HELENA’S POV
The evening air was thick with tension, so palpable it felt like an invisible hand gripping my throat. Two weeks had passed since I started staying at Matteo’s house-two weeks of stolen kisses, shared secrets, and careful planning. Tomorrow was the masked ball, the night that could either set us free or seal our fate.
I stood in front of the tall, oval mirror in Matteo’s bedroom, the soft light casting a golden hue over the red dress I wore. It hugged my curves perfectly, the fabric cascading to the floor like a river of blood. The back was completely open, exposing my skin to the cool air. I gathered my hair up, twisting it into an impromptu updo, and tilted my head, studying my reflection. I didn’t look like the woman who had been Dante D’Angelo’s wife. I looked like someone else-someone dangerous.
The door creaked open, and I saw Matteo’s reflection in the mirror before I heard him. He stopped mid-step, his eyes sweeping over me like a caress. His sharp intake of breath was audible in the quiet room.
“You look-” he began, his voice roughened by something primal.
I met his gaze through the mirror, letting my hair fall past my shoulders.
“Ravishing,” he finished, his tone reverent.
He closed the distance between us in two strides, his arms slipping around my waist. He pulled me close, his chest warm against my back, and buried his face in the curve of my neck, inhaling deeply.
“I could take you right here and now,” he murmured, his lips grazing my skin.
“And ruin my dress?” I teased, my voice lighter than the weight on my chest.
“I’ll buy you another. And another,” he said with a smirk, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
I couldn’t help but notice how good we looked together-how perfectly I fit into his arms, how his piercing eyes seemed to undress me without ever leaving my face. The sight of us in the mirror made my stomach flutter. His kisses were soft, feathery, but they ignited a fire in me.
“You’re so beautiful, Helena,” he whispered.
I turned in his arms to face him, the playful moment fading as seriousness settled between us.
“Are we sure we want to do this?” I asked, my voice quieter now. “I mean… Dante.”
Matteo’s jaw tightened, the softness in his eyes replaced by something colder. “Are you getting cold feet?”
“It’s just… he’s still your brother,” I said hesitantly.
“Who tried to kill me,” Matteo interrupted, his tone sharp. “Who sold you to me to keep his company.”
I nodded, the weight of it all crashing down on me again. I remembered Dante’s face when I told him I knew what he’d done-the utter lack of remorse, the cold indifference. He didn’t love me. He never cared for me. This was all about his ego, his obsession with control. He wanted to prove he was untouchable, the king of the mafia, the man no one could escape.
Matteo’s arms tightened around me, anchoring me to the moment.
“I just needed to hear you say it,” I murmured, my voice steadier now.
“Let’s go over the plan again,” Matteo said, his tone businesslike.
I nodded, slipping back into the role we’d carefully rehearsed.
“You’re going to walk in looking all beautiful and ravishing, like you always do,” Matteo began, his lips curving into a faint smile. “You’ll approach him, talk about how stupid I am, how you made a mistake, and how you want him back. Play to his ego-it’s the only thing bigger than his bank account. Then you’ll tell him you need to get out of there for a private rendezvous, if you know what I mean.”
I smirked despite myself, shaking my head at his choice of words.
“Lead him outside to the place we planned,” Matteo continued, his voice growing colder, sharper. “And boom. We get him. Easy. He won’t know what hit him.”
I looked into his eyes, searching for any trace of doubt, but there was none. Matteo was all in, and I needed to be too. Tomorrow night, everything would change-one way or another.
For now, though, I let myself sink into Matteo’s warmth, his arms the only thing keeping me from shattering under the weight of what was coming.
DANTE’S POV
The room was heavy with the scent of leather, whiskey, and smoke-a fitting backdrop to the seething rage boiling under my skin. My study was dimly lit, the air thick and stagnant, much like the tension that clung to the men gathered around the table. They were all waiting for me to speak, their faces stoic, eyes trained on me. But I wasn’t looking at them. My gaze was fixed ahead, boring into the far wall, as though staring hard enough might somehow dissipate the slow, consuming anger tightening its grip on my chest.
Matteo. That name alone was enough to light the fuse.
The thought of him, the traitorous bastard, attending the masked ball with Helena-my wife-made my blood boil. She wasn’t his to touch, to hold, to even look at. Matteo had crossed lines, and the price for that was death. No less.
I dragged my eyes away from the wall, letting them flicker around the room before finally settling on Paulo, seated at my right hand. His posture was steady, his expression firm, his loyalty unwavering.
“So, we good with the plan?” I asked, my voice even, though the rage beneath it threatened to crack the surface.
Paulo nodded sharply, his eyes meeting mine without hesitation. “Yeah, boss. We’re good.”
I leaned back in my chair, swirling the whiskey in my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light. “Let me hear it,” I said, my tone demanding, though I already knew the answer.
Paulo’s voice was clear, his words precise. “You’re going to have to distract Helena. Take her for a walk, keep her occupied. Meanwhile, we’ll ambush Matteo.”
A slow, sick smile spread across my lips as I imagined it-the betrayal in Matteo’s eyes, the fear in Helena’s. “And when you’ve got him?”
“You bring him straight to me,” I said, the words rolling off my tongue like poison. “Alive. I want to be the one to put a bullet in his head. And I want Helena to watch me do it, so she knows what happens to people who betray me.”
My voice was calm, controlled, but everyone in the room could hear the venom in it.
Paulo nodded again, a glint of amusement in his eye as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You could rough him up a bit first,” I added, the thought sweetening the moment. “I won’t deny you that pleasure. I know you hate his guts too.”
Paulo chuckled, a dark, low sound that resonated through the room. “Yes, boss,” he said, his tone laced with determination.
The other men shifted in their seats, their silence heavy with approval. This wasn’t just about Matteo. It was about what he represented-disrespect, defiance, disloyalty.
I drained the last of my whiskey, savoring the burn as it slid down my throat. My mind was already at the ball, envisioning the chaos to come. Helena would never see it coming, not until it was too late. Matteo wouldn’t have a chance to blink before he realized his mistake.
Tomorrow, blood would stain the night, and the king of Algreen Cove would remind everyone why his throne was unshakable