Page 52 of Married to the Ruthless Mafia Heir

"I'll eat. Don't worry." Elena picked up a bowl without looking at me and took a few small bites before setting it down. "There. I'm done. If you're worried I'll die in your room, don't be. I'm not that stupid."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I was losing it. "Valentina came to explain. Yesterday was staged to provoke you. I know using that method was wrong. You can ask me for anything you want."

That seemed to touch something. Elena looked up at me. Her once-round face looked gaunt now.

She asked, "Dante, I want you to protect me. Can you do that?"

I had instincts for danger. Her question, her appearance—something was wrong. I moved closer, bracing my hand beside her, leaning down. "Are you hurt?"

Maybe my proximity loosened something in her. Elena's brow creased with hurt, blinking back tears. She asked a confusing question. "Dante, if Valentina ever tried to hurt me, would you stand against her? Would you protect me?"

"Why would she hurt you?" I took Elena's hand, trying to reassure her. "Elena, you're my wife. I told Valentina I can't give her what she wants. She's accepted that."

"Looks like you really trust her." Elena pushed me back a bit and pulled her hand away.

My patience ran out. I was the Don of the Moretti family. Cold and ruthless—that's what I was supposed to be. Managing one woman's tangled emotions wasn't on my list of skills.

"If someone tries to hurt you, you can ask anyone at the manor for help." I gripped her shoulders. "Elena, I'm busy. I can't be by your side every second. I know being my wife puts you in danger. But you need to trust me."

She looked at me, eyes flooding with disappointment. "I understand."

I knew her emotions were unstable. My theory—now wasn't the time to ask. My gaze fell on the papers scattered on the bed. Design sketches. A suit. Several pages with detailed construction notes.

I picked one up. "Is this the suit you're making me?"

Elena climbed out of bed and pulled a measuring tape from the drawer. "Since you're here, let's take your measurements. Then you can wear what I designed for you sooner."

I nodded and shrugged off my jacket. Elena held the tape, circling my waist, draping it over my shoulders, recording every dimension. Her movements were light, fingertips barely grazing my body like feathers, skittish and distant.

In the warm lamplight, I could see her lashes trembling faintly, like a fragile doll. My heart—frozen for so long—ached at the sight of her like this.

I reached out and caught her wrist. Elena looked up. I tightened my grip and pulled her into my arms.

I held her close, resting my chin on top of her head, breathing in the faint floral scent clinging to her.

"Elena, what I feel for Valentina is guilt. She ended up in Mexico because of me. Salvador had her controlled for years. I owe her. That's all."

Elena went still in my arms, but I felt her breathing grow shallow, like she was hanging on every word.

After a long moment, she hugged me back lightly and changed the subject. "Salvador's not doing well. You should see him."

I stroked her hair. "Okay."

When she was calmer, we could talk about what really mattered.

When I stepped into Salvador's room, the air felt thick with death. The spacious room was crammed with medical equipment. The heart monitor beeped in steady rhythm. The IVpump ran silently, clear liquid dripping down a thin tube into Salvador's body.

He lay in bed, the face that once commanded New York's underworld now skeletal. His eyes were shut, sockets sunken deep. A breathing mask covered his face. Every breath seemed labored, drawn out.

Alfredo told me Salvador hadn't woken in nearly a week. The doctors said his organs were failing. That he'd made it this long was a miracle.

"Father."

My voice echoed low and rough in the quiet room.

Salvador didn't respond. Only the green line on the monitor flickered, proving he was still alive.

I sat in the chair beside the bed, hands clasped on my knees. "I've got a lead. Won't be long before I rip the Cruz family out of New York and send them crawling back to Mexico."