The Mafia Boss Brought His Mistress Home to His Wife — Until He Saw the Photograph She Left Beside Her Wedding Ring

I was still standing exactly where I had been. I hadn't dropped my travel bag. I hadn't shed a single tear. I had watched him destroy her, but it didn't heal the agonizing, gaping hole in my chest.

Dante walked slowly toward me. He looked at the empty space on my ring finger.

He dropped to his knees right in front of me, burying his face against my black coat, his broad shoulders shaking violently as he wept.

"Elena, I am so sorry," Dante choked out, his voice completely raw and broken. "I was a blind, arrogant fool. I thought I had to secure the empire for our future, and I ended up destroying it. Please. Let me fix this. Let me take care of you. I will burn the rest of the world to the ground if you just stay with me."

He was offering me absolute devotion. He had purged the traitors. He was begging for his queen.

I looked down at the powerful man weeping at my feet. I gently reached out and touched his dark wavy hair one last time.

"You can't fix this, Dante," I whispered softly, stepping back from his grasp.

Dante looked up, sheer panic filling his intense gray-blue eyes. "Elena, please—"

"You chose the syndicate over us before you even knew she was a threat," I stated calmly. "You gave her the key to my home. The vengeance you just took was for your own guilt, not for my heart."