Chapter 11: Gone

Elena Vitiello POV

The day had finally arrived.

For three years, I had imagined this moment.

I thought I would feel triumphant.

I thought I would feel relieved.

Instead, I felt calm.

Dangerously calm.

Like a prisoner who had spent so long planning her escape that fear no longer had room to exist.

The rain from the previous night had stopped.

Sunlight spilled across the marble floors of the penthouse.

Everything looked normal.

That was the point.

I spent the morning exactly the way I always did.

Breakfast with Maria.

A phone call with a charity organizer.

A short visit to the estate gardens.

Nothing unusual.

Nothing suspicious.

Dante left shortly after noon.

There had been another issue at one of the shipping ports.

A meeting.

A negotiation.

A threat.

Something that required the attention of New York's future Don.

Before leaving, he paused near the front door.

"I'll be late."

I looked up from my book.

"Okay."

"You don't care where I'm going?"

The question surprised me.

"Should I?"

His eyes narrowed.

"You usually ask."

"Maybe I trust you."

The lie tasted bitter.

Dante studied me for several seconds.

Then he nodded once and walked away.

I watched the convoy disappear through the gates.

The second the last SUV vanished, I stood up.

It was time.

No hesitation.

No second thoughts.

No looking back.

I moved quickly.

The suitcase came out from beneath the bed.

The burner phone went into my purse.

The cash.

The documents.

The apartment key.

Everything.

I changed into simple clothes.

No designer labels.

No jewelry.

Nothing that screamed Moretti.

The platinum wedding ring sat in my palm.

Cold.

Heavy.

Meaningless.

For a moment, I stared at it.

Three years.

Three years represented by a thin circle of metal.

Then I placed it on Dante's pillow.

Right where he couldn't miss it.

Beside it, I left a single folded page.

Not a letter.

Not an explanation.

Just one sentence.

You signed the papers.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

I picked up my suitcase.

And walked away.

No dramatic goodbye.

No tears.

No final glance.

The elevator carried me toward freedom.

Each floor felt lighter than the last.

The lobby was nearly empty.

Perfect.

One of the guards nodded respectfully as I passed.

"Mrs. Moretti."

"Goodbye, Anthony."

"Have a nice evening."

"I plan to."

He smiled.

Completely unaware that he would never see me again.

Outside, a black town car waited.

Not a Moretti vehicle.

Isabella's arrangement.

The driver opened the door.

"Ms. Vitiello?"

"Yes."

"Airport?"

"Airport."

The city blurred past the windows.

Familiar streets.

Familiar buildings.

A familiar prison.

By the time the skyline disappeared behind us, I felt something unexpected.

Peace.

For the first time in years.

Meanwhile...

Dante Moretti POV

The meeting ended badly.

Two men were hospitalized.

One alliance nearly collapsed.

And Dante's patience was hanging by a thread.

He drove home personally.

Something felt wrong.

He couldn't explain it.

Couldn't identify it.

Just a persistent pressure beneath his ribs.

The estate gates opened.

The convoy rolled inside.

The moment Dante stepped into the penthouse, he knew.

Silence.

Not normal silence.

Wrong silence.

"Elena?"

Nothing.

His heartbeat accelerated.

"Elena."

Still nothing.

He checked the library.

Empty.

The kitchen.

Empty.

The garden.

Empty.

Something cold crawled down his spine.

He took the stairs two at a time.

"Elena!"

No answer.

The master bedroom door stood open.

Dante entered.

And stopped.

His pillow.

The ring.

The note.

For several seconds, he couldn't move.

Couldn't breathe.

Couldn't think.

Then he picked up the paper.

One sentence.

Five words.

You signed the papers.

The world tilted.

"No."

The word escaped before he realized he had spoken.

He grabbed the ring.

His pulse thundered.

"NO."

The roar shook the room.

Glass shattered somewhere downstairs.

Footsteps thundered through the hallway.

Marco burst into the room.

"Boss?"

"Find her."

"What?"

"FIND HER!"

The scream shook the walls.

Marco froze.

He had seen Dante angry.

Violence was normal.

This wasn't anger.

This was panic.

"Boss..."

"Every airport."

"Every train station."

"Every highway."

"Every camera in the city."

Dante's hands shook.

Actually shook.

"Find my wife."

Then he unfolded the note again.

You signed the papers.

Suddenly he remembered.

The file.

The signatures.

The conversation in the car.

"You signed the papers."

"I know, Elena. You told me."

The blood drained from his face.

For the first time in years, Dante Moretti felt genuine fear.

Not fear of enemies.

Not fear of war.

Fear of loss.

Because somewhere above the clouds, Elena Vitiello was flying away.

And for the first time in three years...

The woman who loved him was gone.