Discarded Love, The Reaper's Regret

Chapter 5

Elena Vitiello POV:

I shoved the heavy, iron-like weight of Dante’s arm off my waist. The sudden movement pulled at my sore muscles, and a sharp gasp escaped my lips. My entire body ached, a physical reminder of the brutal, suffocating grip he kept on me even in his sleep. I rolled off the edge of the mattress, my bare feet hitting the cold hardwood floor.

Behind me, Dante let out a low, irritated growl. His hand grasped at the empty space where I had just been. Even unconscious, the Mafia boss couldn't stand losing his grip on his possessions.

I walked toward the bathroom, keeping my steps completely silent. I carefully stepped around his discarded, blood-stained dress shirt lying on the expensive rug. The metallic stench of dried blood hit my nose, churning my stomach. I hated the violence. I hated the constant smell of death that clung to him.

I locked the bathroom door and gripped the edges of the marble sink. My face in the mirror was pale, my eyes dead. I turned on the cold water tap, splashing the freezing water over my face to wash away the disgust crawling over my skin.

But the smell wouldn't wash off. Beneath the copper scent of blood, the bathroom air carried the heavy, cloying scent of Tom Ford Midnight Orchid.

Sofia’s perfume.

My stomach clamped down violently. I bent over the sink, my hands gripping the porcelain so hard my knuckles turned white, and dry-heaved.

The sound of the running water masked the noise of the bedroom door opening. Dante shoved the bathroom door wide open. He stood in the doorway, his dark hair messy, his eyes heavy with sleep and a dark, morning irritation.

He stepped up behind me, his massive chest pressing against my back. He wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his heavy chin on my shoulder. His lips brushed against the side of my neck, seeking the warmth of my skin.

I turned my head away instantly. I grabbed a dry towel and pressed it against my face, creating a physical barrier between us.

Dante’s movements stopped. His body went completely rigid. I watched his reflection in the mirror. The sleepy softness vanished from his blue eyes, replaced by a cold, hard stare. He looked at my flat, emotionless expression, his jaw ticking.

A sharp ding from the private elevator outside the master suite shattered the dangerous silence.

A moment later, Maria, the head housekeeper, knocked on the bedroom door. "Mr. Moretti. A guest is here to see you," she said. Her voice carried a thin layer of dismissal. The staff knew the wife held no real power here.

I pulled my silk robe off the hook and wrapped it tightly around my body. I walked out of the bedroom, leaving Dante standing by the sink.

I stepped out into the massive penthouse living room. Standing in the center of the room was Sofia. She wore a tight, bright red dress. In her arms, she held a massive bouquet of fresh red roses, the stems dripping with water. She looked around the penthouse, her eyes scanning the expensive furniture with greedy entitlement.

I stopped at the top of the stairs. My breath immediately hitched. The heavy pollen from the roses filled the air conditioning system. My throat began to itch. When I was seven, I nearly died from anaphylactic shock in a greenhouse.

Sofia saw me. She plastered a fake, overly bright smile on her face and walked toward the base of the stairs. "Elena! I brought these to celebrate Dante coming back safe last night." She held the massive bouquet out to me.

I took a half-step back. I looked at the roses with dead eyes. I didn't raise my hands.

Sofia’s smile slipped for a fraction of a second, revealing the pure malice underneath. She deliberately opened her fingers.

The heavy bouquet dropped straight onto my bare foot. The thick, sharp thorns pierced right through my pale skin.

Drops of bright red blood welled up on my foot, staining the floor. I didn't flinch. I didn't make a sound. I just stared at her.

Footsteps echoed on the stairs. Dante walked down, tying the belt of his dark robe. His sharp eyes immediately scanned the floor, taking in the dropped roses and the blood on my foot.

Sofia gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. "Oh my god, Elena, I'm so sorry! They just slipped right out of my hands."

Dante didn't even look at my bleeding foot. He walked right past me, stepping down to Sofia's level. "Why are you here so early?" he asked, his voice low, lacking any of the anger he usually reserved for mistakes.

I swallowed hard against the swelling itch in my throat. I turned my back on them, walked into the open kitchen, and poured myself a glass of warm water from the island dispenser.

Dante turned his head to look at me. "Go change your clothes," he ordered, his tone flat and commanding.

I stopped halfway through my sip of water. I set the glass down. "Why do I need to change?" I asked coldly.

Dante closed the distance between us. He stood over me, his broad shoulders blocking the light. "The shootout last night caused a mess with the feds. We are going to the Adirondack cabin to lay low."

I looked at him. "I have a board meeting for the gallery today. I'm not going."

His eyes darkened into dangerous slits. His large hand shot out, his fingers gripping my chin like a steel vice. He forced my head up so I had to look into his eyes. He completely ignored the angry red allergic rash spreading down my neck.

"This is not a request, Elena," he stated coldly.

I stared into his deep, ruthless eyes. My heart dropped into a block of pure ice. The corners of my lips curled up into a slow, mocking smile.

"We leave in five minutes. Don't make me tell you twice."