He Left Her for Her Best Friend, but He Never Expected Who Would Walk Her Down the Aisle Next 23 24

Dante left at dusk with six heavily armed men.

The penthouse felt suffocatingly quiet. Romano, a stoic veteran bodyguard with graying hair and an imposing physique, stood watch near the front entrance, while two other security guards patrolled the private elevator landing.

Elena paced across the living room, checking the clock every five minutes. The city below had descended into darkness, rain lashing against the glass panels. An unsettling knot twisted in her stomach. It felt too easy. Marcus was desperate and foolish, but Vivien was cunning. Vivien would never let Marcus sink alone without dragging everyone into the gutter with him.

At precisely 9:15 PM, the power in the penthouse abruptly cut out.

The chandelier went black. The ambient lights died. Emergency red backup lights hummed to life along the baseboards, casting ominous crimson shadows across the walls.

""Romano!"" Elena called out, her heart leaping into her throat.

""Stay down, Ms. Reyes!"" Romano shouted, drawing his suppressed Glock from beneath his jacket. ""Breach on the terrace!""

A deafening crack of shattering glass echoed through the dining room. Three men dressed in tactical black gear, their faces concealed by balaclavas, stormed through the terrace doors. Gunfire erupted—muffled, rhythmic thuds that splintered the mahogany furniture into kindling.

Romano fired back, dropping the first intruder instantly. But the second assailant lunged forward, tackling Romano into the marble pillar.

Elena didn't scream. She didn't freeze. The instincts of a woman who had spent years fighting for her life in rough neighborhoods kicked in. She sprinted toward the kitchen, grabbing the heavy cast-iron skillet from the stove and backing into the shadow of the pantry.

Footsteps approached the kitchen island—hurried, erratic, and light.

A flashlight beam swept across the marble countertops. A woman's voice hissed in the gloom, dripping with hysterical venom. ""Elena! Where are you, you little gutter rat? Come out!""

It was Vivien.

She wasn't wearing couture anymore. She wore a dark trench coat, her hair wild, holding a small chrome revolver with trembling hands. Behind her stood Lorenzo Russo's remaining hitman, his weapon scanning the shadows.

""Did you really think you could steal Dante Salvatore and humiliate my family on live television?"" Vivien screamed, kicking over a barstool. ""Marcus is a useless coward, but Lorenzo Russo knows how to get things done! Once you're dead, Dante will be distracted, and Lorenzo will take this city!""

The hitman stepped toward the pantry door.

Elena didn't wait for him to turn the corner. With all the force in her body, she swung the heavy cast-iron pan directly into the side of the hitman's temple.

The heavy metal connected with a brutal crack. The man collapsed like a sack of stones, his gun clattering across the tile floor.

Vivien spun around, gasping in horror, and raised her revolver straight at Elena's chest. ""You bitch!""

Elena didn't flinch. She locked eyes with her former best friend, stepping out of the shadows. ""Do it, Vivien. Pull the trigger. But remember this: you can shoot me, but you will spend the rest of your miserable life rotting in a concrete cell while Dante hunts down every member of your family.""

Vivien’s hand shook violently. Her manic confidence began to crumble under Elena's unwavering stare. Tears of terror began streaming down her cheeks. ""You ruined my life... you were supposed to be the loser... you were supposed to be nothing...""

""I was never nothing,"" Elena said, taking a slow step forward. ""You were just too blind to see it.""

Before Vivien could make a choice, a massive hand reached from behind the kitchen doorway, grabbing Vivien’s wrist with bone-crushing force and twisting it upward.