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Just A Placeholder: Dying For His Mistress Novel Cover

Just A Placeholder: Dying For His Mistress

I stood on the tarmac clutching white magnolias, watching the man I loved hand his loyalty to the woman born to destroy me. Dante Cavallaro, the Ruthless Underboss, didn't just leave me for Sofia Moretti. He revealed that for two years, I wasn't his lover. I was a human shield. The heavy iron bangle he forced me to wear wasn't a gift for my protection. "It's a Malocchio anchor," he sneered as I lay paralyzed on the floor. "It drains the wearer's luck to keep Sofia healthy. You are just the filter." My body began to rot from the inside out, my nerves dying one by one. When I was finally on my deathbed, unable to move or speak, Dante didn't cry for me. He cried because his tool was broken. He forced the cursed bangle onto his own wrist, begging the universe to keep me alive so I could continue to suffer in Sofia's place. "Please," he sobbed into my sheets. "Don't leave me alone with the bad luck." I used my last breath to make a wish—not for him, but for my freedom. I closed my eyes and died. Exactly one hour later, Dante's phone rang. It was his father. "Sofia just collapsed," he said. "Her heart just stopped." I was the vessel. And now that I was gone, the poison had come home to the King.
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Chapter 4

Elena POV

I stepped out of the shadows and into the unforgiving light of the living room.

Sofia was clinging to Dante's arm, her lipstick smeared, her eyes gleaming with triumph.

Dante blinked, his focus hazy from the alcohol. He swayed slightly, steadying himself.

He didn't look guilty.

He looked annoyed.

"Thank you," I said, my voice trembling but crystal clear. "For keeping the seat warm."

It was a pathetic jab, a paper shield against a firing squad, but it was all I had.

Sofia sneered. "The seat is mine, you little whore. It always was."

Dante untangled himself from her, running a hand wearily through his hair.

He looked at me, his gaze flat and dead.

"Stand down, Elena," he ordered.

"Stand down?" I choked out a bitter laugh. "I just heard you. I heard what you said. I am just a tactic?"

Dante sighed, rubbing his temples as if I were a migraine he couldn't shake.

"You're being dramatic," he said. "The marriage to Sofia is strictly business. It's the Commission. It's politics. It has nothing to do with us."

"Us?" I stepped closer, the word tasting like ash. "There is no us. You sold me out for a merger."

"I kept you fed," he snapped, his voice rising with sudden, jagged heat. "I kept you safe. I kept you in a penthouse while your father rotted in a shallow grave. You should be grateful."

Grateful.

The word hung in the air, sharp and heavy like a guillotine blade.

"She is a disposable toy, Dante," Sofia said, idly picking at her nails. "Throw her away."

Dante looked at me.

For a second, I saw something flicker in those dark depths.

Regret?

No.

It was just inconvenience.

"Go to your room," he said quietly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Don't ruin my night. We'll talk when you're rational."

"I want you to tell her to leave," I whispered, my pride hanging by a thread. "If I ever meant anything to you. Tell her to get out."

Dante stared at me.

Then, with a cold finality, he turned his back.

"Sofia is fragile," he lied, the falsehood smooth on his tongue. "She stays."

He walked toward the master bedroom.

Sofia followed him, pausing only to wink at me.

The door closed with a soft, definitive click.

I was left alone in the living room on my birthday, listening to the man I loved take the woman he chose to bed, while my body slowly ate itself from the inside out.

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