked out of the ballroom. No one stopped me. Not even Dante. Two hours later, I was in a taxi, watching the city lights blur past my window. My suitcase was in the back seat, holding everything I owned. A one-way ticket to California was in my hand. "Almost there, miss," the driver said. But the car suddenly turned down a deserted side street. "This isn't the way to the airport," I said, suddenly on alert. "Sorry, miss," the driver's voice went cold. "Someone wants to see you." My heart pounded. Was I being kidnapped? The car stopped in front of an old apartment building. Two men came out and opened my door. "Get out," one of them said. I was led into an apartment. It was simple, but clean. A familiar figure was sitting in the living room. Dante. He was in a black shirt, looking exhausted. "What are you doing here?" I asked coldly. He stood up and walked toward me. "Elara, we need to talk." "There's nothing to talk about." I turned to leave. "Let me go." He grabbed me from behind, holding me just like he used to. "I did what I had to do," he murmured into my hair. His voice was rough. It wasn't an apology. It was a fact. I struggled against him. "Let me go!" "Listen to me." He tightened his arms. "Isabella suspects us. If I had protected you, she would have told her father, and the alliance would be off." "So what?" "You don't get it." He turned me to face him, his grip bruising. "This isn't about feelings. It's about power. If the alliance breaks, it means war. My men die. Their families suffer." I looked into his eyes. "So you chose to sacrifice me." "Not sacrifice. Protect." He stroked my cheek. "I found your plane ticket. You're going to California?" My heart sank. "That's my freedom." "No, Elara." He shook his head. "You can quit. But you can't leave me." "What does that mean?" "I'm sending you to the West Coast estate," his finger traced my lips, "just like we talked about. You'll wait for me there." "I'm not going." I pushed him away. "I don't love you anymore. I'm leaving for good, to start a new life." His expression instantly turned dangerous. "You don't love me?" he advanced on me. "Then why did you cry during the Russian Roulette?" "I was scared!" "No. You cried because you felt betrayed by me." He pinned me against the wall. "If you didn't love me, why would you feel betrayed?" I couldn't answer. His mouth crashed down on mine, silencing my protests. The familiar, demanding kiss shattered my resolve. "Don't..." I pushed against him, but my body betrayed me. He lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bedroom. "Dante, don't do this..." But he didn't stop. He laid me on the bed, his eyes blazing with possession. "You're mine, Elara," he said as he started to undress me. "You always will be." I tried to fight, but five years of history and the familiar touch left me weak. When he entered me, I closed my eyes. He was rough, as if releasing all his anger and fear. I knew this wasn't love. It was ownership. After, he carried me to the bathroom. The warm water washed over us as he gently cleaned me. "I love you, Elara," he whispered against my ear. "I can't lose you." I didn't answer. Back in bed, he took a pair of handcuffs from the nightstand. "What are you doing?" I asked in a panic. "Making sure you don't run." He cuffed my right wrist to the iron headboard. "I'm arranging a plane to take you to the West Coast tomorrow." I yanked at the cuff, furious. "You're insane! What if Isabella finds out we're still seeing each other?" "She won't find out," he said, lying down beside me. "The estate is secluded. I'll tell her you've left the country." "And if she does find out?" His expression hardened. "Then you'll have to be smart enough not to ruin the alliance between our families." I couldn't believe my ears. "So that's the plan? I'm your dirty little secret? Your mistress in a gilded cage?" "It's the only way," he said, his voice final. "This is our reality now, Elara. There is no other choice." "You bastard!" I slapped his chest with my free hand. "It's reality." He grabbed my hand. I looked at him, the man I once loved so deeply. He wanted to keep me as his canary, locked in a cage, never to see the light of day. "I hate you," I spat. "I know." He kissed my forehead. "But hate is better than losing you." He fell asleep quickly. I lay beside him, my right hand chained. But I made a vow. The moment I got to the West Coast, I would escape. No matter the cost. Or maybe... maybe Antonio could help me. The next morning, Dante uncuffed me. "The plane takes off at nine," he said. "Antonio will go with you." Of course he would. I said nothing. Two hours later, I was on Dante's private jet. I looked at Antonio sitting across from me, and I smiled. Dante didn't know that Antonio was an undercover agent for the rival Torrino family. When I had decided to leave for good, he had approached me. He had promised he could help me disappear with a new identity, and that I could continue my work under their protection. It was time for him to make good on that promise. In an hour, Dante would get the news. Fiery crash. No survivors. I looked out the window of a different plane, heading in a different direction. And for the first time in months, I smiled. A real smile. The debt was paid.