Into The Rival's Arms: The Decoy's Escape
I stood behind the velvet curtain, clutching a positive pregnancy test, waiting for the perfect moment to tell Dante our family was growing.
Instead, I heard him laugh.
"She is not the bride," Dante told his Consigliere, swirling his fifty-year-old scotch. "She is the bulletproof vest I wear until it is safe for Sofia to enter the city. When the bullets stop flying, we throw the vest in the trash."
My world shattered.
When Sofia arrived that night, she didn't just take my place; she boiled my beloved cat for dinner. Dante didn't defend me. He told me to clean up the mess or face punishment.
To prove his devotion to her, he had his men drag me to "The Pit"—an underground fight club.
I was thrown into a cage with a starving Doberman.
I looked up at the VIP box, begging the man I loved to save me. Instead, Dante pressed the intercom button, his voice booming over the speakers.
"One million dollars on the dog," he said. "She won't last three minutes."
He covered Sofia's eyes to protect her innocence while the beast tore the flesh from my arm.
That night, Elena Vance died in the dirt.
One year later, the grieving Dante Moretti attended a gala for a mysterious new artist in New York.
He dropped his champagne glass when he saw me on stage, alive, wearing a dress that revealed my ruined, scarred arm.
"I didn't leave you, Dante," I said into the microphone, my voice cold as ice.
"You killed me. And now, I'm here to collect my winnings."
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Chapter 4
The ride back to the penthouse was oppressively silent.
I cradled my injured hand against the silk of my dress, trying to stem the flow of blood. Dante tapped incessantly on his phone, ignoring my existence as if I were nothing more than a stain on the upholstery.
When we entered the apartment, the smell hit me first.
It was savory. Rich. It smelled like home-like a heavy, slow-cooked stew.
My stomach rumbled, betraying me. I hadn't eaten in three days.
Sofia was sitting at the dining table. She looked delighted, her face flushed with a manic sort of pride.
"You're just in time for dinner," she chirped. "I made soup."
She gestured to the maids. Before I could react, they grabbed me.
I didn't fight. I was too weak, my limbs heavy with exhaustion. They forced me into a chair. Sofia ladled a thick, brown broth into a bowl and placed it in front of me.
"Eat," she said, her smile widening.
I stared down at the bowl. There was a clump of fur floating in the grease. Three colors. White, orange, black.
Calico.
My blood turned to ice in my veins.
"Sketch?" I whispered, the name choking me.
My cat. The stray I had rescued from the alley behind the art studio. The only living thing that loved me unconditionally.
Sofia smiled, her eyes dancing with madness.
"He was shedding on Dante's suits," she said matter-of-factly. "I solved the problem. And I hate waste."
I gagged, bile rising in my throat. I tried to stand up, to flip the table, to kill her with my bare hands.
Dante walked in from the hallway. He saw the bowl. He saw my face.
He didn't look horrified. He looked annoyed.
"I told you to get rid of the cat, Elena," he said, loosening his tie. "Sofia just... improvised."
"You let her kill him?" I screamed, my voice cracking. "He was innocent!"
"He was an animal," Dante snapped, his patience evaporating. "And you are behaving like one. Eat the soup, or you go back to the Reflection Room."
I grabbed the bowl and threw it.
Hot broth splashed across Sofia's red dress. She shrieked, jumping back.
Dante moved faster than I could track. He backhanded me across the face.
The force of the blow knocked me out of the chair. I tasted copper as my teeth cut into my cheek.
"Clean it up," he ordered, towering over me. "Lick it off the floor if you have to."
He took Sofia's arm. "Come, amore. Let's get you out of this dress."
They walked toward the master bedroom. My bedroom.
I lay on the floor, next to the remains of my best friend, my chest heaving with silent sobs.
My phone vibrated in my bra.
I pulled it out with trembling hands. A text from an unknown number.
Are you ready?
It was Valerio.
I typed back one word: Yes.
I heard the shower turn on in the master bathroom. I heard Sofia giggling. I heard Dante's low rumble of desire.
I stood up. I wiped the blood from my lip.
I walked into Dante's study.
My hands weren't shaking anymore.
I went to the bookshelf. Third row, behind the copy of The Prince. I pressed the hidden latch. The panel slid open with a soft click.
The Blue Ledger.
It contained the offshore account numbers, the bribes to judges, the locations of the bodies. It was the heart of the Moretti empire.
I grabbed it.
From the bedroom, I heard Sofia moan. I heard the bed frame hitting the wall-the bed I had picked out.
Dante shouted her name.
I didn't cry. I didn't feel pain.
I opened the Ledger and pulled out my phone. I started taking pictures.
Every click of the camera was a nail in his coffin.
Moan louder, Sofia, I thought, a cold darkness settling over my soul. Distract him while I burn his kingdom to the ground.