Mafia Betrayal: Her Escape From Darkness

Elena Rossi POV: I kept my fingers pinched on the screen, zooming in further on the face of the Patek Philippe watch. Right near the three o'clock mark, there was a deep, jagged scratch on the sapphire crystal. My thumb hovered over the digital flaw. I remembered the exact moment that scratch was made. We had been side-swiped by a drunk driver in the rain. Before the airbags even deployed, I had thrown my body across the center console, wrapping my arms around Dante to shield him from the shattering glass. The watch had scraped violently against the exposed metal of the door frame as I pulled his arm inward. I exited the zoomed view. I stared at Sofia’s caption again. *To my forever King.* My face was completely blank. I double-tapped the center of the image. A large white heart popped up on the screen, registering my burner account’s like on her photo. A second later, a banner notification dropped down from the top of my screen. An iMessage from Dante. *This conference in DC is endless. The food here is garbage. I'm craving your linguine. Miss you.* I looked at the message. Then I looked back at Sofia’s photo. The location tag on her post was clearly marked: *Brooklyn, New York.* My stomach gave a hollow, sickening lurch, but my hands were entirely steady. I opened his message. *Take care of yourself. Stay safe. Come home soon,* I typed. I hit send. I dropped the phone onto the plush velvet sofa as if it were coated in toxic sludge. I turned on my heel and walked into the massive mahogany library. I bypassed the shiny new first editions and went straight to the bottom shelf in the darkest corner. I pulled out a heavy, worn copy of Dante’s *Divine Comedy*. I opened the book to the middle. Tucked between the yellowed pages was a folded, glossy brochure. I pulled it out and smoothed it flat on the desk. It was a travel poster for the Gold Coast of Australia. The edges were frayed. I had kept this piece of paper since I was ten years old, sitting in my fourth foster home, staring at the bright blue ocean and dreaming of a place where the sun was warm and nobody knew my name. I folded the brochure carefully and slid it into the inner pocket of my jeans. I left the library and walked into the master bedroom. Behind a massive oil painting of the Amalfi coast sat a steel wall safe. I punched in the code: Dante’s birthdate. The heavy metal door clicked and swung open. Inside, stacks of crisp, newly minted hundred-dollar bills were neatly piled next to velvet boxes of jewelry. Dante left this here for my "allowance." I knew better than to touch the new bills. The Vitiello family tracked serial numbers. If I spent a single hundred-dollar bill from those stacks, Dante’s men would have my location in ten minutes. I bypassed the cash and reached into the very back of the safe. I pulled out a velvet pouch containing two solid gold bars. They were heavy, cold, and entirely untraceable. I carried the gold into the walk-in closet. I grabbed a heavy, dark winter coat from the back of the rack. I brought it to the bed, grabbed a small sewing kit from my vanity, and took a pair of surgical scissors to the inner lining of the coat. I sliced the fabric open, slipped the two gold bars deep into the insulation, and threaded a needle with thick black thread. I began to sew the lining back together. My hands moved quickly, a skill born out of necessity when I had to mend my own clothes to avoid looking like trash at school. I pulled the thread tight. The needle slipped, plunging deep into the pad of my index finger. I hissed, pulling my hand back. A bright bead of dark red blood welled up on my skin. I stared at it. I didn't get up to find a bandage. I pressed my bleeding finger directly against the dark fabric of the coat, smearing the blood into the wool until the cut stopped bleeding. I stood up and walked over to the paper calendar hanging on the back of the closet door. I picked up a thick black marker and drew a heavy, violent 'X' over today's date. Day 13. The countdown had officially begun. A sharp chime echoed through the apartment. The private elevator had arrived. I shoved the winter coat into the very back of the closet, throwing a pile of dry-cleaning bags over it. I grabbed a microfiber cloth from the nightstand and started wiping down the polished wood, my breathing perfectly even. The front door opened. Heavy, hurried footsteps crossed the foyer. "Elena?" Marco called out. I walked out of the bedroom, the cloth still in my hand. Marco stood in the living room, holding two massive, high-end shopping bags from a luxury health store. When Marco looked at me, his eyes softened with a look of profound, uncomfortable pity. It made my skin crawl. "Dante is stuck in Washington," Marco said, his voice tight. "He won't make it back tonight. He asked me to bring you these. Vitamins, imported teas. He said you've been looking pale." I put the cloth down and walked over. I took the bags from his hands, forcing a soft, gentle smile onto my face. I played the role of the perfect, naive girl. "Thank you, Marco," I said softly. "Tell him I appreciate it. And tell him not to work too hard." Marco opened his mouth. His jaw flexed. He looked like he wanted to say something, to warn me, to apologize for the fact that his boss was currently in a hotel room in Brooklyn with another woman. But his loyalty to the family won. He swallowed hard, nodded curtly, and turned away. "Have a good night, Elena." The moment the heavy front door clicked shut, the smile fell from my face like shattered glass. I carried the two expensive shopping bags straight into the kitchen. I opened the cabinet under the sink, stepped on the pedal of the trash can, and dumped the hundreds of dollars' worth of supplements directly into the garbage. "Tainted with another woman's perfume, this trash will only dirty my hands."