The Mafia's Lost Bride

Ch 3 - His Home, Not Hers

Elena followed Dante down the steps, still shaken from her stumble. His stride was long, purposeful, and she had to quicken her pace just to keep up. Outside, a sleek black car waited, its polished surface gleaming beneath the afternoon sun.

Dante opened the back door himself, not for her but simply because it was faster, and stepped aside with a look that told her to get in. She obeyed, sliding into the leather seat, the faint scent of expensive polish and something sharp—his cologne lingering even here—filling the air. He settled in beside her, the car humming softly to life as the assistant took the driver’s seat.

For a while, silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Elena stared at her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers together, her mind racing.

Can I really trust him?

He said he was her fiancé. He said her name as though he knew her, as though it belonged to her. But her heart hadn’t stirred with recognition, no memories had risen to confirm it. Only a hollow blankness, and the sharp, magnetic presence of the man sitting beside her.

Her gaze slid toward him, hesitant. He sat with one arm resting casually against the door, the other hand holding his phone, his expression as unreadable as before. He didn’t look at her once during the drive. He didn’t offer words of comfort, didn’t explain where they were going, didn’t even acknowledge her fear.

Her chest tightened. The silence was unbearable.

By the time the car slowed, she was nearly breathless with unease. She peered out the tinted window and her eyes widened.

The gates they passed through were tall, wrought iron, and adorned with intricate patterns. Beyond them, a long drive curved through manicured lawns, ending at a sprawling mansion. White stone, tall windows, a fountain in front spilling water that glittered in the sun—it looked like something out of a dream. Or perhaps a nightmare, depending on how one saw it.

The car stopped. Dante stepped out immediately, his movements swift and confident. Elena’s nerves snapped. Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed his arm as he moved to walk away.

Her fingers closed around the crisp fabric of his sleeve, and for a moment she clung to it as though it were the only tether in a storm.

Dante stilled. Slowly, he turned his head and looked down at her hand. His dark eyes narrowed, not in surprise, but in disdain. Disgust flickered across his face, sharp and unhidden, as though her touch were something offensive.

Elena froze. Her grip loosened, shame flooding her chest.

He brushed her hand off with deliberate force, his voice low, clipped, and final.

“Don’t do that.”

Her lips parted, her throat tight. She wanted to speak, to demand, Why? What did I do wrong? But all that came out was a broken whisper.

“Where are we?”

Dante’s gaze lingered on her, hard and unyielding. Then he spoke, his voice smooth, almost casual, though no warmth touched it.

“This is my home,” he said simply. “And it’s where you’ll be living.”

Her breath hitched. The words should have been reassuring. A home. Safety. A place to belong.

But instead, as she stared up at the towering mansion, her heart sank. Because nothing about it—nothing about him—felt like hers.

And she couldn’t shake the haunting question that had taken root in her chest.

What if I’m walking into a gilded cage?

~~~~~~

The heavy doors of the mansion opened, and Elena barely had time to take in the grand foyer—the marble floors gleaming, the crystal chandelier swaying gently overhead—before the sound of light footsteps echoed.

Then came a squeal. High-pitched. Excited. Pure.

A little girl, no more than four years old, came racing down the staircase with golden-brown curls bouncing against her shoulders. Her laughter filled the space like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

But as soon as she spotted them, her steps faltered. She froze midway, her wide eyes fixed on Elena.

And then her face lit up.

“Ms. Elena?” she squealed, her voice brimming with joy.

Elena blinked, startled. “I—what?”

The girl clapped her hands together, hopping on her toes with excitement. “Uncle Dante, you brought her! You really brought her!” She turned to him with delight shimmering in her eyes. “You brought my teacher from school to play with me!”

Elena’s mouth parted, but no words came out. She whipped her gaze toward Dante, silently begging for an explanation.

For once, he didn’t look composed. His dark brows furrowed slightly as he stared between his niece and Elena, as if the child had spoken in riddles. Dante’s lips pressed into a hard line, unreadable, but his eyes glinted with something that looked like irritation—mixed with calculation.

The little girl didn’t wait. She hurried forward and grabbed Elena’s hand in her tiny one, tugging eagerly.

“Come on, Ms. Elena! Come to my playroom!”

Elena glanced down at the child’s shining face and couldn’t help the soft smile that curved her lips. Something warm stirred inside her chest, something that eased the cold panic of the last hours. Still, confusion gnawed at her, and when her gaze flicked back up to Dante, it was desperate, questioning.

She didn’t know this girl. She didn’t even know her name. Yet somehow, the girl knew her.

“Uh…” Elena hesitated, letting herself be pulled along but glancing helplessly at Dante. “I—”

His niece beamed, tugging her into a brightly colored playroom filled with dolls, stuffed animals, and crayons scattered across a low table. Elena followed with careful steps, her smile for the child genuine, though her mind screamed with questions.

Dante appeared moments later, filling the doorway with his tall frame. He didn’t speak, merely leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, watching Elena interact with his niece.

Elena met his gaze, her lips parting to whisper, almost pleading, “I don’t… I don’t remember her name.”

For the first time since she’d woken, Dante’s expression shifted—just slightly. Not softness, not quite. But his eyes flickered with something unreadable, almost as if he, too, was caught off guard by how easily the child had claimed Elena.

Elena crouched beside the little girl, smiling faintly as small hands tugged her toward a pile of building blocks. The warmth in the child’s laughter wrapped around her, unfamiliar but comforting, grounding her in a way nothing else had since she had opened her eyes that morning.

Dante leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, his dark gaze fixed on the scene before him. The edges of his jaw were tight as he watched Elena with his niece.

He hadn’t expected this.

He hadn’t even known Elena was a teacher. A kindergarten teacher, of all things. The realization rattled him in ways he refused to admit.

He had thought she was—

His thoughts cut off abruptly, his chest tightening. No. He wouldn’t allow himself to finish that line of thought.

Still, it unsettled him—how easily his niece, Isabella, had run to her, how naturally Elena’s smile softened for the girl, how instinctively her hand reached out to tuck a stray curl behind Isabella’s ear. She looked so natural there, in a space he had thought was firmly his, part of a life that should have had nothing to do with her.

Dante’s eyes darkened. This… complication wasn’t part of what he’d prepared for.

“Isabella,” Dante said at last, his voice low but edged with command.

Both Elena and the little girl looked up. Isabella grinned at him, unfazed by his sharp tone, and clapped her hands. “Yes, Uncle Dante?”

But Dante’s gaze wasn’t on Isabella—it was locked onto Elena, sharp as steel. A silent message passed between them, a pointed reminder.

Her lips parted, and she blinked rapidly. She understood. He wanted her to remember.

“Elena,” Isabella tugged her hand again, smiling brightly. “Come draw with me, please?”

Elena forced her own smile, though inside her heart raced. She whispered the girl’s name under her breath—Isabella—etching it into her fogged mind like a lifeline, all while Dante’s piercing stare remained fixed on her.

And in that moment, she couldn’t shake the sinking thought—

that she was trapped in a life she didn’t belong to, with a man she didn’t understand.