Quit the Mafia Crown, Took the Healer Scalpel Chapter 04

Quit the Mafia Crown, Took the Healer Scalpel Chapter 04

Lina’s first reaction was that Dante had lost his mind.

Dante held Iris close, his smile intact. “What, not willing?”

Lina opened her mouth, almost blurting out, “We’re about to get divorced. There’s no need for this.”

But she swallowed the words.

Telling him now would bring every East Coast lawyer down on the divorce.

Iris leaned into Dante’s arms, her voice soft with worry.

“Is the Don making the Donna live my life? My place is a hovel. Someone so pampered can’t take that. Let her stay.”

Dante pinched Iris’s cheek. “She can handle it. Lina’s father was a gambler, her mother a bar girl. Not exactly nobility.”

He looked at Lina, a hidden expectation in his eyes.

“Besides, if she really can’t take it, all she has to do is beg me. Would I really refuse her?”

Lina understood now.

Dante’s goal wasn’t to humiliate or punish her. It was to break her in.

She nodded lightly, as if it were nothing. “Fine. I’ll pack.”

Surprise flickered across Dante’s face, quickly replaced by deeper irritation.

Half an hour later, Lina walked out the door with a single suitcase.

The car crossed half of New York and stopped in front of a rundown old building in Brooklyn.

The stairwell was narrow, the walls peeling, and damp mold hung in the air.

The apartment looked exactly as she remembered, even the creaky iron bed untouched.

Standing at the door, Lina suddenly smiled.

Back then, Dante had lived here with her for three months after cutting ties with his family.

Those were the happiest days of her life.

In those days, Dante had eyes only for her.

The Brooklyn apartment had never been much, and even careful upkeep couldn’t hold back time.

A few days after Lina moved in, a hurricane warning hit New York.

A loud crash. The wind blew out a window, and glass shattered across the floor.

Then the electricity shorted and the lights went out.

She felt her way through the dark to cover the window and stepped on broken glass, hissing at the pain.

Wind and rain poured in, soaking her through.

By the small hours, a fever had set in.

Her head swam, and her body swung between chills and heat.

She curled up on the bed, her consciousness slowly blurring.

Half dreaming, she remembered a hurricane night like this, him shielding her on this bed: “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

On instinct, she reached for her phone to call Dante for help.

The signal kept cutting out. She finally got through on the fifth try.

The voice on the other end froze her solid.

Iris’s voice dripped with sweetness. “Don… gently…”

Dante’s voice was lazy and satisfied. “What is it?”

Iris pouted. “You said it before. Between me and Lina, who’s better?”

Dante laughed. “You’re better than her.”

Iris pressed on. “Better how?”

“She’s fake. Stiff. Doesn’t let go,” Dante said carelessly. “You’re more obedient, more considerate, better at… pleasing a man.”

He paused, then added with a hint of contempt.

“She’s had seven years of luxury and forgotten where she came from. A few days in Brooklyn will teach her.”

Outside, the storm raged; Lina burned with fever, her wound bleeding, her last warmth fading.

She laughed at her own stupidity, for still daring to expect anything from Dante.

She ended the call. In the dark, wind howling, she curled alone in bed, unable to shed another tear.