Page 26 of Married to the Ruthless Mafia Heir

"Sorry. I can't." He kept his head down, ran a hand through his hair. Wouldn't look at me. "Go to sleep, Elena."

I couldn't let it go. "Dante, do you really hate me that much?"

He didn't answer that. Just said, voice rough, "Elena. Put yourself in my position. This isn't easy."

His voice was low. Not cold like before, but not warm either. Like something dragged out of him after a long day.

"I know." My hand was still on his back. He didn't pull away. I held back my tears. "Then when will you be able to accept this?"

He didn't answer.

The darkness filled with nothing but Dante's long, steady breaths.

Chapter Nine

Dante

The conference room was packed. The mid-year strategy meeting dragged on, two factions battling it out across the long table over competing development plans.

My head throbbed. The noise grated on me. Truth was, they were all just fighting for their own interests—whoever's proposal I picked would run point for the second half of the year, get promoted, and see a fat raise.

Just as I was feeling restless, my phone screen lit up. I picked it up and saw that the message was from Elena.

"Are you coming home for dinner?"

Her tone was soft. Things between us had shifted lately. I could feel my resistance to her weakening. She'd become what a wife should be—caring for me, taking care of the manor and Salvador, and—

Reminding me, every so often, that she wanted to give me an heir.

I waved Marco over. "You finish this meeting. Take notes and bring them to me."

Marco nodded. I grabbed my phone and got the hell out of that noisy room. Out in the empty hallway, I pressed one hand against the cold glass window, tapping my fingers against it.

I was debating whether to go home for dinner.

Elena's face floated into my mind—round, pale. She wasn't thin. Far from it. She had curves. That night I'd been drugged, yeah, I'd been pissed, but I couldn't deny—being with Elena had felt good.

She was soft. Full-figured in all the right ways. When my fingers touched her skin, it was like touching the finest silk in the world. And she smelled like flowers—not perfume, something natural, primal.

Heat stirred in my body. I cleared my throat and called her.

She picked up fast, her voice bright. "Dante, are you done?"

"No." I let exhaustion creep into my voice. "Company's slammed today. We're trying to convert those casinos we acquired into shopping centers. The proposal discussions are going nowhere."

I found myself telling her more than I meant to.

This kind of ordinary phone call with a wife—it was something I'd always wanted. Sure, I'd grown up under Salvador's iron fist, clawed my way up from the bottom through darkness and blood. But deep down, what I'd always craved was simple: a normal, happy family.

"I know you'll figure it out, Dante." Elena's voice was gentle, encouraging. Then, cautiously, "If you're tired, I'll make that mushroom soup you like tonight. I'll add some cream this time, make it richer... Want to try it?"

She thought she was being subtle. But I knew exactly what she really meant by asking me to come home for dinner.

All this woman thought about was producing an heir. What did she think I was? Some kind of breeding tool?

Irritation flared hot in my chest. "I'm not done yet. We'll see how tonight goes."

I hung up. My tie felt tight. It was fine a moment ago, but now I couldn't breathe.