Chapter 2
Elena's POV
The next day, I stood in front of Castelli's restaurant. The upscale Italian establishment looked elegant, with no trace of mob connections. Crystal chandeliers, leather chairs, pristine white tablecloths—everything appeared normal.
"Ready to see the real business?" Dante suddenly appeared behind me.
I followed him silently through the kitchen to an inconspicuous door. He entered a code and pushed it open. Narrow stairs led to the basement, where the air smelled of mold and chemicals.
When all the lights came on, I nearly gasped. One side of the basement housed weapon racks with everything from handguns to assault rifles; the other side contained stacks of white powder packages; fake ledgers and cash lay spread across a metal table in the center.
"This is your real business? Drugs and guns?" My voice tightened.
"The world is darker than you imagine," Dante said coldly. "You'd better adapt quickly."
"I thought at least the restaurant was legitimate," My stomach churned.
"The restaurant does make money, but this," he gestured around the basement, "is the real cash cow. Brings in five times the restaurant's profit every month."
He briefly demonstrated the operation—fake bookkeeping, drug packaging, transaction schedules, police bribes. The information overload nearly short-circuited my brain.
"Any questions?" he asked coldly after his introduction.
I bit my lip. "What if I said I don't want to be involved in this?"
His eyes narrowed. "Then you'd never come back upstairs."
His threat was crystal clear. I understood my position—either accept the rules of this dark world or become its victim.
Two weeks later, at noon, Castelli's was packed. I was greeting a regular political client when I noticed several unfamiliar men entering—immaculately dressed but with vigilant eyes. The pins on their ties immediately identified them—Colombo family, one of Castelli's deadliest rivals.
"Damn it," I cursed internally, quickly scanning the restaurant. Dante wasn't here today, and we were understaffed on security.
The lead man walked straight toward me. "Elena Castelli, can we talk?"
I smiled and led them to a private room. As soon as the door closed, he turned crude. "Cut the act, bitch. We know what's in the basement. This area belongs to us now. Victor's dead, and the Castellis should back off."
Cold sweat ran down my back, but I forced myself to stay calm. "This is just a restaurant, sir. Perhaps you should see a doctor about those delusions."
"Really?" he sneered, reaching into his jacket to reveal a holster. "Then we don't mind checking the basement ourselves."
"By all means," I smiled, internally scrambling for a plan. "But our manager would need to escort you, and he just stepped out for supplies."
I excused myself and quickly signaled the kitchen. Head chef Giovanni—who normally treated me with contempt—immediately understood the danger and activated emergency protocols.
When the Colombo men rushed to the basement, my heart nearly stopped. But when they turned on the lights, they found only a regular storage room—food, wine, and tableware.
"This is your basement?" the leader frowned.
"As I said, just a restaurant," I shrugged. "What were you expecting? An arsenal?"
They searched other areas and finally left empty-handed. When the last Colombo member disappeared through the door, I collapsed onto a barstool, my legs weak.
Giovanni handed me a whiskey. "Well done, Mrs. Castelli. The trapdoor system came in handy."
That evening, Dante appeared in my office. "I heard the Colombos paid a visit?"
"It's been handled," I summarized what happened.
He listened silently, then unexpectedly said, "You saved the entire operation today... perhaps you do belong in this world."
His approval made my heart skip, though I hated to admit it. From that day, the restaurant staff's attitude toward me began to change, even Giovanni's contempt transformed into a kind of respect.
"Your gun stance is wrong," Dante pointed out in the basement shooting range. "That way, the recoil will knock you down."
I gripped the 9mm pistol, trying to aim at the human-shaped target. "I never thought I'd be handling a gun."
Dante moved behind me, his arms encircling me to adjust my posture. His chest pressed against my back, his breath brushing my ear. "Feet shoulder-width apart, weight forward..."
His touch made my entire body tense. I could smell his cologne and tobacco, feel the strength in his arms. My face suddenly felt hot, my heartbeat accelerating.
"In our world, hesitation means death," his voice whispered close to my ear. "When you pull the trigger, you must be decisive."
"What if I don't want to be a killer?" I asked softly.
His fingers tightened around my hand on the trigger. "Then you'll become a victim. There are only two types of people in this world, Elena—hunters and prey. Which do you want to be?"
I took a deep breath, aimed, and pulled the trigger. BANG! The bullet pierced the bullseye.
Dante raised an eyebrow. "Natural talent."
For the next few weeks, I learned mob survival rules under Dante's guidance every night. Running the restaurant by day, learning to falsify books, recognize police surveillance, and handle weapons by night. I showed surprising aptitude, quickly hitting bullseyes consistently and even improving the money laundering system.
As time passed, Dante's attitude toward me changed. His cold supervision evolved into something like respect. Our training sessions became less tense, sometimes ending with drinks and conversation.
Sofia especially adored Dante. Whenever he visited, she'd excitedly rush to him. "Uncle Dante!" The normally cold man would display a rare tender smile.
Three months later, the restaurant transformed under my management. I updated the menu, hired renowned chefs, and attracted celebrity clientele. The underground operation became more organized and secure. Antonio was pleased with my performance and began including me in family meetings.
Just when everything was improving, fate took another turn.
One autumn evening, Antonio suddenly summoned Dante and me.
"The Vegas situation needs handling," he said bluntly. "Our casino there is having trouble. We need someone strong to take over."
"How long?" Dante asked.
"At least four years," Antonio replied. "The situation is more complex than anticipated."
I felt a wave of loss but struggled to maintain my expression. What about Sofia? The restaurant? Could I handle those challenges without Dante's guidance?
Antonio seemed to read my thoughts. "Elena, you'll continue managing the Brooklyn operations. Tommy will assist you." Then to Dante: "Leave in a week."
Leaving the study, we walked silently side by side through the garden. The sunset stretched our shadows long.
"Four years," I finally broke the silence. "A long time."
"Vegas is an opportunity," Dante said, his voice low. "The family needs a stronger presence there."
"Of course," I nodded, feeling inexplicably lost. "Sofia will miss you."
He glanced at me. "Only Sofia?"
I avoided his gaze, unsure how to respond.
The farewell a week later was harder than I'd imagined. Sofia clung to Dante, refusing to let go. "Why do you have to leave?" she sobbed.
"Sometimes adults must do difficult things," Dante wiped away her tears. "But I promise I'll come back to see you."
"You swear?" She extended her pinky.
"I swear," he hooked his finger with hers.
Then he turned to me, handing me an elegant box. Inside was a custom small pistol with my initials engraved on the grip.
"Protect the family... protect yourself."
I looked into his eyes, my throat tight. "I'll make sure you return to a new empire."
He nodded, seeming to want to say more, but ultimately just squeezed my hand gently before turning away.
As the car disappeared beyond the estate gates, Sofia grabbed my hand. "He'll come back, right?"
"Yes," I clutched the gun box. "He promised."