You Left Me to Die, Now Call Me Your Boss's Wife

POV: Vivian

Dante stood over me, his presence suffocating the narrow hallway. Before I could speak, he stripped off his heavy charcoal coat and threw it over my bare, bloodied shoulders. The thick wool carried the sharp scent of cedar, tobacco, and cold iron.

He didn't offer a gentle hand. Instead, his black leather glove clamped hard around my jaw, tilting my face up toward the harsh fluorescent lighting. His thumb dug into the bone near my ear as his grey eyes swept over the crimson tearing through the emerald silk at my shoulder.

"Look at you," Dante murmured, his voice scraping low and rough against the quiet. "Bleeding out on the floor while your master hides behind ten inches of steel."

I knocked his wrist away with what little strength I had left. "Don't touch me, Falcone."

"Still showing your claws?" Dante let out a dry, humorless chuckle, his hand dropping to his side. "You're bleeding through your dress, Vivian. The shooters are dead, but the clean-up crew won't be as polite. Come with me, or stay here and wait for that pig to come out and bag your corpse."

"I don't need your charity," I said through gritted teeth.

I planted my palms against the cold marble wall and shoved myself upward. A jagged bolt of pain shot through my arm, and the violent cramp in my lower abdomen flared so hard my knees nearly buckled. I swallowed the taste of bile, locked my joints, and stood straight.

Dante took a slow drag of his cigar, his eyes narrowing with something dangerously close to respect. "Suit yourself, little cat. But watching you die for a coward is getting boring."

Behind us, heavy boots echoed down the service corridor as Moretti family security finally flooded the penthouse. Shouts rang out as they cleared the remaining blind spots and established a perimeter.

A low hiss of hydraulics broke through the noise.

The heavy titanium vault door unlocked with a deep mechanical clunk and slid upward into the ceiling.

Lorenzo stepped out first, his tailored suit completely spotless. His left arm was wrapped protectively around Gia's waist, supporting her as if she were made of spun glass. Gia didn't have a single scratch on her skin, though she leaned heavily against him, her face buried into the crook of his neck.

Lorenzo’s eyes swept the hallway, immediately taking in Dante Falcone's armed men before locking onto me.

When he saw the blood soaking my arm and the ripped fabric of my dress, a brief flicker of guilt crossed his face. But the moment his gaze shifted to Dante's coat hanging over my shoulders, that guilt vanished, replaced instantly by defensive anger.

"Why the hell haven't you evacuated yet?" Lorenzo snapped, marching toward me with his jaw clenched tight. "I told you to clear out through the stairwell! Do you have any idea what you put Gia through? She was hysterical in that vault listening to the gunfire out here!"

I stared at him, my voice completely flat. "You locked me out with four armed hitmen, Lorenzo."

"And you're standing here alive, aren't you?" he threw back, not a single trace of shame in his eyes. "You've survived worse in the south docks. You know how to take cover. Gia doesn't. She could have had a fatal asthma attack from the dust alone, but you're standing around complaining while consorting with Falcone's dogs."

Gia lifted her head from Lorenzo's chest, her eyes wide, shiny, and brimming with fresh tears.

"Lorenzo, please don't yell at Vivian..." Gia’s voice trembled, soft and pitiful. "It’s all my fault. If I wasn't so weak, Vivian wouldn't have had to stay outside and get hurt. I’m just a burden to everyone. Vivian, please don't be mad at Lorenzo. He was only trying to protect me because I was so scared..."

She buried her face in her hands, letting out a fragile, muffled sob.

Lorenzo’s expression softened immediately. He pulled her closer against his side, rubbing her arm with a tenderness that made my stomach turn.

"Stop it, Gia," Lorenzo said softly to her. "None of this is your fault."

He turned back to me, his brow furrowed in irritation. His eyes dropped to my left hand, catching the dark glint of the platinum signet ring he had placed on my finger less than twenty minutes ago—the Moretti family seal that commanded the private guard and authorized syndicate movements.

Without warning, Lorenzo reached out and grabbed my left wrist.

He didn't ask. He gripped the heavy platinum band and yanked it violently off my finger.

The sharp metal dragged hard against my swollen knuckles, scraping away the top layer of skin and leaving a raw, red streak behind.

"What are you doing?" I asked, not pulling back, just watching him with dead eyes.

Lorenzo didn't look at the raw mark on my hand. He took Gia’s trembling right hand, slipped the heavy ring onto her index finger, and closed her small fingers over it.

"Gia's nerves are completely shattered," Lorenzo said coldly, looking back up at me as if he were explaining basic common sense to a child. "She needs something solid to ground her. She will hold onto this ring for peace of mind until the situation stabilizes. You have your weapons, Vivian. You don't need a symbol to feel safe. Don't make a scene over a piece of metal."

Gia looked down at the massive black diamond resting against her skin, a faint, victorious curve touching the corners of her lips before she quickly hid it behind another tearful sniffle.

"Lorenzo... is this really okay?" Gia whispered. "This belongs to Vivian..."

"It belongs to the head of this family," Lorenzo said firmly, his eyes fixed on me. "And I decide who wears it."

A dead silence fell over the corridor. Dante’s men stood motionless, while the Moretti guards shifted awkwardly, avoiding my gaze.

I looked at my hand. The skin was stinging, blood welling at the edge of the scrape.

Five years of laying my life on the line. Five years of cleaning his messes, taking his bullets, and building his empire from the dirt up.

All of it, reduced to an ornament to comfort a mistress with a cough.

No anger rose to the surface. No sorrow clawed at my throat. Everything inside me went utterly, blissfully numb.

A sharp, mocking smile pulled at the corner of my mouth.

"You're right," I said quietly. "Keep it."

I reached down with my uninjured hand and unbuckled the thin ankle straps of my emerald stilettos. I pulled the blood-splattered shoes off my feet and dropped them onto the floor.

Then, with a clean flick of my foot, I kicked both heavy heels straight into Lorenzo’s polished dress shoes.

The metal heels struck his shins with a sharp, hollow thud.

Lorenzo flinched back, his eyes flashing with sudden rage. "Vivian! Have you lost your mind?"

I didn't answer him. I didn't give him another second of my life.

I turned my back on them and walked away, my bare feet stepping over the shattered glass and cold marble. Dante watched me pass, a wicked, knowing grin spreading across his face as he signaled his men to clear a path.

I didn't look at Dante, and I didn't look back at Lorenzo.

As soon as I turned the corner into the darkened service stairwell, away from their sight, I reached beneath Dante's heavy coat and into the hidden inner lining of my ruined gown. I pulled out my backup satellite phone, flicked the switch, and dialed a memorized twelve-digit private number routed through Zurich.

The line clicked on the second ring.

"Swiss Private Vaults, Directorate Nine," a cold, automated voice answered in French.

"Authorization code: Black Dahlia Seven-Nine-Zero," I spoke into the receiver, my voice steady, sharp, and stripped of all emotion. "This is Vivian De Rossi."

"Identity verified, Madame De Rossi. Awaiting instructions."

"Revoke all joint credit lines and security authorizations previously granted to the Moretti syndicate," I said, stepping out into the cold night rain on the fire escape. "Freeze every account tied to my collateral. And initiate a full asset strip of their northern holdings. Leave them with nothing."