Discarded Love, The Reaper's Regret

Chapter 7

Elena Vitiello POV:

The crystal chandelier above the long oak dining table cast a blinding, harsh light over the room. The table was covered in expensive French cuisine, roasted meats, and heavy silver platters.

I sat at the very end of the long table. I wore a plain, thick black turtleneck sweater. I refused to wear any of the designer dresses Dante had bought for me. I looked entirely out of place in the sea of diamonds and silk around the room.

Sofia sat at the other end, right next to Dante in the seat of honor. She laughed loudly, leaning over to chat with the girlfriends and wives of Dante's top lieutenants.

"Oh, Sofia, that white cashmere looks absolutely stunning on your skin tone," one of the Capo's wives practically shouted, making sure her voice carried down the table to me.

Sofia touched the collar of my stolen clothes, her eyes flashing with victory. "Thank you. Dante has such wonderful taste."

I picked up my heavy silver steak knife. I pressed the blade down into the rare meat on my plate and dragged it hard across the porcelain.

Screeeech.

The horrific sound cut through the chatter. Dante’s head snapped toward me. His eyes narrowed into dark, warning slits, silently ordering me to stop embarrassing him.

I didn't stop. I chopped the meat into unidentifiable pieces, pushed the plate to the center of the table, and set the knife down. I hadn't taken a single bite.

Dinner slowly ended. The men moved to smoke. Dante stood up and walked over to the massive mahogany wet bar in the corner. He started mixing drinks himself. When he was a teenager, before he took over the empire, he worked as a bartender. It was the only time he ever served anyone else.

He took a heavy ice pick and expertly chipped a perfect sphere of clear ice. He dropped it into a heavy crystal glass and poured a generous measure of vintage Bourbon whiskey.

Sofia clapped her hands together, her eyes dripping with fake adoration. "You're so good at that, Dante."

He handed the first glass to Sofia. As she took it, her manicured fingers deliberately brushed over his knuckles. He didn't pull away.

Then, Dante picked up a second glass of pure, neat Bourbon. He walked the length of the dining room, stopping right next to my chair. He set the glass down hard next to my water goblet.

The sharp, burning smell of heavy alcohol and smoked oak hit my face. My stomach violently cramped. The smell of cheap whiskey was the smell of my father. It was the smell of the nights I spent hiding in the closet while he broke the furniture. Dante knew this. I had told him on our wedding night.

I looked slowly up at Dante. My eyes were as cold as the ice at the bottom of the glass.

He looked down at me, his jaw set. "Drink it," he ordered, his voice sounding like a king giving an order to a peasant. "It will warm you up."

From across the room, Sofia covered her mouth and let out a sharp giggle. "Oh, Dante, don't force her. Elena only drinks sweet, sugary fruit juice. She can't handle real drinks."

Every conversation in the room stopped. Every pair of eyes turned to me. The women smirked. The men watched with quiet amusement. I was the joke.

I put my hands on the armrests of my heavy chair. I pushed it back. The wood scraped loudly against the floor. I stood up, my spine perfectly straight.

I reached out my hand. My fingers wrapped around the thick crystal glass.

Dante’s chest expanded. The corner of his mouth twitched upward into a satisfied smirk. He thought he had won. He thought I was submitting.

I didn't break eye contact with him. I flipped my wrist.

I poured the entire glass of expensive, amber liquid straight into the dirt of the massive, rare Bird of Paradise potted plant next to the table. Every single drop.

The heavy ice cube fell out last, hitting the wet soil with a dull, heavy thud.

The entire dining room went dead silent. Nobody breathed.

Sofia let out a loud, dramatic gasp, pressing both hands to her cheeks in fake horror.

Dante’s smirk froze. The vein on the side of his forehead pulsed violently. His eyes turned black with instant, explosive rage.

He lunged forward. His massive hand clamped down on my wrist. His iron fingers dug into my fragile bones, squeezing so hard I felt the joints grinding together.

I didn't wince. I stared right back into his furious eyes, planted my feet, and violently yanked my arm back. My wrist tore free from his grip, leaving red finger marks on my skin.

I grabbed my heavy winter coat off the back of the chair. I didn't look at Sofia. I didn't look at the guards.

I turn my back on the room and walked straight toward the heavy glass sliding doors leading to the backyard.

"Elena!" Dante roared behind me. His voice shook the crystal chandelier above the table.

I pushed the heavy glass door open and stepped out into the screaming blizzard.

"If you walk out that door today, don't you ever think about coming back!"