Chapter 8 - The Wrath of Dante Salvatore
Dante twisted Vivien's arm, sending the gun clattering onto the counter, and threw her to the marble floor like a rag doll.
Behind him, four Salvatore enforcers poured into the penthouse, securing the terrace, checking the fallen intruders, and helping Romano to his feet. Romano was bleeding from a gash on his temple, but he nodded respectfully to Dante, indicating he was fine.
Dante didn't spare another glance at Vivien, who was sobbing uncontrollably on the floor, clutching her bruised wrist.
He crossed the kitchen in two long strides, grabbing Elena by the shoulders and pulling her into his chest. His hands moved over her face, her hair, checking for injuries with frantic desperation.
""Are you hurt? Did she touch you?"" His voice was thick with raw terror—a sound Elena had never imagined hearing from the ruthless crime boss.
""I'm fine, Dante,"" Elena breathed, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face into his wet wool coat. ""I hit the hitman with the pan. I'm okay.""
Dante let out a ragged breath, pressing a fierce kiss into the crown of her head. ""Brave girl. My brilliant, terrifying girl.""
He turned back toward Vivien. When his gaze fell upon the whimpering bride, the warmth in his face vanished, replaced by an aura of death so suffocating that the air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
""Pick her up,"" Dante commanded coldly.
Two enforcers hoisted Vivien to her feet. Her designer clothes were covered in shattered glass and drywall dust, her mascara running in black streaks down her face.
The elevator doors chimed, and two more Salvatore guards dragged in a battered, handcuffed Marcus Aldridge. His lip was split, his eye swollen shut, and he was shaking so violently that his knees gave out, forcing the guards to hold him upright.
""Marcus!"" Vivien wailed. ""Marcus, do something!""
""Shut up, Vivien!"" Marcus spat back, weeping pathetically. ""You got me into this! You told me Russo would protect us!""
Dante stepped forward, standing between the two disgraced socialites. He adjusted his cufflinks with terrifying composure.
""Lorenzo Russo is currently on a private jet returning to New York with three broken ribs and a message from me,"" Dante said calmly. ""His operations in Chicago are officially terminated. Which leaves the two of you.""
Marcus collapsed onto his knees, crawling forward toward Elena's feet. ""Elena! Please! Beg him for mercy! For old times' sake! I made a mistake, Elena, please don't let him kill me!""
Elena looked down at Marcus. There was no hatred left in her heart—only profound, hollow disgust.
""I don't need to beg for anything, Marcus,"" Elena said softly. ""You chose this path the moment you traded loyalty for greed.""
Dante looked at his head of security. ""Call the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Hand over the offshore account files, the forged bond deeds, and the security footage of Mrs. Aldridge breaking into my home with armed assassins.""
Vivien looked up in pure horror. ""The FBI? No! My father's name will be ruined! I'll go to prison!""
""Twenty years for attempted murder, conspiracy, and racketeering,"" Dante replied coldly. ""You wanted to make Elena small. Instead, you will spend two decades in an eight-by-ten cell, watching her name on every billboard in this city while nobody remembers yours.""
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He waved his hand dismissively. ""Take the trash out of my home.""
The guards dragged Marcus and Vivien out into the hallway. Vivien's shrill screams of denial faded down the elevator shaft until the penthouse was left in complete, blessed silence.
