He Killed My Papa, Then Told Me He Loved Me

My first day stripping at a high-end club in Las Vegas, the Mafia godfather, Dante Costello, bought me for the night.

Dante, a man known for his cold ruthlessness, treated me with an almost reverent tenderness.

He would kneel before me, vowing, "I'll kill anyone who makes you cry."

I pointed to the thick stack of photos in an envelope on the table—intimate pictures of him with another woman.

His eyes went cold. At his subtle signal, a Soldato stepped forward and swiftly cleared the photos from the table.

Dante kissed my tear-stained eyelashes.

"They're photoshopped. Don't even look at that garbage."

"When I find out who did this, I'll put a bullet in their head."

The next day, I brought the woman from the photos to stand before him.

I tossed him a handgun. "Shoot her."

But he knelt, pleading with me.

"She's pregnant, Elara. Please, for my sake, just wait until the child is born."

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1

Chloe stood beside Dante, her wide, timid eyes darting around like a cornered doe.

"Miss Elara, it really wasn't me who sent those photos. Please, don't misunderstand."

I ignored her, my fingers toying with the cold steel of the Beretta.

"Dante, can I believe a single word that comes out of your mouth?"

"If you can't bring yourself to do it, I will."

The words had barely left my lips before I flicked my wrist, the dark muzzle of the gun now aimed squarely at Chloe.

Chloe froze.

Large tears streamed down her cheeks. Her body trembled as she shot panicked glances at Dante.

Dante’s handsome brow furrowed, and he made a subtle, protective shift to shield Chloe behind him.

"Elara, I told you. She's pregnant."

"It's my child, Elara. Costello blood."

"Don't worry. Once she gives birth, I'll handle her myself."

At this, Dante’s voice softened into a low, persuasive whisper.

"Elara, trust me, hmm?"

Five years. Dante knew exactly how to disarm me. No matter how furious I was, that soft, pleading tone always made my resolve crumble.

I glanced at Chloe, who was hiding behind Dante with red-rimmed eyes.

That instinctive, protective gesture sent my heart plunging into a cold, dark pit.

My wrist relaxed, and I lowered the gun.

"I can hold my fire. But I have one condition."

Hearing this, Dante visibly relaxed. He knew my conditions were never unreasonable.

"Dante, let me go."

His gaze sharpened, the lines of his brow tightening once more. He spoke each word with chilling precision.

"Elara, I've told you. You belong to me, and only me."

"Let you go where? There isn't a corner of this world my reach doesn't touch."

Chloe’s slender, pale hand tugged at the hem of Dante’s jacket. Her voice, choked with sobs, was a clear plea for pity.

"Miss Elara, I truly never wanted to come between you and Dante."

"Don't worry, I'll leave as soon as the baby is born. I'll disappear. I promise I won't be a problem."

Dante let out a soft sigh.

"Alright, Elara. I was wrong this time. It won't happen again."

"You get some rest. I'll get her settled and be right back."

Before I could answer, Dante was already leading Chloe away. A dozen Soldati followed in their wake, the heavy doors closing behind them and leaving the vast estate in sudden, suffocating silence.

I tightened the shawl around my shoulders and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing blankly at the city lights.

He was my moon, but his light now shone on another. If that was the case, it was time for me to find my own sun.