Chapter 5 - THE PANIC OF A MAFIA KING
Dante returned to the Madison townhouse at 2:15 AM.
He didn’t knock.
He used his master key.
The heavy oak door swung open, hitting the wall with a loud bang.
“Elena!” Dante roared, his voice echoing through the silent foyer.
“Elena, stop this childish game right now!”
I sat in the dark kitchen, sipping a cup of herbal tea.
I didn’t turn on the overhead light.
Dante’s heavy footsteps approached.
He pushed the kitchen door open, breathing heavily.
His tie was gone.
His collar was open.
His hair was tousled.
He looked less like an untouchable mafia boss and more like a man realizing his foundation was sliding into the sea.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dante demanded, slamming his hands onto the kitchen island.
“Do you know what happened tonight?”
“You made a fool of yourself,” I said calmly, taking a sip of tea.
“Arthur Sterling called me forty minutes ago!” Dante shouted, leaning over the counter.
“He said our accounts are frozen!”
“Every single one of them!”
“Yes,” I agreed simply.
“You froze the corporate reserves?”
“I exercised clause fourteen.”
Dante let out a harsh, incredulous laugh.
“You’re bluffing.”
“Call Arthur.”
“Tell him to reverse it right now, Elena!”
“No.”
Dante moved around the island in two swift strides.
He grabbed my wrist.
His grip wasn’t bruising, but it was firm.
Demanding obedience.
The way he always handled resistance.
“Listen to me,” Dante growled, his face inches from mine.
“We have a real estate acquisition closing tomorrow morning at nine.”
“If the funds don’t clear, we lose the Hudson Yards project.”
“Millions of dollars down the drain.”
“You are ruining everything we built.”
I looked down at his hand on my wrist.
Then I raised my eyes to meet his.
“We built?” I asked quietly.
“You built a pedestal, Dante.”
“And you spent the last three years standing on it while I held the ladder.”
“Now I’m walking away.”
“Let go of my wrist.”
Dante stared at me.
For a long moment, he didn’t move.
He searched my face for tears.
He looked for panic.
He looked for the terrified young woman he had married in Rome eight years ago.
He found none of them.
Instead, he found a stranger who looked right through him.
Slowly, Dante’s fingers uncurled.
He stepped back, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“You think you can survive without me?” Dante whispered, his voice dangerously low.
“You think you can just walk out of my life?”
“I don’t think I can survive without you, Dante.”
His expression flickered with brief hope.
May you like
“I know I can,” I finished.
“And by noon tomorrow, you’re going to find out what my absence costs you.”
