Page 16 of Married to the Ruthless Mafia Heir

The woman using my arm as a pillow rolled with the movement. The sheet slipped from our bodies.

Then I saw her face.

Elena.

She lay curled on her side, naked, covered in red marks. Everything—every fucking thing—told me last night wasn't a dream. It was real.

I slept with Elena.

Ice water dumped over my brain. Instant clarity.

Rage. Pure, white-hot rage flooded through me.

That drink.

"Fuck!" The word exploded from me. My chest burned with fury so intense I wanted to wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze.

I finally understood. The drink was drugged. But who did it?

Elena? Salvador?

Or were they in it together?

"Dante?"

Elena stirred. She looked at me, then down at herself. Her face went pale with shock. Seeing that expression made my blood boil hotter.

Even now she was still acting!

"If you think playing victim is going to make me believe you're innocent," I said through clenched teeth, each word scraping out like gravel, "you can drop the fantasy right now."

Elena grabbed the sheet, covering herself, tears spilling down her cheeks. "It wasn't me! Dante, please, you have to believe me—it wasn't me!"

"If not you, then who?" I roared, control snapping. "You and Salvador planned this together! You wanted to trap me into marrying you, didn't you? Well, let me tell you something—it's not going to work, Elena!"

She shook violently, like I'd struck her. She couldn't even form a complete sentence. Just cried. And her crying made me even more furious. I lunged forward, wrapping my hand around her fragile throat, forcing her to confess.

"Tell me. Was it you?"

She stared at me in agony, both hands clawing at mine, struggling weakly. She shook her head, forcing out, "No... It wasn't..."

"No?" My disgust peaked. "Salvador drugged me, and you just happened to be waiting in my room. Such perfect coordination, and you're telling me you had nothing to do with it? Give me a better explanation, Elena."

I tightened my grip. Her face went red immediately. She gasped for air, suffocating. Just before she passed out, I released her and shoved her hard onto the bed.

Her back hit the corner. She grunted. The sheet fell with the movement, exposing her completely. That's when I saw it—a clear bloodstain on the sheets.

She'd been a virgin.

An emotion I couldn't name—grief mixed with fury—filled my chest. She was a virgin, and she'd rather sleep with a man who didn't love her than fight back.

I punched the wall. "You disgust me, Elena."

When I first met her, I actually thought she was innocent and kind. Looking back now, it was all an act. Lies. She'd played me perfectly.

Elena huddled in the corner, sobbing uncontrollably. She looked at me with tear-filled eyes, repeating the same words: "It wasn't me, Dante. It wasn't me..."

Too late. I couldn't hear anything anymore. I dressed quickly, desperate to escape this filthy room. But I stopped, turned back, and pulled out a stack of cash. Her eyes flickered with hope. I met her gaze and threw the money on the bed.