He Chose The Mistress Over His Queen

I was polishing a diamond engagement ring that cost more than a small island when I heard the truth.

My fiancé, the ruthless Don Dante Moretti, was telling his mistress I was nothing more than a glorified bank account.

But it wasn't until the accident that I understood the depth of his cruelty.

While training in the estate gym, a support cable snapped. I fell twenty feet, shattering my leg on impact.

Through the haze of blinding pain, I waited for Dante to save me.

Instead, he rushed to his mistress, Livia—the woman who had cut the wire.

He held her close, soothing her because the loud noise had "startled" her, while I lay broken and bleeding on the floor.

"She won't die," I heard him whisper to her later. "Pain is a good teacher."

My love for him turned to ice in that moment. He didn't just want my father's money; he was letting her plan my assassination to get it.

They thought I was just a porcelain doll to be discarded once the wedding contracts were signed.

They forgot that even a pawn can kill a king.

I wiped the tears from my face and walked straight into the territory of the Valenti Syndicate—Dante's sworn enemy.

"I don't want protection," I told the rival Don, placing the surveillance evidence on his table.

"I want to burn his entire dynasty to the ground."

Chapter 1

Elena POV

I was polishing the diamond engagement ring that cost more than a small island when I heard my fiancé tell his mistress I was nothing more than a glorified bank account.

But it wasn't until I realized he was letting her plan my assassination that I decided to burn his entire dynasty to the ground.

The ring sat heavy on my finger-a beautiful, glittering shackle.

I perched on the edge of the imported silk bed in the master suite of the Moretti estate. The room was cold. It was always cold here.

The walls were gilded in gold leaf and crushed velvet, yet they felt less like a home and more like the bars of a very expensive cage.

I glanced at the clock. Time for breakfast.

I rose and moved to the mirror. My reflection stared back at a woman who looked more like a porcelain doll than a person.

I was Elara, the dutiful fiancée. The Principessa.

I wore the Moretti blue because it was the color Dante liked. I avoided the floral perfume because he hated it. I had molded myself into a statue of perfection for a man who looked at me like I was a piece of furniture.

Three maids swept into the room. They bowed, but the gesture lacked respect.

"Good morning, Signorina," one said.

I could practically smell the disdain radiating off them-a sharp, metallic tang mixed with the scent of cheap laundry detergent. They knew. Everyone in this house knew.

"Don Dante requests your presence," the maid said, refusing to meet my eyes.

Her gaze remained fixed on the floor, likely to hide a smirk.

"Tell him I am coming," I replied. My voice was calm, even as I screamed on the inside.

I stepped out into the hallway. The estate was massive, a fortress built on blood and old money.

Don Dante Moretti was the King of this city. He controlled the streets, the politicians, and the bullets.

He was a god of war, a man who had slaughtered the entire Russian mob single-handedly three years ago to secure his borders. He was terrifying. He was beautiful. And he was supposed to be mine.

I passed the open windows. The lingering scent of gunpowder and expensive leather hung in the air. Dante.

But then another smell hit me. Cloying. Sweet. Like overripe peaches rotting in the sun mixed with heavy musk. Livia.

My stomach churned. I continued past the gardens.

Two soldiers stood guard by the fountain, smoking cigarettes. They didn't see me.

"The boss is in a mood today," one muttered.

"Livia kept him up all night," the other laughed.

My heart stopped.

"What about the Princess?" the first one asked.

"She's just a placeholder," the soldier spat, smoke curling from his lips. "A walking bank account. Once the Don gets her father's ports, she'll be nothing more than decoration. Livia is the real deal."

I froze in the shadow of a marble pillar.

A walking bank account.

The words cut deeper than any knife.

I forced my legs to move. I had to see him. I had to look him in the eye and find a shred of the man I thought loved me.

I reached his study. The heavy oak door was cracked open. I shouldn't have looked. But I did.

Dante sat in his massive leather chair, looking every bit the king on his throne. Dark hair, a jaw cut from granite, and eyes that could freeze water.

And Livia was perched on the arm of the chair. Her hand was tangled in his hair.

His hand rested high on her thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles on her skin. It was intimate. It was possessive.

"Does it bother you?" Livia asked, her voice a sultry purr. "The engagement party is next week."

Dante laughed. It was a cruel, hollow sound.

"Let the city celebrate," he said dismissively. "Elara is a political necessity. We need the shipping routes. That is all."

Livia leaned down, pressing a kiss to his neck. "And me?" she whispered.

Dante gripped her thigh tighter. "You are my obsession," he vowed. "You are my Queen."

My soul shattered.

I didn't make a sound as I backed away from the door.

My hands shook. My breath came in short, painful gasps.

I turned and ran. I fled down the hallway, past the smirking maids, past the gossiping soldiers.

I burst out the front gates and scrambled into my car.

I drove until the estate was nothing more than a speck in the rearview mirror. I parked on the edge of a cliff overlooking the city.

I looked down at the ring on my finger. It sparkled in the sunlight-a perfect, glittering lie.

"I will never love you again," I whispered to the empty sky.

The words tasted like ash on my tongue. But as I spoke them, something inside me shifted.

The sadness began to harden, calcifying into something cold. Something sharp.

I wasn't just a bank account. I was the daughter of the shipping magnate who fed this city.

Dante thought he was using me. He was about to find out that even a pawn can kill a king.