She Returned: A Mafia Boss’s Nightmare
The man who swore he would burn the world down for me has been married to another woman for three years. I found out the day I was finally discharged from the Swiss clinic he'd sent me to.
I flew home to surprise him, only to discover my release was a year overdue. He had forged my medical reports, painting me as a fragile, broken thing just to keep me locked away while he built a new life.
His new wife, Isabella, hit me with her car. He defended her, calling me hysterical. She stole my art portfolio and claimed it as her own, and he forced me to take the blame to protect his family's reputation.
She even killed her own puppy to frame me. While I jumped into a freezing river to retrieve my father's medallion that she'd thrown in, he stood on the terrace pointing out a meteor shower to her.
The final betrayal came when Isabella faked her own kidnapping and named me as the culprit.
I didn't understand. This was Dante Moretti, the Devil of the East Coast, my guardian, the man who had sworn to be my shield. Why was he letting this woman destroy me piece by piece?
Believing I was the kidnapper, he had me tied to a helicopter, dragged across a field, and left me for dead. But I didn't die. I survived. Five years later, I have a new name, a new life, and a husband who loves me. And today, I just ran into Dante on the street. He looked at me like he'd seen a ghost.
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Chapter 9
Elara POV:
Pain was a fog, and in it, I dreamed. I dreamed of Dante in Switzerland, dabbing antiseptic on a cut on my hand. His touch had been impossibly gentle, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored my own.
I dreamed of the time I tried to leave him, packing a small bag, telling him I couldn't live in his world of violence anymore. He had held me, his arms a cage of desperation, his voice breaking as he whispered, "Without you, what's the point of any of this?"
Waking was a fresh wave of agony, and with it, a brutal truth. He had found a new point. Someone more important.
Every movement sent a fresh spike of agony through me, but I dragged my broken body from the floor. I packed a single bag, stuffing in my passport and the last of my cash. I had to get out.
As I limped toward the door, my phone buzzed on the counter. A text from Dante.
I've found a better doctor for you in Boston. I'll take you there myself. I won't fail you again. Please, trust me.
I stared at the words, a bitter, broken smile I couldn't feel stretching my lips. Trust him. The very concept was a cruel joke. Every shard of pain in my body was a monument to that trust.
I found an envelope and a stamp. I carefully packaged the discharge papers from the Swiss clinic-the ones that proved I was cleared for release a year ago-and the empty bottle of his falsified medication. I addressed it to his penthouse.
I bit my lip until I tasted blood, a cold resolve solidifying in my chest. I didn't want his apologies. I didn't want his guilt. I didn't want him.
The journey to the airport was a blur of clenched teeth and sheer will. The plane took off into a raging storm, the turbulence a pale imitation of the chaos raging inside me. I stared out the window at the lightning splitting the dark sky.
I smiled.
I found his contact in my phone, the name I had once cherished. My thumb hovered over the screen.
Then I pressed delete.
Elara, I whispered to the ghost of the girl I once was, this time, you will be happy.
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