Page 27 of Married to the Ruthless Mafia Heir

Marco summarized the meeting for me. Both proposals were solid, but one about building new shopping centers had real potential—long-term profit for the company. I ran the numbers. Late into the night, I approved the second proposal.

By now, dinner at the manor would be over. Elena was probably in bed.

I stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at Manhattan's quiet night. Marco asked, "Back to the apartment?"

I shook my head and grabbed my coat. "The manor."

Late-night New York streets were empty. The headlights carved two straight beams across the asphalt. I leaned back in my seat, eyes closed, thoughts scattered—Elena's text, the carefulness in her voice, the irrational irritation I'd felt hanging up on her.

At the manor, the whole place had gone quiet. One floor lamp glowed in the living room, warm yellow light pooling on the dark marble. Lucia came out, surprised to see me. "Dante, you're back? Should I prepare dinner?"

I waved her off. "No."

I headed for my bedroom. On the second floor, the hallway was silent, but Salvador's door wasn't fully closed. Light spilled through the crack. Voices inside.

I stopped.

"Tell me—why haven't you made any progress?"

Salvador's voice. Strained, labored, punctuated by ragged breathing. Weaker than before, but that accusatory tone hadn't changed.

I started to walk away. But my feet wouldn't move. Something pulled me back. I stepped closer to the wall, staying out of sight of the doorway.

"I've tried." Elena's voice. Calmer than I expected.

"Tried? Dante barely comes home. You think I don't know?" Salvador let out a cold snort. "I told you to use your head. What's a woman's greatest advantage? Do I need to spell it out?"

"I know." Elena cut him off.

Salvador went silent. Probably shocked she'd interrupted him.

"Mr. Morreti, you're giving me too much credit." Elena's voice stayed even, almost self-mocking. "Dante is the Don of the Moretti family. He controls New York's entire underworld. I'm just a wife he doesn't even want. The only thing I can do is dress up and tell him I'm ready. But if he doesn't want to, what am I supposed to do? Hold a knife to his throat?"

Salvador let out an angry grunt, like he was too furious to speak. For some reason, imagining him speechless gave me a twisted satisfaction. He thought he controlled everything. But in the end, he lost to my defiance.

"One more thing." Elena continued, her voice still soft, but the words rebellious. "If it came down to force, I couldn't take Dante anyway. He could lift me with one hand. No matter how clever I am, I can't challenge a Don's authority. Mr. Morreti, I can do everything within my power. But making a baby isn't something I can do alone."

The hallway went dead quiet. I could hear the grandfather clock ticking downstairs.

I expected Salvador to explode. But he didn't. He coughed violently, wheezing like a broken bellows, finally choking out, "Get out!"

Elena seemed to tuck him in, pour him water for the night. "Rest well, Mr. Morreti."

Footsteps approached the door. I stepped back, slipping into the shadows around the corner.

Elena came out, closing the door gently behind her. She didn't leave right away. She stood there for a few seconds, smoothing her hair, then let out a long breath—like someone who'd just dodged a bullet.

She climbed the stairs to the third floor. When she passed my hiding spot, she didn't see me. She kept her head down, moving at an unhurried pace. Her hair had come loose from its bun, a few strands falling around her face. She wore a faded cotton dress. She didn't look like a Don's wife at all.

I didn't go to my room right away. I stood there, thinking.

Elena's tone with Salvador was telling. Respectful but distant. Obedient but defiant. That wasn't how conspirators spoke to each other. It wasn't even how someone who owed a debt spoke to their benefactor.

That last line of hers had shut Salvador down completely.

I was curious now. Was this woman really Salvador's pawn?

If she was, she should be playing along with him, not pissing him off until he coughed.