The Rival Don's Treasured Second Chance

My husband, the King of New York's underworld, declined my call for the ninety-ninth time just as my brother's heart monitor flatlined. He claimed he was in a life-or-death sit-down with the Commission. But moments after my brother took his last breath, I saw his mistress's Instagram post. The "meeting" was an emergency C-section for her Persian cat. My brother was dead because a mistress's pet needed the surgeon Dante had promised to send for him. The betrayal didn't stop there. When our car was T-boned days later, Dante didn't pull me from the wreckage. He carried his mistress to safety, screaming for paramedics to save his "fiancée," leaving me trapped in the burning vehicle with crushed legs. Miraculously, I survived. Lying in the hospital bed, I waited for an apology. Instead, I got a threat. "Without me, you are nothing," Dante sneered, throwing a box of chocolates at me like I was a dog. But the final blow came from the County Clerk. When I tried to file for divorce, they told me no record existed. Seven years of loyalty. Seven years of standing by his side. And I wasn't even his wife. I was just a possession he had tricked into playing house. I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I picked up my phone and scrolled past Dante's name to the one man he feared most: his rival, Alessandro De Luca. I typed three words. I need extraction. It was time to burn his kingdom to the ground.

Chapters

Chapter 3

Panic flared in Dante's eyes for a fraction of a second.

He shoved Seraphina away—a sharp, reflexive motion. But the moment he realized who it was, the alarm vanished. It was just me. Just Elara. The quiet wife. The mouse.

He straightened his tie, the mask of cold arrogance sliding back into place.

"Elara," he said. His voice was calm, laced with danger. "What are you doing here? This area is not safe."

I stood on the cracked pavement. I was wearing jeans and an old sweater. I looked like I belonged to the ruins. He, in his bespoke suit, looked like an invader.

"I am cleaning my brother's apartment," I said. "Before you bulldoze it."

Seraphina laughed. It was the sound of breaking glass—sharp and tinkling. "Oh, look, Dante. The charity case is stalking us."

She stepped forward, linking her arm through Dante's. She was staking her claim.

"I didn't know you allowed your pets off the leash," she said to him, her eyes fixed on me.

"Seraphina," Dante warned, but he made no move to detach her. He looked at me, his jaw tight. "Go home, Elara. We will discuss this later."

"Discuss what?" I asked. "The cat? Or the penthouse you're building on top of my childhood home?"

Dante stepped toward me. "I am expanding the territory. This is business."

"Is she business?" I pointed at Seraphina.

"She is a partner," Dante said.

"I am the one he chose," Seraphina corrected. She walked toward me. Her perfume was overpowering, a cloying mix of expensive roses and rot.

"You should go," she whispered when she was close enough that Dante couldn't hear. "You look tired. Grief makes you ugly."

I didn't move. I stared at her. The silence stretched taut between us.

Seraphina hated my silence. She wanted a reaction. She wanted me to scream so she could call me crazy.

When I didn't blink, she reached out. She pretended to brush a piece of lint off my shoulder.

Her fingers dug into the soft flesh between my neck and collarbone. Her nails were sharp. She pinched hard, twisting the skin with vicious intent.

I gasped, stumbling a step back.

Seraphina threw herself backward.

She let out a high-pitched scream and collapsed onto the dirty sidewalk, sprawling in a way that looked theatrically practiced.

"Dante!" she cried. "She pushed me!"

Dante blurred into motion. He was between us in a heartbeat.

He didn't look at Seraphina to see if she was hurt. He looked at me with pure, unadulterated rage.

"What is wrong with you?" he roared.

"I didn't touch her," I said. My voice was steady, but my hands were shaking.

"I saw you lunge," Dante lied. Or maybe he believed it. He always saw what he wanted to see. "She is defenseless."

"She is a viper," I spat.

Seraphina sobbed from the ground, clutching her ankle. "My ankle... Dante, I think she broke it."

Dante knelt beside her. "Let me see."

He touched her leg with a tenderness that used to be mine.

I watched him. This man who had sworn to protect me from the world was now protecting the world from me.

"Get in the car," Dante ordered over his shoulder, not looking at me. "Now."

"No," I said.

He stood up slowly. The air around him turned frigid.

"Do not make me repeat myself, Elara."

He strode toward me, grabbing my arm. His grip was bruising. He dragged me toward the Maybach.

"You are embarrassing me," he hissed.

He opened the back door and shoved me inside.

I fell against the leather seats.

Seraphina limped to the car, smirking at me through the window before Dante helped her into the front seat.

She wasn't hurt. She was winning.

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