Chapter 7 - THE MISTRESS SURFACES
The sun had barely dipped below the Manhattan skyline when Chloe decided to make her move.
I was finishing an early dinner at a private club downtown when she appeared beside my table.
She wore a red dress that cost more than my first car.
Her blonde hair was styled in loose, perfect waves.
She looked confident.
Too confident.
“Mind if I join you, Mrs. Caruso?” Chloe asked, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.
“Actually, I do,” I replied without looking up from my menu.
Chloe pulled out the chair opposite me anyway and sat down.
“I heard about the Hudson Yards deal falling through,” she said, resting her chin on her manicured hand.
“Such a shame.”
“Dante has been under so much stress lately.”
“Running an empire isn't for everyone, is it?”
I slowly closed the menu.
I raised my eyes to look at her.
“Is there a point to this interruption, Chloe?”
“Or are you just practicing how to speak to adults?”
Chloe’s smile faltered for a microsecond before returning with renewed venom.
“You think you’re punishing him by locking up the accounts.”
“You think walking out makes you powerful.”
“But Dante is a king, Elena.”
“A king doesn’t stay lonely for long.”
“Especially not when he has women willing to give him everything you refused.”
I tilted my head, studying her.
How young she looked.
How utterly naive.
“Everything I refused?” I repeated softly.
“Chloe, do you know what Dante whispered to me on our wedding day?”
“He told me that out of all the women in this city, I was the only one who didn’t want him for his money or his power.”
“He told me I was his peace.”
“And now?” Chloe challenged, her eyes narrowing.
“Now he has you,” I smiled faintly.
“A stressed-out billionaire whose accounts are frozen, whose real estate deals are collapsing, and whose wife is currently liquidating his private art collection.”
Chloe’s jaw dropped.
“Your... your art collection?”
“Oh, didn't you know?” I reached for my wineglass.
“The Cézannes in the penthouse? The Degas in the upstate lodge?”
“They’re registered under my maiden name trust.”
“I sold them to a private collector in Geneva this afternoon.”
“That’s... that’s impossible!” Chloe stammered, panic leaking through her polished facade.
“Dante would never let you!”
“Dante doesn't know yet,” I said, standing up and laying a hundred-dollar bill on the table.
“And when he finds out, you won't be able to buy your next designer handbag with his money.”
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“Enjoy the sinking ship, Chloe.”
“It’s going to be a long ride down.”
