The Betrayed Princess's New Reign

Elena Vitiello POV: I slowly lowered my wine glass. The crystal clinked softly against the table. I looked down at Luca, writhing on the floor like a crushed insect. For the first time since he walked in, a flicker of emotion crossed my face. It was pure, unfiltered disgust. Seeing him groveling brought back the stench of the Chicago warehouse. He had looked exactly like this when he begged me to forgive him for choosing Sofia, crying crocodile tears while my heart shattered. Luca saw the shift in my expression. His twisted mind immediately misinterpreted my disgust as fear of the man sitting across from me. He scrambled to his knees, his expensive suit ruined. "Elena, listen to me! I see it now. I see what a monster Sofia is. I know how wrong I was!" He reached into his pocket with trembling hands. He pulled out his phone and frantically swiped at the screen. He flipped the phone around, shoving the screen toward me like a trophy. It was a photograph. The image was violently bloody. Sofia was lying on a concrete floor. Her face, the beauty she had used as a weapon, was slashed to ribbons, covered in deep, raw lacerations. Both of her legs were bent at horrifying, unnatural angles, the bones clearly shattered. "I did this!" Luca bragged, his voice hysterical and desperate. "I punished her for what she did to you! I destroyed that bitch for you, Elena!" Matteo groaned from the floor, clutching his broken leg. "We paid the price, Elena. Please, just come home with us." Luca stared at me, his eyes wide with sick hope. He genuinely believed that presenting me with a mutilated body was a "blood oath." He thought this gruesome picture would instantly erase my scars and buy back my love. The restaurant fell into a dead, heavy silence. Across from me, Dante’s posture shifted. A flash of pure, unadulterated killing intent ignited in his black eyes. He had sworn to peel the skin off whoever hurt me. Now, the idiot on the floor had just handed him the names. I looked at the bloody screen. I didn't feel fear. I didn't even feel the vindictive thrill of revenge. I only felt a hollow, crushing sorrow for the absolute stupidity of men who thought blood and violence could be traded for a woman's soul. I pushed my chair back and stood up. The heavy emerald velvet of my skirt swept across the carpet. I walked slowly toward Luca. I stopped right in front of him, looking down at his pathetic, hopeful face. I was a god staring at a rat in the sewer. Luca’s face lit up. He thought he had won. He reached his free hand toward his pocket, trying to pull out the cheap ring box. I lifted my foot. I slammed the needle-thin stiletto heel of my shoe directly onto the wrist of the hand holding his phone. I put my full weight into it. The sharp metal heel pierced his skin, grinding directly against his bone. Luca let out a bloodcurdling scream. His fingers flew open. The phone clattered to the floor, the bloody image of Sofia flickering once before the screen went black. I bent at the waist, leaning close to his face. My eyes were completely devoid of warmth. "Do you honestly think," I whispered, my voice slicing through his screams like a razor, "that breaking a piece of trash pieces my forgiveness back together?" Luca sobbed, sweat pouring down his face as my heel dug deeper. "I love you! I did it because I love you!" I let out a short, mocking laugh. "Your love is cheaper than the garbage on the New York streets." I leaned in an inch closer, destroying his last delusion. "You didn't ruin Sofia because you love me. You ruined her because your fragile ego couldn't handle the fact that you were played by a cheap bitch." Luca’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. His breath hitched. I had just ripped away the last moral high ground he was clinging to. Matteo opened his mouth to defend him. I shot Matteo a glare so cold and lethal he instantly clamped his mouth shut, trembling. I lifted my heel, pulling it out of Luca’s flesh. I turned my back on them and walked gracefully back to Dante’s side. Looking at them any longer made my eyes feel dirty. I picked up the silk Hermes napkin off the table. I carefully wiped the smear of Luca’s blood off the edge of my stiletto. When I was done, I tossed the crumpled silk over my shoulder. It landed directly on Luca’s face. Luca clutched the perfume-scented silk, his psychological defenses shattering completely. Snot and tears mixed on his face as he sobbed uncontrollably. He finally understood. The girl from Chicago was dead. Dante slowly pushed his chair back and stood up to deliver the final sentence. "You disgust me more than the mud on my shoes."