DELUCA
The drive back to the estate was shorter than I had anticipated—or perhaps I had been too lost in my thoughts to notice the distance from the cemetery to Lake Michigan.
Elena.
I muttered her name under my breath, the sound barely audible over the hum of the engine. Seeing her reaction at the cemetery had been... unexpected. Surprising, even, compared to everything I had heard about her.
I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes for a moment as her image flashed before me—young, bold, fierce, and simply captivating. For years, I had seen her face on the front pages of Chicago's magazines, always untouchable, always out of reach. I had known there was something about her that intrigued me. But seeing her up close? That was different.
A sudden surge of anger made me tightened my grip on the armrest.
"That son of a bitch!" I growled, my voice sharper than I intended.
Lucas, seated across from me, raised an eyebrow. He had been my childhood friend, my business partner—the only man I truly trusted.
"A penny for your thoughts?" he asked, his tone casual but laced with curiosity.
I scoffed, shaking my head as I stared out the tinted window. How the hell did a man like Lorenzo Russo get so lucky? A woman like Elena… he didn't deserve her.
Lucas shifted in his seat, watching me closely. He knew me too well—knew that when I started thinking like this, it always led to something dangerous.
"She's like a fine wine," he mused, his tone thoughtful. "Too naïve for what awaits her."
A slow smile tugged at my lips. Lucas wasn't wrong. Elena had no idea the kind of world she had been forced into. She thought she understood power, control, loyalty—but she didn't. Not yet.
The car slowed, and I glanced up just as we pulled in front of the massive iron gates of my estate. The driver signaled, and the gates swung open, welcoming me home.
Welcome back, boss."
Marco, one of my senior guards, stood by the car, holding the door open. His sharp eyes scanned the surroundings even as he greeted me, ever alert.
I stepped out, adjusting the cuffs of my jacket. "Is Colton in?" I asked, though I already suspected the answer.
Marco hesitated for a fraction of a second before responding. "Haven't seen him all day, sir."
I exhaled sharply. Typical. My younger brother never liked staying home—too restless, too reckless.
Lucas followed closely behind me as we stepped into the estate. The grand entrance led into the elaborate living room, its high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows casting long shadows in the dim evening light. The air smelled faintly of expensive whiskey and leather, the kind of luxury that only masked the secrets beneath it.
I loosened my tie, my mind already shifting to the next problem at hand.
ELENA
I'll go get the car ready," Dante said hurriedly, like he knew I was going to press him further about what he had just told me.
"Dante," I called, my voice urgent and firm.
He stopped in his tracks and turned to look at me.
"I need the details of all my husband's dealings with his business associate," I said, my tone both authoritative and unwavering.
"Yes, Mrs. Russo," Dante replied before hurrying away.
Just then, I noticed my father walking toward me. At that moment, I felt grateful for his presence.
"Are you certain you're ready for this?" my father asked softly, stepping beside me. Somehow, I knew he wasn't trying to dissuade me.
"I owe this much to Lorenzo. He didn't deserve to die like this." My father shifted uncomfortably beside me. Even though I knew Lorenzo was involved in shady business, I never imagined it was dangerous enough to cost him his life.
"Besides, you've always taught me to be brave, never to give up on what I believe in," I said, trying to convince him that I could handle the challenge before me.
"I guess you've made up your mind," he murmured, knowing me too well to argue. Once my mind was set, there was no changing it.
"Mrs. Russo, the car is ready," Dante announced.
I nodded, walking beside my father while Dante did what he did best—guarding.
My father placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. "Be careful," he said in a low, sincere tone, concern etched across his face.
He waited until I climbed into the car before turning back to his own.
I had barely closed my eyes for two minutes when I heard Dante calling my name.
Was this what it truly meant to be a Mafia Don—no rest, not even in grief?
I blinked twice and fixed my gaze on him, silently urging him to speak quickly.
But Dante said nothing. Instead, he gently handed me a box wrapped in baby pink—my favorite color.
On it, an inscription read:
"To My Dearest Wife."
His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. "The boss asked me to give this to you after his funeral."
My hands trembled as I reached for the box, my heart pounding. What could possibly be inside?