The Return
1687 Words
Adriana didn’t cry.
She walked out of Moretti Tower with Dante’s ring on her finger and his child in her womb. Rain soaked her hair. Reporters shouted. She ignored them.
If Dante wanted to play dead, she’d play widow.
If he wanted to play fiancé, she’d play wife.
She took a cab to his penthouse. 80th floor. Black glass. His kingdom.
The doorman blocked her. “Mr. Moretti isn’t—”
“I’m Mrs. Moretti,” Adriana said. She held up her hand. The white gold crest caught the light. “And I’m coming home.”
He stepped aside.
The penthouse was empty. Cold. His suit jacket still on the chair from their wedding night. Whiskey in the sink. Like he’d just left.
Adriana went to the bedroom. Pressed her hand to her stomach. 5 weeks. Too early to know if it was Dante’s or Vittorio’s. But it was hers.
She was unpacking when the door slammed open.
Dante.
Arm in a sling. Burn scars raw along his jaw. Eyes black with fury.
“What the hell are you doing here?” He crossed the room in three strides and grabbed her arm. Not hard enough to bruise. Just enough to remind her who had power. “I told you to run.”
Adriana didn’t flinch. “I ran. Now I’m back.”
Dante’s grip tightened. “You think this is a game? Vittorio’s men are out there. The cops want me. Antonio wants you dead. You’re not safe.”
“I was never safe with you,” Adriana said. “Or without you.”
Dante stared at her. “Then why come back?”
Adriana pulled the pregnancy test from her bag. Two pink lines. She set it on the table between them.
Dante went still. His face blanked. Then something cracked behind his eyes.
“Is it mine?” His voice was rough. Barely there.
“Don’t know,” Adriana said. Brutal. Honest. “Could be Vittorio’s. Could be yours. DNA will tell.”
Dante’s fist hit the table. Glass shattered. “Don’t say his name in my house.”
“Then don’t bring another woman to my house,” Adriana shot back.
Dante stepped back like she’d slapped him. “Sophia is nothing. A nurse. She saved my life.”
“She’s wearing your ring,” Adriana said. She nodded to his right hand. A black band. Not a wedding band. A promise. “Mine’s on my finger. So which woman are you marrying, Dante?”
Dante ripped the black band off and threw it across the room. It bounced off the wall. “I’m not marrying her. I’m not marrying anyone. I’m dead, Adriana. To the world. To you. That’s what I wanted.”
Adriana stepped closer. Put her hand on his chest. Over his heart. Beating too fast. “Then stop lying. You’re alive. You’re breathing. You’re yelling at me. So stop pretending.”
Dante yanked her against his chest with his good arm. His forehead dropped to hers. He was shaking. “I can’t keep you. I destroy everything I touch.”
“You didn’t destroy me,” Adriana whispered. Her thumb brushed the burn scar on his jaw. He flinched but didn’t pull away. “Before you, I was a girl my father sold. After you, I’m a woman who fights.”
Dante closed his eyes. For one second he leaned into her touch. Then he ripped away.
“Get out,” he said. “Before I change my mind and keep you anyway.”
The door opened.
Sophia. Designer coat. Perfect hair. Eyes turned to ice when she saw Adriana.
“Dante, baby,” she said, sliding her arm through his. “The doctor said you need rest—”
“Get out,” Dante said. He didn’t look at her.
Sophia smiled sharp. “I’m not going anywhere. He asked me to stay. Didn’t you, Dante?”
Dante didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on Adriana. Waiting.
Adriana walked to Sophia. Toe to toe.
“You want him?” Her voice was low. Deadly calm. “Take him. But know this: he married me first. He claimed me first. He’ll always want me first.”
Sophia laughed. “He doesn’t want you. We’re planning a future. A baby.”
Adriana smiled. Small. Cold. She put her hand on her stomach. “Funny. So are we.”
Sophia’s face went white. She looked at Dante. “Is that true?”
Silence. Three heartbeats.
Dante stepped forward. Put his good arm around Adriana’s shoulders and pulled her against his side. Possessive. Final.
“This is my wife,” he said. Flat. No room for argument. “Adriana Moretti. That’s my child. Sophia, you’re done here.”
Sophia’s face twisted. “You used me—”
“I used you to keep her safe,” Dante said. Eyes still on Adriana. “To make the world think I moved on. So they’d stop hunting her.”
Sophia grabbed her coat and ran. Door slammed.
Silence.
Dante didn’t let go. “You shouldn’t have done that. Now they know you’re alive. Now they’ll come.”
Adriana tilted her head up. “Let them come. I’m done hiding. I’m your wife, Dante. For better or worse. In fire or ashes. You chose me once. Choose me again.”
Dante stared at her. Then he kissed her. Hard. Punishing. Possessive. Like he was reminding both of them who she belonged to.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers. “I choose you,” he murmured. “I always choose you. Even when it kills me.”
His phone buzzed. He ignored it.
It buzzed again. Then again.
He pulled it out. Face went hard.
Text from Unknown: _Congrats on the baby, sister. Too bad it won’t live to see its father. I’m outside. Come down alone. Or I start with your mother. - V_
Dante’s blood went cold. “Vittorio’s alive.”
Adriana’s knees weakened. “But you shot him—”
“In the chest,” Dante said. Already grabbing his gun from the drawer. “I didn’t check the pulse. Stupid.”
He turned to her. “Pack one bag. Underground exit. Five minutes.”
Adriana shook her head. “No. I’m done running. If he wants me, let him come.”
Dante grabbed her face with both hands. “He wants to kill you to hurt me. Kill the baby to break me. This isn’t about you anymore. It’s about me.”
Adriana put her hands over his. “Then let me help. You taught me to shoot.”
Another text: _1 minute, sister. Then your mother loses a finger. 2 minutes, an ear. Tick tock._
Dante cursed and pulled her toward the door. His phone rang.
He answered. “Where is she?”
Vittorio’s laugh. Weak but triumphant. “Floor 79, brother. Antonio’s old suite. Come alone. Bring the girl. Or I send you pieces of Elena one at a time.”
Click.
Dante looked at Adriana. Stone face. Broken eyes. “I can’t take you. It’s a trap.”
Adriana nodded. She went to the kitchen drawer and pulled out a small knife. Slid it into her boot.
Dante saw it. “No—”
“I’m not your prisoner,” Adriana said. Zipping her jacket. “I’m your wife. Your partner.”
Dante stared at her. For a second he looked like he’d argue. Then he nodded once. “Fine. But you stay behind me. Always.”
They took the stairs. 79 floors. No elevator. No cameras.
Floor 79. Antonio’s old suite. Door cracked open.
Dante kicked it in, gun raised.
Inside: Elena. Tied to a chair. Blood on her mouth.
Vittorio sat across from her, smoking a cigar. Arm out of the sling now. Chest bandaged. But alive. Smiling.
“Welcome, brother,” Vittorio said. “And sister wife. I see you brought the baby.” He looked at Adriana’s stomach. “Shame. It’ll make killing you more fun.”
Dante raised his gun. “Let her go.”
Vittorio pressed a knife to Elena’s throat. “Last chance, Dante. Choose. Her or your mother. You can’t save both.”
Dante’s gun didn’t waver. But his eyes flicked to Adriana for one second.
Adriana saw it. The choice he’d have to make.
She stepped out from behind him.
“Choose me,” she said. Clear. Loud. “Choose me, Dante. Like you always do.”
Vittorio grinned. “She’s right. Choose her. Watch your mother die. Choose your mother. Watch your wife die. Either way, I win.”
Dante’s finger tightened on the trigger.
Adriana’s hand went to the knife in her boot.
Elena closed her eyes. “Do it, Dante. Save her.”
Everything stopped.
Dante pulled the trigger.
But not at Vittorio.
He shot the chandelier above them.
Glass rained down. Screams. Chaos.
Adriana moved. Knife flashed. She sliced Elena’s ropes in one cut and dragged her behind the couch.
Gunfire. Shouts.
When the dust settled, Vittorio was gone. Window shattered. Fire escape swaying.
On the floor: a note pinned with a knife.
_Next time, brother. Next time I take them both. - V_
Dante dropped his gun and ran to Adriana and Elena. Pulled them both into his arms.
“You’re safe,” he whispered into Adriana’s hair. “I’ve got you. Both of you.”
Adriana clutched his shirt. Her heart hammered. Then her stomach cramped. Hard.
She gasped.
Dante felt it. Pulled back. Saw blood on her fingers where she’d pressed her stomach.
“No,” he whispered. He lifted her into his arms. “No, no, no. Not the baby. Not you.”
He ran for the door, Elena stumbling behind him.
As they hit the elevator, Adriana whispered against his neck, voice thin: “If I lose it... will you still choose me?”
Dante didn’t answer. He just held her tighter and slammed his palm on the button for the hospital.
Behind them, Vittorio’s laugh echoed through the empty suite: “Blood always wins, brother!”
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- Writer
