My Mafia Husband Only Fucks Virgins. So I Married The Don. Chapter 06
The Heart of the Abyss
The auction starts.
The auctioneer’s voice cracks against the walls. Lot after lot goes under the hammer. Watches. Paintings. A single ivory box that used to belong to a dead queen.
Dante doesn’t raise his paddle once.
He just sits there. Ankle crossed over knee. Tapping one finger on the armrest.
He’s waiting.
Waiting for me to sweat. Waiting for me to run out of runway. Waiting to be proven right that I’m just another pretty face with a smart mouth.
Finally, the auctioneer clears his throat.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the crown of the evening.”
The lights dim. A velvet stand rolls out.
The Heart of the Abyss.
The sapphire catches the spotlight and drinks it. A single tear from a dark ocean. It hurts to look at.
“Opening bid. One hundred million.”
Dante lifts his paddle without even looking at it.
“Two hundred.”
Every head in the room whips toward me.
I feel the weight of it. The curiosity. The venom. The disbelief.
I don’t look at any of them.
I look at Dante. Meet his eyes. And shake my head, slow.
“I’m not bidding.”
His eyebrow lifts. That amused curl at the mouth.
“Cold feet already?”
“Won or lost. Yours or mine. It doesn’t matter.”
I keep my voice quiet. Just for him.
“Mr. Salvatore. You already lost this round the second you named the prize.”
I slide a folder across the space between us.
One night’s work. Every hour I didn’t sleep.
Inside: the real history of the Heart of the Abyss.
A hundred years ago. A jeweler in the old country. A wedding gift for his young wife. The family lost everything in WWII. The jewel disappeared.
The great-granddaughter is alive. Working double shifts at a hospital across town. Living in a walk-up two miles from this ballroom.
“I’ve already called the three biggest papers in the city. I’ve already found the great-granddaughter. And I’ve already told her our story.”
I let that sit.
“By morning, every reader in the country will know that the Heart of the Abyss was ripped from a woman’s neck by war. And they’ll be watching to see which billionaire in this room is cold enough to buy a stolen heirloom while the rightful heir is working night shifts to survive.”
Dante is still. Very still.
“Of course.”
I tilt my head. Just enough.
“I also prepared version two of the story.”
“Dante Salvatore, moved by the piece’s history, personally acquires the Heart of the Abyss. Donates it — free, no strings — to the city’s heritage museum. Establishes a foundation in the great-granddaughter’s name. A man of honor. A man of vision.”
I hold his stare.
“Which headline do you want in the morning, Mr. Salvatore?”
He watches me for a full ten seconds.
That look moves through stages. Amused. Then surprised. Then something darker. Something that reminds me exactly what kind of man he is.
He starts to laugh.
Low. Chest-deep. Slow.
“Elena Ricci. You just schooled me.”
He doesn’t raise his paddle again.
The Heart of the Abyss goes back into its velvet box, unsold. The room buzzes, stunned. Nobody in that room is dumb enough to bid against Dante Salvatore twice.
—
He doesn’t take me home.
Marco drives us to the top floor of the convention center, to a private lounge nobody but Dante has a key to. Floor-to-ceiling glass. The city spread out below us like a spilled jewelry box.
Dante stands at the window with his back to me. Quiet. Longer than I expected.
“There was another woman once.”
His voice is different now. Softer. Almost tired.
“Smart. Ambitious. Like you.”
He doesn’t turn around.
“I gave her my back. She put a knife in it.”
He rolls his shoulder like he can still feel it.
“She walked away with half of everything I owned. And every last drop of trust I had.”
He finally turns.
His eyes are unreadable.
“After her, I made myself a promise. Never trust a woman’s brain. Never — never — trust a woman’s heart.”
There it is.
He was never testing my skill.
He was testing whether I’d try to make him love me.
I walk to him. Close. Closer than a smart woman should stand to a man like him.
I look up. Right into all that dark water in his eyes.
“Mr. Salvatore. You’ve got the wrong idea about me.”
His jaw ticks.
“I didn’t come here for a savior. I didn’t come here for a man to lean on.”
I hold every syllable steady.
“I came here for a partner.”
“Someone to stand next to me at the top. And put everyone else under our feet.”
The room stops.
His pupils blow wide.
I’ve hit something in him he didn’t know was still bleeding.
Somewhere in my clutch, my phone buzzes.
I don’t want to look. I know I should. But my eyes stay locked on his for a second longer, because in that second I can see him decide something.
Then I look.
The encrypted line. My private investigator.
One sentence.
The blood in my veins turns to ice.
Miss Ricci — we have confirmation. The fire at your father’s warehouse eight years ago was not an accident.
I read it twice. Three times.
I feel Dante’s eyes on my face.
“Elena.”
His voice is different now. Low. Careful. Not the Don. Not the hunter.
“What is it?”
I lift my head. Slow.
The tears never come. Just a heat, deep behind my eyes, spreading down to my hands.
“It looks like.”
My voice doesn’t shake. That surprises me.
“Our partnership just got a second reason.”
He steps in close. Takes the phone from my hand. Reads.
Then he looks at me.
That thin, dangerous smile at the corner of his mouth.
“Good.”
“Tell me who lit the match.”