The Betrayed Princess's New Reign

Matteo Vitiello POV: Three days and two nights of pure hell finally ended. I stood on the smooth, pristine asphalt of a Long Island neighborhood. The air here smelled of expensive pine and ocean salt, a sickening contrast to the garbage and blood that coated my skin. I used to live in places like this. I used to own the world. Now, I was a walking pile of trash. Looming ahead of me were the massive, towering iron gates of the Moretti private estate. The gates were shut tight. Beyond them, the sprawling mansion blazed with warm, golden light. Soft, elegant classical music drifted through the cool night air. The driveway was lined with dozens of luxury cars—Ferraris, Bentleys, and armored SUVs. It was a celebration. It was Elena's pregnancy banquet. I grabbed Luca's hand and dragged my bleeding stump toward the iron bars. Our foul stench and shredded clothes were a horrific stain against the backdrop of billions of dollars. Two heavily armed security guards in tailored black suits stepped out from the shadows of the gatehouse. Their eyes locked on us, instantly recognizing the threat. Before I could speak, both men drew their weapons. The cold, black muzzles of two Glocks aimed directly at the center of my forehead. "Step back from the gate. Now. Or we will shoot you where you stand," the guard on the left ordered, his voice devoid of any humanity. My knees buckled. I didn't step back. I collapsed onto the wet asphalt, dropping straight to my knees. "Please," I screamed, my voice tearing my throat raw. "I just want to see her! I just want to see Elena! Just one look!" The guards looked at me like I was a rabid dog. The one on the right tapped his earpiece. "Control, we have a vagrant at the main gate. Send a patrol unit to clear this trash." Seeing the guns, Luca panicked. He hid behind my back, clutching his oily teddy bear, and began to wail at the top of his lungs. I lunged forward, grabbing the thick iron bars of the gate with both hands. I squeezed so hard the sharp iron ornaments sliced into my palms. Blood dripped down the black metal. I stared through the bars at the glowing mansion, desperate for a glimpse of her shadow. Suddenly, a sharp command echoed from the guard's earpiece. The guards immediately holstered their weapons and snapped to attention. The guard on the left stepped forward and kicked me squarely in the chest with his heavy combat boot. I flew backward, rolling twice on the hard asphalt. My head slammed against the curb. Blood poured down my forehead, blinding my left eye. But I didn't stay down. I pushed myself up on my hands. The massive iron gates slowly began to swing open. A convoy of black, armored SUVs rolled out of the estate. In the center of the formation was a custom, bulletproof Rolls Royce Phantom. The convoy slowed to a crawl as it passed over the security speed bumps. Because of the fresh rain, the air was crisp. The rear window of the Rolls Royce was not fully sealed. It was rolled down by a third. My pupils dilated. My heart stopped beating. Through that narrow gap, I saw her. Elena sat in the back seat. She wore a deep burgundy maternity gown that hugged her perfectly. A multi-million-dollar diamond necklace rested against her collarbone. She looked radiant, powerful, and untouchable. She was a goddess, and my filthy existence only magnified her perfection. Dante sat beside her, leaning close, his large hands gently adjusting a cashmere shawl over her shoulders. A surge of unnatural strength exploded in my veins. I ignored the patrol guards rushing toward me. I scrambled to my feet and ran. I dragged my heavy, agonizing plastic leg, sprinting like a madman toward the moving Rolls Royce. I threw my body against the side of the car. My bloody hand slammed flat against the thick bulletproof glass, leaving a bright red smear. I pressed my face near the open gap of the window. "Elena! Please, look at me!"