Page 34 of Married to the Ruthless Mafia Heir

He rarely brought up my mother voluntarily. My gaze fell on his aged profile. Salvador was truly old now, nothing like the vigorous man who'd once commanded New York's underworld. That Don who could make all of New York tremble with one word was now just an old man who needed half a minute to recover from a coughing fit.

His eyes turned toward the window. From here you could see the greenhouse in the distance, transparent glass revealing the various flowers inside. The nearby garden was planted full of roses, blooming year-round.

"Your mother loved these flowers most."

I clenched my fists.

"She said living in the manor was too stifling. All gray stone walls, not a hint of color. I didn't understand then—what value could planting flowers bring? So I ignored her. After she was gone, I had the entire garden planted with flowers. Roses, wisteria... blooms year-round. Sitting in my wheelchair watching them every day, I finally understood how she felt."

His voice was flat as he spoke, as if narrating someone else's story, but I saw his fingers on his knee curl slightly.

"You know." He finally turned to look at me, those cloudy eyes holding something I'd never seen before. "Many things I've done, there's no going back. I owe your mother an apology. Only she can't hear it anymore."

The room went quiet for a long time. Wind blew in from outside, white curtains swaying gently. Roses bloomed in the garden, all colors, opening passionately yet peacefully in the sunlight.

"Too late."

My heart contracted painfully. Isabella had suffered such violent agony, ultimately trading her life for this simple apology.

"It is too late. She'll never know." He gazed at the flowers outside, saying softly, "But Dante, this apology is also for you to hear."

Salvador's gaze stayed on the window, not looking at me, eyes fixed on those roses as if imagining a meeting with someone who no longer existed. I stood in the room for a while, wanting to speak but unable to convince myself to forgive him. After all, a devil's remorse isn't worth much.

The hallway sunlight stung my eyes. I raised my hand to block it, striding downstairs. Passing the garden, those roses bloomed in full glory, red as flames, but my gaze didn't linger on them.

Chapter Twelve

Elena

After Dante got hurt, he became even busier, barely setting foot in the manor. But something shifted between us after that night. He started texting me—letting me know whether he'd be back or not.

Marco was recovering at the manor, and sometimes Dante would text asking how he was doing.

My phone buzzed. Another message from Dante. "Attending Lombardi family dinner tonight. I'll pick you up at the manor this evening."

I'd just replied when Lucia handed me the invitation the Lombardi Family had sent over. Gold-embossed, understated yet lavish—pure Lombardi style. The family had deep roots, wealth beyond measure, and ties to every major family in New York.

Lucia told me, "The Lombardis and Mr. Salvador Morreti go way back. For events like this, the lady of the Moretti house has to show up."

I nodded. "We'd better get moving this afternoon, then. Dante's coming back to pick me up."

Lucia's eyes glinted with knowing amusement. "Sounds like things are better between you two."

I couldn't quite meet her gaze. What happened that night with injured Dante in bed still made my face burn every time I thought about it. If that counted as things getting better, then Lucia was right.

This was my first public appearance as Mrs. Moretti, and my grip on the invitation tightened. Nerves crawled up my spine. The last time I'd been in a setting like this was at my wedding to Dante—a memory I'd rather forget.

But I knew I couldn't avoid this.

The closet was lined with untouched designer dresses, but I didn't choose any of them. I went back to my room instead. The Lombardi Family was famous for fashion and jewelry—their design house had over a century of history, known for minimalist elegance.

If I was representing the Moretti family, I wanted to wear something I'd made myself. Maybe that would suit their taste better.

I'd finished a deep emerald dress earlier—satin fabric, clean lines at the waist, a slit from mid-thigh that showed leg when I moved. V-neck, not too deep, just below the collarbone. Perfect with an emerald necklace.

I tried it on, turned in front of the mirror, and let out a satisfied breath.

By the time I was ready, Dante was waiting at the manor entrance. He sat in the black stretch limo in a sharp suit. When he saw me, his gaze softened. He reached out his hand and pulled me into the car.