Page 31 of Married to the Ruthless Mafia Heir

His eyes darkened at the question. Like a hidden storm was brewing. But he didn't tell me. He just turned his face away. "None of your business. This isn't something you need to know."

Not something I need to know.

Anger flared in my chest. His response was too blunt. Like I was nothing to him. But the fact was, I was his wife. That should mean I had a right to know.

"I want to know." The anger bubbled up. I kept wrapping his bandage, deliberately pulling it tight.

Dante hissed in pain, brow furrowing. He was about to snap at me, but then he saw my eyes—red and welling up. He swallowed whatever harsh words he'd planned. Instead, he grabbed my wrist. "Ease up, Elena."

"We haven't had an heir yet." My voice caught. My eyes, on the verge of tears, glared at him. "If something happens to you, the Moretti family will be in danger. No matter what, you have to protect yourself."

Something I said amused him. Dante suddenly laughed. His grip on my wrist tightened. He pulled me forward. I ended up straddling him.

The air turned charged. My heart raced. The awkward position, the proximity—I was losing my mind.

But Dante just spoke coldly. "Elena, aren't you getting a little too into this role? You love playing my wife, don't you? Did you forget? You climbed into my bed. That's the only reason you got to be my wife. You didn't earn this position legitimately. Don't get too attached to the part."

What a cruel thing to say.

I looked down at Dante's bandaged arm. I wanted to yank the gauze tight. Make it hurt.

Dante caught my glance. He immediately moved his arm away. At the same time, he pushed me off him. His tone was lazy.

"Get some rest, Mrs. Moretti."

Chapter Eleven

Dante

Facing Elena's tear-streaked face, I couldn't control my body's reaction. She always cried so pitifully, her clothes disheveled and loose, and my gaze kept drifting to her chest against my will. She didn't even notice.

Back in my room, I took a quick shower, staring at my erection until it calmed down before finally collapsing into bed.

Tonight had blindsided me. Marco and I had only gone to check on the underground casino renovations, but we'd walked straight into an ambush. The attackers were unknowns, but their weapons were top-grade—I'd examined the bullets left on the ground. Russian imports.

These bastards came out of nowhere and injured Marco. Their skills were solid. In all my years running the Moretti family, I'd never been ambushed like this. A goddamn disgrace. If word got out, I'd be a laughingstock.

The wound was deep. My head felt fuzzy—probably from whatever Elena had fed me. I couldn't fight it off and sank into sleep.

When I woke again, moonlight spilled through the window, pooling across the floor. Someone was holding my hand. I followed the line of sight and found Elena. She'd showered, changed into a nightgown, a blanket draped over her shoulders, curled up at my bedside keeping watch.

Thick hair cascaded over one shoulder, making her face look even more pale and flawless. I had to admit—Elena was a beautiful woman. Back when she was poor, wearing cheap clothes with no money for makeup, you could still see her delicate features. After becoming Mrs. Moretti, though she still lived frugally, her improved quality of life had transformed her visibly.

Softer, more serene. Beautiful as a tender flower blooming quietly in the night.

I needed to check on Marco—he'd taken that bullet for me. I tried to slip my hand free, but Elena's grip was tight. I couldn't pull away.

The movement startled her awake. Elena lifted her head groggily, eyes barely open, but she looked at me first. "You're awake? How do you feel? Does it still hurt?"

Her voice was hoarse with sleep, carrying a nasal quality that made something stir in me.

I stared at her face, my body surging with a sensation I couldn't suppress. "I'm fine."

She exhaled in relief, rubbing her eyes and pulling the slipping blanket back up. "Do you want water? I'll get you some water."

Elena didn't notice my gaze. She reached out to check my forehead. "Thank God, no fever. So there's no serious infection..."

She kept chattering, and when she leaned down, her neckline gaped open, exposing everything. My throat went dry. That softwhite nightgown looked nearly transparent in the moonlight as she carelessly exposed her body to me without any guard.