Chapter 12: The Papers He Signed

Dante Moretti POV

Nobody moved.

Nobody breathed.

Nobody dared speak.

The entire penthouse had become a war zone.

Not because bullets were flying.

Because Dante Moretti was losing control.

"Get me that file," he said.

His voice was terrifyingly calm.

Marco immediately understood which file.

The one.

The file Elena had handed him weeks ago.

The file he had signed without reading.

"Now."

Within minutes, three men were searching the archives.

Dante stood alone in the bedroom.

Elena's wedding ring remained clenched in his fist.

His eyes kept drifting toward the empty closet.

Half her clothes were gone.

Not all.

Only the things she actually cared about.

The realization made his stomach twist.

This wasn't impulsive.

This wasn't emotional.

This had been planned.

Carefully.

Patiently.

For weeks.

"Boss."

Marco appeared in the doorway carrying a folder.

"We found it."

Dante snatched it.

His pulse hammered.

The cover page looked ordinary.

Shipping reports.

Financial summaries.

Vendor documentation.

Nothing suspicious.

Until he reached the final pages.

Then everything stopped.

ANNULMENT AGREEMENT.

The words stared back at him.

Black.

Cold.

Final.

"No."

His voice came out rough.

He flipped through page after page.

Legal language.

Marriage dissolution clauses.

Asset waivers.

Signatures.

His signature.

Every page carried it.

Every page.

He remembered exactly when it happened.

The car.

His phone.

Sofia calling.

Elena sitting beside him.

Quiet.

Watching.

Waiting.

And he had signed away his marriage without even looking.

"Jesus Christ," Marco whispered.

Dante's head snapped up.

"Get out."

"Boss—"

"GET OUT."

Marco vanished.

The door slammed shut.

Dante looked back at the papers.

Then something else caught his attention.

The date.

The filing date.

Weeks ago.

Weeks.

Elena had already legally left him.

She had been sleeping beside him.

Eating dinner with him.

Attending family events.

Smiling at him.

All while knowing she was already gone.

The realization hit harder than any bullet.

For the first time, Dante saw everything differently.

The missing ring.

The cold answers.

The books she donated.

The suitcase.

The one-way flight.

The way she stopped asking where he was.

The way she stopped waiting up for him.

The way she stopped caring.

"Fuck."

The curse exploded from him.

Because suddenly he understood.

Not everything.

But enough.

She hadn't become colder.

She had simply stopped loving him.

And somehow that possibility felt impossible.

Hours later, the reports started arriving.

Airport cameras.

Traffic footage.

Financial activity.

Phone records.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Elena had vanished.

It was almost impressive.

Almost.

"She had help," Marco said.

"Obviously."

"We traced a burner phone purchase."

"Where?"

"Brooklyn."

"Who bought it?"

"Unknown."

Dante stared at the security photos.

Blurry.

Useless.

"Keep digging."

"We are."

"Dig deeper."

Midnight came.

Then one in the morning.

Then two.

Nobody slept.

Because Dante wasn't sleeping.

And when the Reaper stayed awake, everyone stayed awake.

At three in the morning, another file landed on his desk.

"Boss."

"What?"

"We found something."

Dante grabbed the report.

His eyes scanned the page.

Then froze.

Flight Confirmation.

Destination: San Francisco.

Passenger: Elena Vitiello.

"She's in California."

The room went silent.

"Yes, boss."

"When did she land?"

"Two hours ago."

Two hours.

Two hours and an entire continent separated them.

Dante stood abruptly.

"Prepare the jet."

"What?"

"The jet."

"Boss, we don't even know exactly where she is."

"I don't care."

"We only know the city."

"Then we start with the city."

"Dante—"

"Find. My. Wife."

Nobody argued after that.

Meanwhile...

San Francisco

Elena Vitiello POV

The apartment was small.

Quiet.

Ordinary.

Perfect.

No guards.

No surveillance.

No marble hallways.

No Moretti soldiers standing outside every door.

Just silence.

Real silence.

I sat on the floor beside the living room window.

The city lights glittered beyond the glass.

Different city.

Different life.

Different future.

My phone buzzed.

Mia.

"Tell me you're safe."

"I'm safe."

"Did he find out?"

I looked toward the darkness.

Toward New York.

Toward the man who was probably tearing the city apart right now.

"By now?"

I smiled sadly.

"Definitely."

"Are you scared?"

The question lingered.

Was I scared?

Of Dante?

Of what came next?

Of being found?

Maybe.

A little.

But beneath the fear was something stronger.

Freedom.

"No," I whispered.

"For the first time in years... I'm not scared at all."

Far across the country, Dante Moretti stared at a map of California.

And for the first time in his life, the most dangerous man in New York understood something terrifying.

He wasn't hunting an enemy.

He was chasing the woman he loved.

And he was already too late.