Chapter 4
Elena's POV
The next morning, a phone call jolted me awake.
"Elena, Don Antonio has suffered a stroke. The situation is critical," Paul, the family consigliere, said, his voice tense and grave.
At the hospital, the family's upper echelon had already gathered. The old Don lay in bed, his face ashen, breathing shallow. The doctor privately informed us that even if he regained consciousness, he could never lead the family again.
"The family needs leadership," Paul looked around the room. "We've contacted Vegas. Dante must return immediately to take control."
Hearing his name made my heart race. Five years... it had been five years since he left. He was finally coming back...
Three days later, I stood in front of the Castelli estate, waiting for Dante's motorcade to arrive. Sofia bounced excitedly beside me. "Uncle Dante's really coming back! Will he like my new dress?"
In the distance, a convoy of black luxury cars approached, engines growling like predators. The first car stopped, and Dante Castelli stepped out.
My breath nearly stopped.
Five years had completely transformed the once-raw young man. He was taller, broader in the shoulders, with a more defined jawline and eyes sharper and colder than before.
When his gaze locked onto mine, I felt that familiar electric current.
"Elena," he approached, his voice deeper and raspier than I remembered, more mature. "You're even more... beautiful than I remember."
I maintained my composure despite my thundering heartbeat. "Welcome home, Dante. The family needs you."
The atmosphere instantly tensed, invisible sparks crackling in the air. Then Sofia rushed forward, breaking the silence. "Uncle Dante! You're finally back! Did you bring me presents?"
Dante smiled. "Of course, princess." He pulled a small box from his pocket containing a ruby bracelet. "Look, it matches your mother's necklace."
I instinctively touched the ruby necklace around my throat—his birthday gift from three years ago. He remembered.
That evening, the family held a formal meeting in the council chamber. Don Antonio, weak but lucid, sat in his wheelchair.
"From today... Dante leads the family... Elena continues her work," Antonio announced, his voice feeble but determined. His gaze moved between Dante and me with something like understanding. "You must... work together... the family's future... is in your hands."
After the meeting, Dante reviewed the ledgers I'd handed him, his eyebrows rising slightly. "You've turned my little restaurant into a gold mine... impressive." His fingers traced the figures. "Drug profits up 800%, money laundering operations expanded tenfold, and this intelligence network... how did you manage it?"
"I had a good teacher," I smiled, feeling an unexpected surge of pride.
I noticed the exchanged glances and whispers among other family members. "Look at how they interact... a bit too familiar, wouldn't you say?"
My heart sank. Those glances and whispers were more dangerous than bullets.
Late that night, I prepared Dante's favorite pasta in the restaurant's back kitchen. Since his return, we'd been busy with the transition, with almost no private time to talk. Now, with just the two of us in the kitchen, the air was filled with tomato and herb aromas, and an undeniable tension.
"You don't have to cook yourself," he leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong arms and several tattoos.
"I wanted to make you something decent," I stirred the tomato sauce. "Vegas food must have been terrible."
He laughed deeply. "Worse than you can imagine. Their chefs actually put cream in pasta."
We shared this brief moment of lightness until Dante's expression suddenly turned serious. After glancing around to ensure no one was eavesdropping, he lowered his voice, "Watch out for that damn Agent Donovan. The FBI has enough evidence that if they formally indict, I'm facing life."
The wooden spoon in my hand paused momentarily. "He implied he knows about our correspondence... how much danger are we in?"
Dante moved closer, his fingers lightly touching the back of my hand, the contact accelerating my heartbeat. "I risked everything with each letter... but I had to hear from you."
His gaze burned so intensely I had to look away. "The sauce is almost ready."
"Marco's pursuing you," he suddenly said with a sneer. "How many roses yesterday? Twenty? Thirty?"
"That's none of your business," I replied defensively, then softened my tone. "He just... represents a possibility."
"What possibility?"
"The possibility of a normal life," I said quietly. "A life without guns, drugs, and death threats."
"Through marriage?" Dante sneered. "Typical Rossi tactics. Don't trust him, Elena. All he wants is Castelli property and everything you've built these five years."
I didn't argue, instead asking, "Your tattoos, what do they mean?"
He was silent for a moment, then rolled up his right sleeve to reveal a string of numbers. "These are the dates of every traitor I executed in Vegas." He rolled up his left sleeve. "These names are people I protect."
I saw Sofia's name among them, and... mine.
"Why tattoo my name?" I asked, surprised.
"Because you're someone I swore to protect," his expression complex. "Since the day you married Victor."
My fingertips trembled as they touched the tattoo, feeling the heat and pulse beneath the skin. My name, permanently etched into his flesh. The realization made my breathing quicken.
Dante slowly moved closer. His fingers gently caressed my cheek, his thumb sliding across my lower lip.
The air burned between us. He leaned down, and just as his lips were about to touch mine, those whispers echoed in my mind like warning bells: "The scandal of the Shadow Queen and the young Don," "The FBI is looking for leverage."
I turned my head sharply, his lips grazing my cheek instead. "We can't," my voice was hoarse. "The entire family is watching us."
"FUCK the family," Dante growled, his fist slamming onto the countertop.
He turned toward the door without looking back, leaving with one final statement: "Someday, Elena, we won't have to live for others anymore."
A week later, the restaurant hosted a party celebrating Dante's return. All important guests were invited, including political figures, business leaders, and representatives from other families.
I stood at the entrance in a fitted black dress greeting guests, while Dante conversed with politicians near the bar. Despite the room between us, I could feel his gaze on me like a physical touch.
Marco arrived fashionably late, carrying an ostentatious bouquet of white roses.
He walked straight to me. "These flowers represent just a fraction of my feelings, Elena. Each one symbolizes my admiration for you."
Dante was already standing a few steps away, outwardly calm, but I noticed his clenched fist and icy stare.
"Thank you for the flowers, Marco," I accepted them awkwardly, then turned to Dante. "We need to discuss the new supply chain issues."
Later that evening, Marco took me to New York's finest opera house to see Carmen, followed by lunch without bodyguards or weapons. The entire afternoon, I experienced "normal life"—no one feared me, no one treated me with excessive deference, just easy conversation and laughter.
"Marry me, Elena," Marco proposed in the car taking me home. "End the feud between our families. You can have this life, away from blood and fire."
I struggled internally, not answering immediately. Returning to the restaurant late at night, I was surprised to find Dante sitting in my chair, holding all his letters I'd treasured.
"How DARE you go through my personal things?" I demanded furiously.
"You kept every letter..." his voice was raspy. "Yet you're considering marrying him?"
"You have NO right to interfere with my choices!" I shot back, my back against the desk. "Maybe what I want IS a normal life, not forever living in blood and fire!"
"Normal?" he sneered, moving closer. "You really think you could be satisfied with 'normal'?"
As I was about to retort, he suddenly pulled me into his arms, one hand gripping the back of my neck, the other locking around my waist. His strength was almost painful, yet it sent electric tremors through my body.
"Tell me, Elena," his lips nearly touching my ear, his scorching breath making my knees weak. "What do you really want?"
"I want..." I murmured, looking up into his burning eyes, unable to continue.