He Chose The Mistress, I Chose Freedom

I was already packing a go-bag when Dante came home two days later.

I wasn't taking much.

My sketchbook. Some cash I had squirreled away over the years. My passport.

The door to the bedroom swung open.

Dante stood there.

His dark eyes flicked to the open suitcase on the bed.

"Where are you going?"

His voice was calm, but there was a coiled tension in his shoulders.

"Donating old clothes," I lied smoothly.

I threw a heavy sweater on top of the hidden passport.

He didn't check.

He was distracted, his attention consumed by the scrolling screen of his phone.

"I need to stay at the safe house for a few days," he said, without looking up. "Security concerns."

"Is Sofia staying there too?" I asked.

He didn't answer. That was answer enough.

He reached into his pocket and tossed a black Centurion card onto the bed.

"Buy yourself something nice. Replace the dress."

He turned to leave.

"Dante," I called out.

He stopped, his hand hovering over the doorknob.

"Do you love her?"

He stiffened. "I love the Family, Elena. I do what I must."

Then he walked out.

I picked up the black card.

It felt cold and heavy in my hand. I cut it into jagged pieces with a pair of scissors.

I left the shards on his pillow.

I finished packing.

I had one stop to make before I disappeared.

I met my friend Sarah at a small bistro downtown. She was a civilian-sweet, naive Sarah who didn't know about the blood, the oaths, or the guns.

"You look terrible," she said, grabbing my hand across the table. "Leave him, El. Just leave him."

"I am," I said, squeezing her fingers. "Today."

We hugged goodbye.

I walked out of the restaurant, feeling a strange, heady sense of lightness.

Then the screaming started.

An older couple, dressed in shabby, theatrical clothes, threw themselves onto the pavement directly in front of me.

"Please!" the woman wailed, grabbing the hem of my coat with dirty fingers. "Please, Mrs. Moretti! Have mercy!"

People stopped. Phones came out.

"Who are you?" I asked, stepping back in confusion.

"We are Sofia's parents!" the man shouted, playing to the gallery. "Adoptive parents! You threaten our daughter! You try to kill her baby because you are jealous!"

"That's a lie," I said, looking around at the gathering crowd, panic rising in my throat.

"We beg you!" the woman screamed, tearing at her hair. "Let Dante and his true love be! Stop blocking the heir! You are barren! Let him be happy!"

The crowd murmured, the sound like a hive of angry bees.

"That's the wife," someone whispered. "The one who can't have kids."

"She looks evil," another said.

"Get off me," I said, trying to pull my coat free.

The woman lunged.

She grabbed my hair.

"Murderer!" she shrieked. "You want to kill the baby!"

I pushed her away. It was a reflex, nothing more.

She threw herself backward.

She hit the ground with a theatrical thud and started screaming in feigned agony.

"My back! She broke my back!"

The crowd turned on me instantly.

"Hey!" a man shouted. "Don't touch her!"

A soda can hit my shoulder, spraying sticky liquid onto my coat.

Then a piece of trash hit my face.

"Leave them alone!"

"Rich bitch!"

They were closing in.

The mob justice was swift and blind.

I backed up against the brick wall of the restaurant.

I saw the blinding flashes of cameras.

I saw the hate in their eyes.

This was Sofia's doing.

She had staged this.

She knew I was leaving. She wanted to destroy me publicly before I could go.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

But not police sirens.

Black SUVs screeched to a halt at the curb, mounting the sidewalk.

Moretti soldiers poured out.

Dante stepped out of the lead car.

He looked at the "parents" writhing on the ground.

He looked at the trash in my hair.

He walked over to me.

His face was unreadable-a mask of stone.

"Get in the car," he said.

"They attacked me," I said, my voice trembling. "It's a setup."

"Get. In. The. Car."

He shoved me into the backseat.

Sofia was there. Again.

She was crying into a delicate lace handkerchief.

"My poor parents," she sobbed. "I told them not to come. I told them you were dangerous."

Dante got in.

He looked at me in the rearview mirror.

His eyes were cold.

"I thought you had dignity, Elena. Attacking old people in the street?"

"They aren't her parents," I said, my voice hard. "Her parents are dead. That's why you swore the oath."

"They are the ones who raised me!" Sofia wailed.

"Enough," Dante snapped. "You've caused enough of a scene."

He looked at me with disgust.

"You're unstable. Maybe the rumors are true. Maybe the Russians broke your mind."

I stared at him.

I looked at the man I had loved for ten years.

And I felt the last thread connecting us snap.

I started to laugh.

It was a cold, hollow sound that scraped against my throat.

"Yes," I said. "I'm the villain. I'm the monster. You caught me."

Dante frowned.

"Stop laughing."

"I can't," I gasped, tears streaming down my face. "It's just so funny, Dante. You think you're the King."

I leaned forward, my face close to the grate between us.

"But you're just the Jester in her court."

He slammed on the brakes.

He turned around, his hand raised to strike.

I didn't flinch.

I looked him dead in the eye.

"Do it," I whispered. "Finish what you started."

He froze.

His hand lowered slowly.

He saw the dead look in my eyes.

He turned back to the road and drove in silence.

He didn't know it yet.

But he was driving a hearse.

And the corpse in the backseat wasn't a person; it was his marriage.