Discarded Love, The Reaper's Regret

Chapter 6 Elena Vitiello POV: The interior of the Maybach GLS was suffocatingly cold. I sat pressed against the far door, staring out the tinted window at the dead, leafless trees of the New York suburbs blurring past. The silence between us was like a physical wall, thick and immovable. Dante sat on the opposite side of the spacious backseat. His long legs were crossed. In his right hand, he spun his heavy silver lighter. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. The sharp metallic sound echoed in the quiet cabin. It was a habit he used during interrogations to break men's nerves. He turned his head. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his gaze drop to my neck. The red rash from the rose pollen was still visible, angry and raised against my pale skin. His hand stopped spinning the lighter. He reached forward, opened the small refrigerated compartment, and pulled out a bottle of sparkling water. He poured it into a crystal glass and held it out toward me. It felt like a master throwing a bone to a stray dog. I kept my eyes locked on the speeding trees outside. I didn't turn my head. I didn't reach for it. Dante’s thick eyebrows snapped together. He slammed the crystal glass down onto the walnut tray table. The water sloshed over the rim. Before he could open his mouth to snap at me, his private phone vibrated in his suit pocket. He pulled it out. The screen lit up. Even from my angle, I could see Sofia’s name flashing. He unlocked the screen immediately. I watched his reflection in the dark window. The hard, furious lines around his mouth softened. A tiny, almost invisible smile touched his lips. My stomach rolled over itself, sick and heavy. He started typing back with both thumbs. He completely forgot about the glass of water. He forgot about my bleeding foot. He forgot about me. I waited until his eyes were entirely glued to his screen. Slowly, smoothly, I slid my right hand into the deep pocket of my wool coat. My fingertips brushed against the cold metal edge of a secondary, encrypted micro-phone. It was no bigger than a business card. It was my last lifeline, a relic from my days as a tech startup developer in Silicon Valley—a past Dante thought was a cute little hobby. I kept my hand perfectly still inside the pocket. Muscle memory took over. I traced the tiny keypad, keying in the complex unlock passcode without looking. Dante’s head snapped up. His sharp blue eyes locked onto my coat pocket. My heart skipped a violent beat. I immediately pulled my hand out, grabbing the lapel of my coat and pretending to adjust the collar against the AC draft. Dante let out a short, dismissive scoff. He thought I was just fidgeting for attention. He looked back down at his screen and continued texting her. I exhaled a slow, silent breath. I slid my hand back into the pocket. My thumb moved rapidly over the tiny buttons, typing out a shorthand code that read like Morse. Execute spin-off. Now. Three thousand miles away in San Francisco, Isabella would receive that ping. She would initiate the final sequence to strip the offshore trusts completely clean. A few seconds later, the tiny phone in my pocket gave a single, microscopic vibration. Message received. The tight, painful knot in my shoulders finally relaxed. I looked back out the window. The reflection in the glass showed my eyes. They weren't the eyes of a caged canary anymore. They were the eyes of a predator. The heavy Maybach exited the highway and began the steep climb up the winding mountain road of the Adirondacks. The tires crunched loudly over the thick, packed ice. The wind outside picked up, whipping heavy snow against the glass, slowing the car to a crawl. Dante locked his phone and put it away. He looked at me, his expression arrogant and bored. "When we get to the cabin, you will behave yourself. No tantrums." I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the cold glass. I answered him with absolute, dead silence. Twenty minutes later, the SUV pulled to a smooth stop halfway up the mountain. Two heavily armed guards rushed forward to pull the doors open. The freezing mountain wind hit me like a slap. I pulled my coat tighter around my chest and stepped out into the deep snow. In front of us stood a massive, luxurious log cabin. The heavy oak front doors were already pushed wide open. The warm, orange glow of a massive stone fireplace spilled out onto the snow. I looked up toward the entrance. My pupils shrank to pinpricks. Standing in the doorway, holding a steaming mug of hot cocoa, was Sofia. She was wearing my custom-made, white cashmere loungewear set. "Welcome to our secret hideaway, Elena."