Too Late For Regret: The Mafia King's Runaway

Dante Moretti POV

The coffee in my hand had turned to tepid sludge.

I walked down the hospital corridor, rubbing the grit of exhaustion from my eyes.

I needed to go home. I needed to face Elena.

I had been harsh. I had pushed her. The memory of her body hitting the wall replayed in my mind, making my stomach turn with a sharp twist of nausea.

I would apologize. I would buy her those diamond earrings she had admired. She would forgive me. She always forgave me. She was Elena. She was the constant in my chaotic world.

I turned the corner toward Sofia's room.

A man was exiting her door. He was wearing hospital scrubs, but he didn't move like a healer. He moved with the predatory grace of a soldier.

He turned his head.

I saw the tattoo on his neck. A coiled snake.

The Genovese crest.

I stopped dead. My blood ran cold.

He disappeared into the stairwell before I could even process the threat to react.

I walked into the room, my senses on high alert.

Sofia was beaming. She looked vibrant—far too vibrant for someone allegedly suffering from a severe concussion.

"Dante! You're back! Did you bring me coffee?"

I stared at her, searching for the truth in her eyes.

"Who was that man?" I asked, my voice low.

Sofia blinked, the picture of innocence. "What man?"

"The man who just left."

"Oh." She laughed, but it was a brittle, nervous sound. "That was Uber Eats. He brought me a bagel."

"Uber Eats drivers wear surgical scrubs now?"

Sofia's smile faltered. "You're being paranoid, baby. Come sit."

Before I could answer, the door swung open behind me.

My parents walked in.

My mother, the Matriarch, swept in like a brewing tempest, while my father trailed behind, looking weary.

Sofia gasped, feigning delight. "Mr. and Mrs. Moretti! I am so honored you came."

She reached for my hand.

I pulled away as if burned.

My mother didn't speak. She slammed a heavy leather album onto the tray table. It hit with a thunderous thud that rattled the water pitcher.

"What is this?" Sofia asked, her voice trembling slightly.

"Look at it," my mother spat.

I opened the album.

It was a catalog of neglect. Photos of Elena.

Elena at the charity gala. Standing alone.

Elena at Christmas mass. Sitting alone.

Elena at my nephew's baptism. Celebrating alone.

"She has been the perfect wife for three years, Dante," my mother said, her voice cutting like glass. "While you played nursemaid to this... creature."

Sofia's face crumpled. "That's not fair! I needed him!"

My mother ignored her and pulled out a tablet.

"Security footage," she announced. "From the hallway camera. Two hours ago."

She pressed play.

I watched in silence.

I watched the man with the snake tattoo enter the room. I watched him stay for forty minutes. I watched him leave, laughing as if sharing a private joke.

I looked up at Sofia.

Her lipstick was smeared. Her eyes were no longer soft; they were calculating, shifting with panic.

"You are being played by a black widow," my mother said. "The Genovese didn't kidnap her. She invited them."

The realization hit me like a physical blow to the chest.

The trap. The warehouse. The sudden "danger."

It was all a game. A choreographed performance to make me leave the gala. A game to make me leave Elena.

And I had fallen for it.

Sofia reached for me again, desperation clawing at her features. "Dante, please. They are lying."

I looked at her. Really looked at her.

I didn't see the tragic widow anymore. I saw a cheap, grasping traitor.

"Take me home," she begged, tears spilling over.

I took a step back, putting distance between us.

"I am not your chauffeur," I said, my voice turning to ice. "I am the Don."

My mother stepped forward, her expression grim.

"Go find your wife, Dante. Before you have no wife left to find."

I turned around without another word.

"Dante!" Sofia screamed behind me.

I walked out. I walked faster. Then, I started to run.

Dread pooled in my gut, heavy and dark like tar.

Elena's face when she hit the wall. The blood on her fingers. The hollow way she had said, "I will."

I needed to get home.