My Dead Husband Returned With Another Woman
Chapter 7
Elena POV
The convoy arrived at dawn.
But it wasn't a carriage that came for us.
It was a fleet of black, armored SUVs that crouched on the dirt road like idling beasts.
All down the street, curtains twitched as neighbors peeked through their blinds, terrified.
Dante stood on the porch, his body coiled tight.
He was scanning the perimeter, his eyes tracking the movement of the soldiers Rocco had called in.
From the wary set of his jaw, I could tell he didn't know them.
He didn't realize they were his subordinates.
He only saw armed men near his pregnant woman.
"It's okay, Arthur," Mia said, her voice soft as she touched his arm. "They're here to take us home."
Dante didn't relax until she was safely inside the middle vehicle.
It was the most secure one.
Bulletproof glass.
Reinforced chassis.
It was the car designed for the Don and his Donna.
I stood by the open door, watching.
"Get in," Rocco said to me, gesturing to the back seat where Dante and Mia were settling.
I shook my head, stepping back.
"No," I said. "I'll take the lead car."
Rocco frowned. "Principessa, that car is for security. It's not comfortable."
"I don't care."
I couldn't sit in a confined space with them for twelve hours.
I couldn't watch him touch her.
I walked to the front SUV and climbed in next to the driver.
The leather was stiff.
The suspension was unforgiving.
As we rolled out of the town, leaving the safety of the Midwest behind, I felt the familiar weight of the life I had tried to escape settling back onto my shoulders like a lead cloak.
We drove for hours.
My back ached.
My chest felt tight, a constant pressure that made it hard to draw a full breath.
We stopped at a rest area in Pennsylvania.
The soldiers formed a perimeter instantly.
Dante helped Mia out of the car.
He kept his hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward a picnic bench as if she were made of glass.
He didn't look at the soldiers.
He didn't look at me.
His world had shrunk to the size of the woman beside him.
I sat on a concrete barrier, keeping my distance.
Rocco brought me a bottle of water.
"You need to eat," he grunted.
"I'm not hungry."
I watched Dante.
He was peeling an orange.
He did it methodically, removing every scrap of white pith before handing a segment to Mia.
She ate it, laughing at something he said.
He wiped a drop of juice from her chin with his thumb.
The gesture was so intimate, so casual, it felt like a slap across my face.
He used to do that for me.
On our honeymoon in Sicily, he had peeled blood oranges for me on the terrace.
He had told me that the fruit was sweet because it grew from volcanic soil.
Destruction creates beauty, Elena, he had said.
Now he was creating beauty for someone else, and I was just the destruction.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
It was a text from Luca, my brother.
Status?
I typed back with trembling fingers.
He is coming home. Prepare the Don.
I didn't tell him that the Don was gone.
I didn't tell him that the man coming home was named Arthur, and that he was bringing a queen who wasn't me.
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