My Kidney For His Mistress: Never Again

Consciousness returned in fragments, dragging me back to the sharp scent of antiseptic and the low rumble of arguing.

I was in a hospital bed again. The IV dripping into my arm was clear fluids this time. The curtain between my bed and the next was drawn, but privacy is an illusion in these sterile rooms.

"You are a fool, Dante," Matteo was saying, his voice tight with disbelief. "She gave you a kidney. Then she gave you her blood when she could barely stand. And you treat her like she is nothing more than a piece of furniture."

"She loves me." Dante's voice was raspy, weak, yet the innate arrogance was untouched. "Elena is tough. She's not fragile like Sofia. She understands duty."

"Duty?" Matteo scoffed. "She resigned, Dante. She left her keys. She emptied her office."

"A tantrum," Dante dismissed, the sound of shifting sheets accompanying his words. "She has nowhere else to go. Her father sold her to me. She is my property. She will be back in the penthouse by tomorrow, making my espresso."

My property.

Not his partner. Not his love. His property.

The door to their room opened, signaled by the sharp click of high heels.

"Dante!" Sofia's voice was high-pitched, frantic. "The thunder! It's terrifying! I'm scared!"

Outside, a violent storm was breaking over Chicago.

"I'm here, Sofia," Dante said, his voice instantly softening into that velvet tone he never used with me.

"Come to my room," she begged. "Please. The nurses are horrible to me."

"Matteo, help me up," Dante ordered.

"You just had a transfusion," Matteo argued. "You need to stay in bed."

"Sofia needs me. Help me up, or I'll rip these tubes out myself."

I heard the rustle of linens, the grunt of pain as he moved.

They walked past my curtain. I turned my head just enough to see through the narrow gap.

Dante was pale, leaning heavily on Matteo. He was wearing a hospital gown, looking like death warmed over. But he was moving. He was walking toward the door, toward Sofia.

He walked right past the foot of my bed.

He didn't look at the chart hanging there. He didn't ask the nurse in the hall how the donor was doing. He didn't even pause.

He walked past the woman who had saved his life twice in one week to go hold the hand of the woman who wouldn't give him a drop of blood.

I lay back against the pillow. A strange sensation washed over me. It wasn't pain. It wasn't anger.

It was peace.

The final tether had snapped. The last little thread of hope that had kept me bound to him was gone.

I smiled. In the silence of the empty room, it must have looked terrifying.

Two days later, I was back in the penthouse, finishing my packing. Dante walked in. He looked better, the color back in his cheeks-stolen color, courtesy of my blood.

"Elena," he said, nodding at me as if nothing had happened. "I'm glad you're home. The house staff can't make the soup right."

"I'm sure they'll learn," I said, smoothly folding a sweater.

"Listen," he said, adjusting his sling. "About the ball. I'm going to make it up to you. We'll have a private engagement party. Just the Capos. No Sofia. I told her she needs to stay home and recover."

He thought this was a reward. He thought excluding his mistress from his fiancée's engagement party was a grand romantic gesture.

"Okay," I said.

He blinked, surprised by how easy it was. "Okay?"

"Sure, Dante. A party sounds... fitting."

I needed three more days until Enzo's plane landed. I could play the part for three more days.

"Good girl," he said, reaching out to stroke my cheek.

I didn't flinch. I didn't lean into it. I stood as still as a statue.

"You're cold," he noted, pulling his hand back.

"I'm just tired," I lied. "I lost a lot of blood recently."

He had the grace to look slightly uncomfortable, but it passed quickly. "Right. Thank you for that. I'll buy you that diamond necklace you liked at the auction."

He walked away to pour himself a drink.

I looked at his back. Enjoy it, Dante, I thought. Enjoy the silence. Because the storm is coming, and you won't have an umbrella.