My Mafia Husband Only Fucks Virgins. So I Married The Don. Chapter 05
The Test
I’ve run the numbers on a hundred different offers he could’ve made.
Money. My body. My silence. My name on his arm.
Not this.
Prove you’re worth it.
I look at him. That bottomless stare. And I realize — this excites me more than any deal I’d rehearsed.
I like it.
I nod, slow and clean.
“Name it.”
Something in his eyes flickers. Approval.
He slides a slim leather folder across the table.
Inside: a gala catalogue, an invitation, a single item circled in red on the last page.
A sapphire necklace. Deep, drowning blue. Named The Heart of the Abyss.
Estimated value: over a hundred million.
“I want it,” Dante says.
I nod. Of course he does. For a man like him, writing that check is like ordering a coffee.
Then he leans back into the leather. Watches me the way a cat watches something small and trying to be brave.
“But you’re not buying it for me.”
His voice goes soft. Almost lazy.
“You’re taking it from me.”
I don’t move.
“Tomorrow night. In front of every camera in this city. You steal the Heart of the Abyss out of my hands.”
Beat.
“Without spending a cent of my money.”
—
I walk out of The Peninsula with the catalogue tucked under my arm.
The night air hits my face. Cold. Real. Nothing about what just happened feels real.
My phone starts buzzing before I hit the curb.
Nico. My little brother.
“Elena! What the fuck did you do to Lorenzo?!”
His voice is already shaking. Already accusing.
“Three of our biggest partners just pulled out. Uncle Vince won’t take my calls. Neither will the Bianchis. They were Dad’s brothers in the Life. Now nobody’s picking up.”
He’s crying now. Angry crying. The kind he did as a kid.
“You couldn’t just eat it for one more night?! You’re gonna burn the whole family down because you wanted to feel powerful for five minutes?!”
I hang up.
I don’t have room in my chest for him tonight.
Lorenzo moves faster than I expected. Faster and dirtier.
My phone pings again. Gossip alert.
RICCI HEIRESS ON THE HUNT — MORETTI WIFE SPOTTED THROWING HERSELF AT DON DANTE SALVATORE
The picture is me on the staircase. Lorenzo’s hand yanking my arm. Angle chosen to make me look drunk.
Sienna’s fingerprints all over it.
I lock the screen. Breathe in through my nose.
Crying is useless. Rage is useless.
I have twenty-two hours to steal a hundred-million-dollar necklace from the most dangerous man on the East Coast, using none of his money, in front of the entire city.
I go home. Lock myself in the study. Open the catalogue.
I don’t sleep.
At sunrise, I dial Marco.
“Marco. I need the full guest list for tonight. Every name. Every business. Every skeleton.”
Three seconds of silence.
“Miss Ricci. Mr. Salvatore doesn’t interfere with a pawn’s moves.”
“I’m not his pawn.”
I keep my voice quiet. Clean. Cutting.
“I’m his partner. And a partner knows the field before she steps on it.”
A pause. Then a low, dry laugh on the other end.
“As you wish. Files in thirty.”
Thirty minutes later, an encrypted folder hits my inbox.
I scroll. Slow. Careful. Cross-referencing.
Then I find it.
A name.
A very interesting name.
My mouth curls up at the corner.
You want a show, Dante. Fine.
Sit back.
—
Seven PM. The Black Diamond Gala.
The convention hall is packed. Rolls-Royces double-parked at the curb. Old blood, new blood, and every reporter this city can afford, all pretending they came for the art.
I get there just in time to see Lorenzo and Sienna working the red carpet.
She’s in pink couture. Draped around him like a ribbon.
“Mr. Moretti, is it true you filed for divorce this morning?”
Lorenzo turns to the camera. Puts on that heartbroken-husband face. The one he used to give me before he learned he didn’t have to bother.
“Elena’s been under a lot of stress. I just hope she comes home safe.”
Sienna dabs a dry corner of a handkerchief to a dry corner of her eye.
“It’s my fault. Elena must’ve misunderstood what Lorenzo and I have.”
Perfect duet. Rehearsed.
Around them, people are shaking their heads. Pitying eyes. Whispers about the crazy Ricci girl.
That’s when a black Rolls-Royce Phantom slides silent up to the end of the carpet.
The whole crowd goes still.
Marco steps out first. Holds the back door.
A single polished black oxford hits the red velvet.
Then the rest of him.
Dante Salvatore.
The gala goes dead quiet.
Every camera swings.
He doesn’t nod. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t so much as glance at the vultures with the microphones.
He just holds out one hand toward the open car door.
And in the total, frozen silence of the biggest event of the year, I step out of that Rolls, gather my crimson hem, and lay my hand in his.
His fingers close around mine.
He pulls me in against his side like he’s done it a hundred times.
The flashbulbs go nuclear.
I can see Lorenzo, twenty feet away, and I watch every drop of blood leave his face.
Sienna’s mouth is open. Her jealousy has a color, and it is green.
Whispers rip through the crowd.
“Is that Elena Ricci—?”
“She’s with the Don?”
Dante doesn’t hear any of it. He slides his hand to the small of my back and walks me forward, past every camera, past every stunned face.
We pass right in front of Lorenzo.
That’s when he cracks.
“ELENA!”
He lunges. Two of Dante’s men in black suits catch him before his fingers get within a foot of me.
“Moretti. This is Mr. Salvatore’s floor. Take it outside.”
Marco’s voice is a razor.
They drag Lorenzo out. He’s still screaming. Sienna scrambles after him, holding up her dress, mascara already running.
The doors close.
The gala breathes again.
Dante walks me to the center of the front row. Sits me down. Leans back. Drapes one long arm along the back of my chair.
“There. I got them out of your hair.”
He turns his head. Studies me like a puzzle he’s enjoying.
“Now. Show me. How’s my little challenger planning to take the Heart of the Abyss out of my hand?”