My Kidney For His Mistress: Never Again
I woke up from surgery with a jagged scar on my side and a missing kidney.
My fiancé, Dante Moretti, the Capo of the Chicago Outfit, hadn't saved me from an illness. He had harvested me like spare parts to save his mistress, Sofia.
"She pays the tithe," he had told the surgeon coldly while I was paralyzed by anesthesia.
For ten years, I was his loyal shadow. I managed his legitimate empire, took bullets for him, and even aborted our child three years ago because Sofia threw a tantrum about bloodlines.
I thought my absolute loyalty would eventually earn his love.
But when the Cartel held us both over the edge of a bridge days later, Dante didn't choose me.
He tackled Sofia to safety and watched as I fell backward into the freezing black river.
He thought I drowned. Or worse, he assumed I was a dog that would eventually swim back to its master, no matter how hard he kicked it.
He was wrong.
I dragged myself out of that water, but the woman who loved him died in the depths.
Seven days later, I didn't return to the Moretti penthouse.
I walked straight into the headquarters of his mortal enemy, Enzo Falcone.
"Do you still want to marry me?" I asked the man who wanted Dante’s head on a spike.
Enzo didn't hesitate. "I will burn the city down before I let him touch you again."
Now, Dante is crawling at my gates, paralyzed and ruined, holding a medical box containing my stolen kidney.
But he forgot one thing: I don't want it back.
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Chapter 9
Dante Moretti POV
The hotel suite was quiet, heavy with the low hum of the air conditioner.
I felt good. Better than good. I felt an immense sense of relief.
Elena was gone, sure. She was throwing a tantrum. But she would be back. She always came back.
She just needed to cool off. The soup she had left behind was proof-she was angry, but she still served me. She still cared.
Sofia was in the bathroom, humming softly. We had just had sex. It was... fine.
But it lacked the desperation Elena had, the raw intensity. Sofia was porcelain-fragile in bed, like she might break if I held her too tight. I had to be careful.
"Dante," Sofia called out. "Come look at this."
I walked into the bedroom. She was sitting on the bed, clutching her iPad. Her face was ghostly pale.
"What is it?"
"It's trending," she whispered, refusing to meet my eyes. "Worldwide."
She turned the screen toward me.
It was a video. Grainy, shaky footage from an airport in Sicily.
I saw the black SUVs first. Falcone.
Then I saw him. Enzo. That arrogant bastard.
And then I saw her.
Elena.
She wasn't crying. She wasn't hiding. She was wearing jeans and a leather jacket I didn't recognize. She looked like a stranger. She looked fierce.
I watched as Enzo Falcone, the man who had tried to put me in the ground three times, lifted my Elena into his arms.
I watched him kiss her. I watched her kiss him back.
The headline screamed at me: DONE DEAL. THE RIVAL KINGS SWAP QUEENS.
"It's fake," I said. My voice sounded distant, like it was coming from deep underwater. "It's a deepfake. Enzo is playing games."
"Dante," Sofia said, scrolling down. "There's a photo of the marriage license. It's real."
"No!" I roared.
I snatched the iPad and smashed it against the wall. The screen exploded in a shower of glass and sparks.
I scrambled for my phone. My hands were shaking so hard I dropped it twice before I could unlock it.
I dialed Elena.
The number you have dialed is not in service.
Blocked.
I dialed Matteo. Voicemail.
I opened my messages. There was one unread text from Elena. Sent four hours ago.
I opened it.
A video file. A document. And a text.
I tapped the video first.
It was me. In the smoking lounge. She is my property. She will never know.
The audio was crisp. It sliced through my chest like a razor blade.
Then the document. The medical authorization form.
Patient: Elena Vitiello.
Procedure: Nephrectomy.
Recipient: Sofia Bianchi.
Authorized by: Dante Moretti (Power of Attorney).
I felt bile rise in my throat.
She knew.
She knew I had harvested her kidney. She knew I lied about the appendix. She knew I pushed her.
I read the text.
You belong to her now.
The room spun. I sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight.
"Dante?" Sofia touched my shoulder. "What did she say? Is she coming back to apologize?"
I looked at Sofia. Really looked at her.
I saw the woman I had destroyed my life for. The woman I had carved my true love open to save.
"She knows," I whispered. "She knows everything."
"So what?" Sofia shrugged, her expression dismissive. "She's just a tool, Dante. You said it yourself. We have the heir coming. Who cares if the help quits?"
The help.
Elena wasn't the help. Elena was the air I breathed, and I hadn't realized it until the room was a vacuum.
"Get out," I said.