Elena Romano has spent years trapped in a loveless, arranged marriage to Luca DeLuca, the ruthless heir of the DeLuca crime family. Her life is one of duty, deception, and silent suffering-until she finds herself drawn to the one man she can never have: Dante Moretti, Luca's best friend and right-hand man. Dante has always loved Elena from the shadows, but his loyalty to Luca has kept him from ever acting on his feelings. However, as Luca's paranoia spirals out of control, he assigns Dante as Elena's personal protector, forcing them into dangerously close quarters. With every stolen glance and whispered confession, their forbidden love becomes harder to deny. But Luca isn't blind. When an assassination attempt against him fails, he sets a deadly trap, suspecting not only a traitor in his ranks but an affair between his wife and his best friend. Just as Elena and Dante plan to escape, Luca unveils his final betrayal-he knew all along, and he forces Elena to choose: kill Dante, or watch him suffer. In a shocking climax, Elena turns the gun on Luca instead, ending his reign of terror. But instead of running, she makes a fateful decision-she will take Luca's throne and become the new queen of the DeLuca empire. As Dante watches the woman he loves embrace the power she once feared, he realizes their battle is far from over. With passion, betrayal, and a ruthless rise to power, this book sets the stage for an explosive sequel where love and loyalty will be tested beyond their limits.
Chapter 1 The Perfect Lie
New York, Midnight – The DeLuca Mansion
The chandeliers cast a golden glow over the vast hall, where the city's most infamous felons had gathered to revel. Elena DeLuca, a beauty in a red gown, was standing beside her husband, her hand holding a wineglass she never touched. She had perfected the skill of pretense-pretending to be happy, pretending to be loyal, pretending that her heart never raced whenever Dante Moretti was near.
Her husband, Luca DeLuca, the vicious king of New York's underbelly, put a possessive arm around her waist. His grip was a silent threat: You're mine.
On the other side of the room, Dante leaned against the marble bar, his intense green eyes shrouded with something indeterminate. He was always Luca's right-hand man, his best friend-obedient to the point of madness. Tonight, though, he was different. His usual smirk was missing, his jaw tight.
Elena's heart pounded. She knew why.
Tonight was the anniversary of her wedding to Luca. Three years of living in the shadow of a man who governed with blood and terror. Three years of observing Dante at arm's length, aware that what she desired was unattainable.
As Luca lifted his glass to make a toast, the room fell silent.
"To my wife," he uttered, his voice heavy with duplicity. "The woman to my right, ever loyal, ever mine."
There was a wave of applause, but Dante's glass remained unfilled on the bar. He was looking at Elena.
She knew that look. A blunder, a deadly moment of weakness.
And so did Luca.
His hands tightened against her waist, his hold firm as a clamp. A threat.
Elena smiled, filling in for her husband as if she were a part of the scene. But deep within herself, she knew the true reality-she was in love with his best friend.
And one day that love would have them both killed.
The First Warning
The party went on, the room filled with clinking glasses, muted hum of talk, and outbursts of laughter. Elena bore the weight of Luca's arm still around her waist, a claim, a possession, a warning. She had long since learned that her husband was not a man who tolerated disloyalty-not in business, not in his marriage, and certainly not in his own home.
Dante had not moved from the bar. He was sitting there, whiskey glass in front of him, eyes fixed on something far away. But she could see he had witnessed it all-the straining of Luca's hand, the tension of Elena's body against his touch, the tension simmering between them that made a knot form between them.
She should look away, not notice him, not appear to care. But it couldn't be avoided.
She had been in love with Dante Moretti before she had even become Elena DeLuca.
The memory hung on the brink of recall-their stolen kisses on her wedding day, the whispered words, the way his lips had hovered so close to hers yet never crossed the threshold. That restraint had broken her heart far more than any betrayal ever could.
Now, trapped here, she realized.
Dante had chosen loyalty over love. But something in the air tonight felt different.
Then Luca spoke, his voice smooth but laced with steel.
"Dante."
The room quieted slightly, just enough for those nearby to tune in.
Dante looked up, masking whatever had been brewing in his mind. "Boss?"
Luca smirked, but his eyes remained cold. "You're quieter than usual. Lost in thought?"
Dante took his time sipping his whiskey before he answered. "Just keeping an eye on things."
Elena observed the manner in which Luca gazed at him, searching for something. She held her breath.
Then, in a deliberate movement, Luca turned his head to her, his thumb grazing her waist in a way that made her stomach turn inside out. It wasn't love. It was possession.
"Perhaps my wife should be the one keeping an eye on you," Luca replied, his voice relaxed but threatening. "She has a good eye for details that other people overlook."
A shiver of discomfort ran through Elena. It was fine, but unavoidable.
Dante did not back down, holding Luca's gaze. "I think she'd struggle to find anything to watch."
Elena's reflex was to recoil.
Luca's smirk increased. He enjoyed this-the dance, the tension, the silent battle between them. He was always pushing, always waiting for someone to break.
And tonight, for the first time ever, Elena wasn't quite sure who was going to break first.
The Dance of Deception
The evening dragged on, the music becoming less of a slow buzz and more intimate. As the waiters cleared the remnants of dinner, couples danced onto the very highly polished dance floor. Luca glanced over at Elena, his face hopeful.
"Dance with me."
It was not a request.
She put her hand in his, forcing a smile, letting him lead her onto the floor. Luca was a forceful presence, even in something as mundane as a dance. He led with precision, each step measured, his hand firm at the small of her back.
To anyone looking on, they were the ideal couple.
But Elena felt trapped.
Her gaze flicked past Luca's shoulder, landing on Dante once more. He stood by the bar, hands in his pockets, stance relaxed to the point of slouching. But his eyes-those stormy green eyes-were locked onto hers.
Watching.
Waiting.
She knew he'd never initiate it. He'd made his choice years before. But something in his eyes cautioned her that if she ever crossed the lines, he'd never be able to resist.
The thought sent a shiver down her spine.
Luca picked up on it.
He pulled her closer, his lips against her ear. "You seem lost in thought, my love."
Her throat tightened. "Just tired."
Luca hummed, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on her waist. "Or maybe you're bored?"
Elena forced a laugh, keeping up the charade. "Wouldn't dare be."
His grip didn't ease. "Good."
The song ended, but Luca didn't let go immediately. He studied her, as if trying to read something beneath her surface. Then, ever so smoothly, he leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips.
A show. A performance.
For him? For the visitors? Or for Dante?
She no longer had any idea.
A Dangerous Proposal
Later, when the partygoers had dispersed and the house was relatively empty, Elena had slipped outside into the garden to seek out some quiet time.
But for only a brief moment.
She heard the approaching footsteps before seeing him.
Dante.
She didn't move as he walked up, dared not look his way.
"You shouldn't be here," she breathed.
"I waited," he replied, his voice calm, measured. "For Luca to move away from your side."
Elena swallowed. "That's not safe."
"So is looking at me the way you did tonight."
She spun around, her breath catching as she turned to him fully. The space between them was too close, too charged.
"Luca is guarding," she warned.
Dante released a harsh breath, scrubbing his jaw. "I know."
The silence was heavy, heavy with all the things they couldn't say.
Then Dante moved in closer. Close, but not on top of her, though she could feel his warmth.
"Elena..." His voice was rough, gruff with something dangerous. "Own up to not feeling it."
She wanted to lie. She so desperately needed to.
But she couldn't.
And instead, she whispered, "It doesn't matter."
Dante's expression hardened to a hard line. "It does."
She had closed her eyes. "If we do it... if we even let the possibility exist, Luca will kill us both."
He didn't deny it.
But then, in a hushed tone, he asked the one question that changed everything.
"Would you leave him for me?"
The First Crack
Elena's heart thudded against her ribs. She had dreamed of this moment for so long, imagined him saying those words, imagined what it would be like if he fought for her.
But it was too late.
She turned away, grasping the cold stone of the fountain beside them. "Dante... don't do this."
A heavy silence. Then her voice came again, low and defeated.
"You already have your answer."
She stood with her back to him as he walked away, the loss as heavy as stone in her chest.
And she did not see the shadow standing behind the hedges.
Luca had been watching.
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