Chapter 1

Elena's POV

I stared at the heavy mahogany door of my husband's study, my hand trembling slightly around the manila envelope.

Inside that envelope was my freedom.

Four years. I had been Mrs. Dante Moretti for four years. Wife to the city's most feared Mafia Prince, the heir to the Valenti empire.

But to him, I was nothing more than a ghost haunting his hallways.

I took a deep breath, pushing down the nausea that had been plaguing me all morning—stress, I told myself—and pushed the door open.

The scent hit me instantly.

It wasn't the smell of old books or Dante's expensive cigar smoke. It was the pungent, earthy aroma of white truffles.

And underneath that... her perfume. Chanel No. 5.

Dante sat behind his massive desk, his suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up to reveal the tattoos on his forearms. He looked relaxed, a rare sight.

Beside him, perched on the edge of his desk like she owned it, was Bianca Rossi.

She was feeding him a piece of bruschetta topped with shaved truffles, her red-manicured fingers lingering near his lips.

Dante was smiling. A genuine, unguarded smile I hadn't seen directed at me since our wedding day.

Then he saw me.

The smile vanished instantly, replaced by a mask of cold indifference.

"Elena," he said, his voice flat. "I didn't hear you come in."

Bianca turned, her eyes flashing with mock surprise. "Oh, Elena! I didn't see you there. Dante and I were just... sampling the catering for the gala next week. Want a bite? Though there's only enough for two."

The nausea roiled in my stomach again. I swallowed it down.

"No, thank you," I said, my voice steady. "I'm not hungry."

I walked forward, ignoring Bianca's smirk, and placed the envelope on the desk.

It landed with a soft slap, sliding between them like a blade.

Dante glanced at it, frowning. "What is this?"

"University paperwork," I lied smoothly. "Liability forms for my research project. They need a signature from my... legal guardian or spouse."

Dante sighed, looking annoyed at the interruption. "Can't this wait? Bianca and I are discussing important business."

"It's due today," I said. "Just sign the last page. It will take two seconds."

He hesitated, his dark eyes boring into mine. For a second, my heart hammered against my ribs. Does he know? Can he see the 'DIVORCE PETITION' title hidden under the cover sheet?

"Oh, come on, Dante," Bianca laughed, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Just sign it so she can go back to her little science experiments. We have real work to do."

Her touch seemed to decide it for him.

Dante grabbed his fountain pen—the gold one I had bought him for our first anniversary, which he never used—and flipped to the last page without reading a single word.

Scritch. Scratch.

He signed his name with a flourish. The same signature that authorized million-dollar drug deals and ordered hits on rivals.

Now, it authorized my escape.

"There," he said, sliding the papers back to me. "Anything else?"

"No," I said, clutching the envelope to my chest. "That's all."

"Good." He turned back to Bianca, dismissing me completely. "Close the door on your way out."

I turned and walked away. My legs felt heavy, but my spirit felt lighter with every step.

As I reached the door, I heard Bianca giggle. "She's so dull, Dante. I don't know how you stand living with her."

"She's quiet," Dante replied, his voice muffled but audible. "She stays out of the way. That's all I need."

I closed the door softly.

Quiet. Out of the way.

Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not here. Not over him.

I walked down the grand staircase of the Valenti mansion for the last time.

He thought he had just signed a permission slip for a field trip. He didn't know he had just signed away his marriage.

And he certainly didn't know about the other secret I was carrying.

I pressed a hand to my flat stomach.

You won't be like him, I promised the tiny life growing inside me. You won't be cold. You won't be cruel. And you will never, ever know a father who thinks you are just something to be kept 'out of the way'.

I walked out the front door into the bright sunlight.

Goodbye, Dante Moretti.