Chapter 3 — Nothing Here Was Mine

I met Rafael Santoro. Secretly.

It was simple.

Dante—and his pack of men in black suits—never bothered to look my way.

In a back room behind a closed bar, guarded by men who didn’t smile and didn’t ask my name twice.

They searched my bag, took my phone, and led me through a hallway that smelled like old smoke and bleach.

He was sitting at a small table with a glass of whiskey and a bored expression, like I was an appointment he didn’t want.

“Elara Romano,” he said. “Dante’s wife.”

“Not for long,” I replied.

His eyes flicked over my face. The pallor. The dark circles. The way my hands still weren’t fully steady.

“You look like hell,” he said.

“I'm not here to chat,” I said. “Let’s not waste time.”

That got a small, amused exhale out of him. “Whoa,So, what exactly are you here to talk to the rival of your husband about, lady? ”

“I came here to sell you access,” I said. “You’ve been trying to crack his system for years. I live inside it.”

Santoro leaned back slightly. “Why?”

I should’ve lied. I didn’t.

“Because I lost my baby,” I said.

His gaze sharpened at that—interest, not sympathy.

I swallowed. My throat tightened anyway. Grief does that—shows up uninvited, tries to take over.

He began to tap a finger against his glass. “And what do you want in return?”

“Leave,” I said. “Alive. I want out. Just is it.”

Santoro stared at me for a long beat, measuring whether I was stupid or desperate or both.

Then he said, “If I help you vanish, Dante will come for me.”

“He’s coming for you anyway,” I said. “That’s the whole point of being his enemy.”

Santoro’s smile faded. “You’re bold for someone walking into a room full of men who could bury you.”

I met his eyes. “I’ve already been buried. I just didn’t die.”

Silence.

Then he leaned forward, finally serious. “Words are cheap. Bring me something real. You know.”

“I will,” I said. “Forty-eight hours.”

Santoro held my stare, then nodded once.

“Forty-eight hours,” he said. “You send one package. If it’s good, I keep my end. You disappear.”

"But if you don’t deliver, "He said quietly, “then you’re dead.”

“Done,” I said.

Then I went back to Dante Romano’s townhouse.

My phone buzzed as soon as I stepped inside.

A text from Serena Voss.

Serena:Your cap has been reinstated. Submit future requests correctly. Don Dante has no tolerance for sloppy paperwork.

Sloppy.

My jaw tightened. Heat rose behind my eyes, sharp and fast.

I typed back what a good wife was supposed to type back.

Me:Understood. Thank you.

Then I set the phone down and breathed through the anger until it became useful.

The game was simple: smile, nod, be quiet.

So I would.

I poured myself a glass of water and sat at the kitchen island like nothing in my life had exploded.

When the front door opened later, Serena’s heels announce her first—click, click, click—over marble that had never once felt like mine.

She walked in like she owned the building. Tailored black suit. Perfect lipstick. A tablet under her arm like a weapon.

Her eyes swept over my plain clothes with visible disgust.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” she said. “Dante hates drama.”

“I’m not making any,” I said.

Serena smiled as if we were friends. “Good. There’s a charity gala tonight. You’ll attend.”

I kept my face neutral, but inside I felt something twist.

Charity.

From the man who couldn’t be bothered to approve five hundred dollars to keep me from bleeding out.

“Fine,” I said. “What time?”

Serena’s eyes narrowed slightly, searching for cracks. She didn’t find any, and that relaxed her. That was always her mistake—she believed quiet meant broken.

Before she left, she placed a new stack of documents on the counter.

“Dante will sign these later,” she said. “Don’t touch them.”

My gaze flicked over the pile anyway.

Contracts. Port invoices. Security authorizations. Shipping forms with codes in the margins.

His empire, disguised as boring paper.

Serena thought the danger in this house was me asking for money.

She didn’t understand something simple.

That night, while Dante was shut behind his office door and Serena hovered like a guard outside it, I moved through the house carefully—moving like a wife who belonged there.

They ignored me like they always did.

For the first time, it suited me perfectly.

By dawn, I had a list in my phone that would make men kill each other for access.

And I had Dante’s signature on the one document that made me untouchable in the eyes of the Commission.

I set a timer.

48 hours.

That was how long I had before Dante realized something irreversible had happened.

I closed my suitcase, placed it by the door again, and sat down to drink my coffee.

When Dante’s text came in the next morning—cold, impatient, routine—I answered like a loyal wife.

Because the moment they think you’ve stopped fighting…

That’s when you win.