Chapter 24: Betrayal

Elena Vitiello POV

"No."

The word came out immediately.

Instinctively.

Violently.

"Elena—"

"No."

I stepped backward.

Away from Dante.

Away from the conversation.

Away from the possibility.

Because some things were impossible.

And Isabella betraying me was one of them.

"You're wrong."

"I hope I am."

"No."

"Elena."

"No."

My voice cracked.

"She helped me."

"I know."

"She protected me."

"I know."

"She gave me a place to stay."

"I know."

Dante exhaled slowly.

"That doesn't make her innocent."

"It does to me."

Silence.

Dangerous silence.

"What evidence do you have?"

"Financial records."

"Fake."

"Bank transfers."

"Fake."

"Phone logs."

"Fake."

"Elena."

"Fake."

Because the alternative hurt too much.

Because if Isabella had betrayed me...

Then every safe place I had left in the world was gone.

Dante stared at me for several seconds.

Then quietly said:

"You trusted her the way you trusted me once."

The words landed hard.

Because he wasn't wrong.

And because he knew exactly how dangerous blind trust could be.

"Don't."

"I'm not trying to hurt you."

"You're succeeding anyway."

His face tightened.

Then his phone buzzed.

Marco.

Again.

Dante answered immediately.

"Talk."

A pause.

Then another.

His expression darkened.

"When?"

Silence.

"Keep eyes on her."

Another pause.

"Do not move until I arrive."

The call ended.

"What happened?"

"Marco found Isabella."

My stomach dropped.

"Where?"

"A hotel downtown."

"And?"

"She just emptied three offshore accounts."

The world tilted.

"What?"

"Millions of dollars."

"No."

"Elena—"

"No."

"Listen to me."

"No."

I couldn't.

Because suddenly memories were replaying inside my head.

Conversations.

Phone calls.

Advice.

Recommendations.

Small things.

Tiny things.

Things I never questioned.

And for the first time...

Some of them didn't make sense anymore.

"She told me to leave through San Francisco."

Dante looked at me carefully.

"What?"

"She picked the city."

"Okay."

"She picked the apartment."

"Okay."

"She arranged the accounts."

"Elena..."

My heartbeat accelerated.

"She knew everything."

"Yes."

"Everything."

"Yes."

"Oh God."

Suddenly I wasn't standing anymore.

I was sitting on the park bench again.

Breathing hard.

Trying not to panic.

"I need proof."

"I know."

"Real proof."

"I know."

"Not spreadsheets."

"I know."

Dante crouched in front of me.

For once, he wasn't trying to persuade.

Wasn't trying to control.

Wasn't trying to win.

He simply looked worried.

"Then let's get proof."

An hour later...

Downtown San Francisco

The luxury hotel overlooked the bay.

Glass.

Steel.

Money.

The kind of place Isabella loved.

Marco met us in the lobby.

"Boss."

"Where is she?"

"Penthouse suite."

His eyes shifted toward me.

"Mrs. Moretti."

"Don't call me that."

"Sorry."

"Good recovery," Dante muttered.

Marco wisely ignored him.

"Security footage?" Dante asked.

"Ready."

"Financial records?"

"Ready."

"Witnesses?"

"Ready."

Everything was ready.

Everything except me.

The elevator ride felt endless.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody moved.

The doors finally opened.

Penthouse floor.

Private corridor.

One door.

Suite 4101.

Dante knocked.

Nothing.

Then again.

Nothing.

"Open it," he said.

Marco swiped a master key.

The lock clicked.

The door opened.

And there she was.

Isabella.

Standing beside a floor-to-ceiling window.

A glass of wine in one hand.

A suitcase beside her.

Like she'd been expecting us.

"Hello, Elena."

My chest tightened.

"Tell me he's wrong."

Silence.

"Tell me."

"I can't."

The answer shattered something inside me.

"Why?"

"Because he's right."

No denial.

No excuses.

No lies.

Just truth.

Brutal truth.

"You betrayed me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it was never about you."

"Then what was it about?"

Isabella looked at Dante.

And smiled.

Not kindly.

Not warmly.

Coldly.

"Him."

The room froze.

"What?" I whispered.

"Everything started with him."

"Explain."

"Years ago, my father worked for the Morettis."

Nobody moved.

"Your father stole money," Dante said quietly.

"Yes."

"He was executed."

"Yes."

"By my father."

"Yes."

The realization hit me like a truck.

"This was revenge."

"Very good, Elena."

I stared at her.

Unable to recognize the woman in front of me.

"You helped me escape."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I needed access."

"Access to what?"

"Everything."

Her smile widened.

"You trusted me."

"Dante ignored you."

"You were lonely."

"Hurt people are easy to manipulate."

The cruelty in her voice made me sick.

"You used me."

"Yes."

"For years."

"Yes."

"Why tell the truth now?"

Isabella laughed softly.

"Because I'm leaving."

"Leaving where?" Dante asked.

"Somewhere you'll never find me."

"That's optimistic."

"Maybe."

Then she reached into her purse.

Everyone tensed.

Marco drew his weapon.

Dante moved immediately.

Instinct.

Protection.

He stepped directly in front of me.

Shielding me with his body.

The gesture happened so naturally he didn't even realize he'd done it.

Neither did I.

Until afterward.

Isabella slowly removed a flash drive.

"What's that?" Dante asked.

"Insurance."

"Meaning?"

"Every secret."

"Every account."

"Every transaction."

"Every crime."

"Enough information to destroy the entire Moretti organization."

Silence.

Complete silence.

Then Isabella smiled.

"And now the bidding war begins."

For the first time since leaving New York...

The real war finally started.