Page 79 of Married to the Ruthless Mafia Heir

The room went quiet.

Dante said nothing.

My hand froze, the apple peel breaking.

"Valentina..." I set down the knife and looked at Dante. "How is she?"

"Secured in a safe location." Dante closed his laptop, looking at me with something like guilt. "She won't get another chance to do anything. She'll never appear in front of you again."

I was silent for a moment, then spoke. "Don't lock her up."

Dante looked at me, surprised.

"Let her live normally." I looked out the window. "If she causes trouble, stop her then. You don't need to keep her confined."

Dante stared at me for a long time before saying, "You're not jealous anymore?"

"I just think," I looked down, picking up the broken peel, "she loved you once. I don't want you to hurt someone who loved you, even if she made mistakes."

Dante didn't respond right away.

After a while, I felt a warm palm settle on my head, ruffling my hair gently.

"My Elena." His voice was low, slightly rough. "Such a kind girl."

I looked up and met Dante's eyes. They held a softness I'd never seen before.

He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to my forehead. Then he tilted my chin up and kissed my lips, tender and lingering.

His kiss was gentle, carrying the scent of hospital disinfectant, yet it settled my heart completely.

I closed my eyes and gripped the front of his hospital gown.

When I opened my eyes, Dante was propped on his elbow, watching me with a faint smile. Marco had slipped out at some point; the door softly closed.

"You knew Marco would leave." My face burned as I pushed him.

"If he couldn't read a room, he wouldn't have this job." Dante was completely shameless. "Come here, Elena. Let me hold you a little longer."

I nestled into his arms, listening to his heartbeat—steady, strong.

"Dante."

"Yeah?"

"Don't charge in alone anymore." I buried my face in his shoulder, voice muffled. "I'd rather face danger with you than have you sacrifice yourself to protect me."

Dante was quiet for a moment before answering. "Okay. I promise."

I wrapped my arms tight around him, breathing in his scent, eyes closed, finally at peace.

Days passed. Dante's injury gradually healed—from walking around, to handling files himself, to trading his hospital gown for his usual black suit.

The night before discharge, I lay in bed while Dante sat in the chair beside it, holding a document he hadn't turned a page of in forever.

"Aren't you coming to bed?" I looked at him.

"You sleep first." He said. "I'll read a bit more."