Betrayed on My Birthday, Crowned By A True Don Chapter 03

Betrayed on My Birthday, Crowned By A True Don Chapter 03

For just a moment, I thought the figure standing over the body was Dante.

When my vision cleared and I saw the faces of strangers, I came back to myself. I thanked them, still shaking.

“Mr. Lorenzo sent us to look after you, Miss Elena. Let me take you to the safe house.”

Lorenzo. Always cleaning up after Dante.

Back at the safe house I packed a bag. One bag. Everything that mattered fit inside it. Dante didn’t come back that night.

The next morning, Camilla appeared at my door. Alone.

She glanced at my packed bag and let out a soft, vicious laugh. “I was worried you wouldn’t actually go through with it. Good to know you still have some self-awareness.”

I was about to tell her to get out when she stepped closer.

“Do you want to know how your dog actually died?”

The cold hit me before the words even finished landing.

Sunny. Our dog, Dante’s and mine. A Cane Corso puppy we’d pulled from a fighting ring years ago, half-starved and shaking. I had blamed myself for months when he died. I’d been in New York for

negotiations, and by the time I came back, he was gone. Everyone said he got sick.

Camilla watched my face freeze. The satisfaction in her eyes was unmistakable.

“The two months you were out of town last year, your Don and I were here in this house together.” She pointed at the couch. “Twelve boxes of condoms in two months. Your dog hated me. Barked every time I came near. So I complained about it, just a few comments.” She paused to let that sink in. “Your great and beloved Don took him out to the backyard and shot him in the head. Didn’t even

blink.”

I heard her mouth moving. My brain went white.

My body acted without me. I grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her hard, off the front steps.

She scrambled back up, spitting curses, and fled to the car waiting at the curb before I could reach

her.

I slammed the door. Stood in the hallway. Breathed.

Thirty minutes later, my car arrived. The unmarked driver I’d arranged. I stepped outside.

A black bag came down over my head before I’d made it two steps. Hands on my arms, hauling me into an SUV. My phone was torn away before I could scream.

“Don’s orders. Take her to the underground clinic.” A cold laugh from the front seat.

My lungs stopped working.

I had barely been thrown onto the clinic’s concrete floor when Dante’s hand cracked across my face. The impact knocked me sideways. Blood flooded my mouth, sharp and metallic.

His eyes were hemorrhaged red. He looked like an animal.

“You hate Camilla that much? I told you I’d end it with her. I told you!”

“You had to beat her until she miscarried? What happened to you, Elena? When did you turn into something like this?”

The smell of bleach and surgical alcohol hit me, and I understood.

I had pushed Camilla off a set of steps. She had walked away clean. I had watched her run.

Through the glass panel I could see a team of underground physicians swarming her room: IV lines, premium nutrition fluid, a compensation figure being discussed in the millions.

I thought of my own miscarriage. The time when Dante and I were still nobody, still dodging bullets for territory. We couldn’t afford painkillers; we needed the money for weapons. I had gone through

it without anesthesia.

“I didn’t hit her.”

“If you believe everything she says, why are you asking me?”

I thought about walking toward Raphael, toward the arrangement we’d made. I turned to go. Dante seized my arm, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

“If anything happens to Camilla, I promise you won’t come out of this intact.”

“Dante, I said I didn’t hit her. I pushed her once. Go ask her yourself how hard, if you don’t believe

me.”

The image of Sunny, of what Dante had done to our dog without hesitation, pressed against my ribs

like a brand.

“Or better yet, ask your doctors. I’m sure they can explain the miraculous miscarriage.”

At that moment, Camilla was wheeled out of surgery, Dante released me and went straight to her.

She was the color of chalk.

“Our baby…” she breathed. “My Don… it was her. She killed our child. I want Elena to pay for what

she did to our baby…”

On Dante’s command, two of his men pinned me to the floor.

He wanted me to kneel and kiss Camilla’s shoes.

“Are you out of your mind?” I snapped.

He crouched down to my level. His grip on my jaw was iron.

“I visit your mother’s grave every year,” he murmured, low and precise. “How do you think you’d feel if I had her dug up?”

“Fine,” I said through my teeth. “I’ll do it.”