My Ex Laughed at Me for "Getting Fat." He Stopped Smiling When Chicago's Most Dangerous Mafia Boss Claimed My Baby.

The gala spun on, a dizzying whirlwind of champagne, whispered alliances, and the intoxicating hum of absolute power. For an hour, Dominic and I danced, our son Leo sleeping soundly between us, protected by the impenetrable fortress of his father’s embrace. Eventually, Dominic was pulled aside by a senator desperate for zoning approvals on the South Side. Dominic had kissed my forehead, handed Leo to his fiercely loyal head of security, Matteo, and promised he would only be five minutes.

I decided to retreat to the powder room to touch up my lipstick. The corridors of the Chicago Grand Hotel were heavily gilded, lined with antique mirrors and plush velvet runners that swallowed the sound of my heels. Matteo trailed me at a respectful distance, a silent, lethal shadow.

"Wait here, Matteo," I murmured as we reached the heavy mahogany doors of the women's lounge.

"I'll be right outside, Donna," he replied, his eyes scanning the empty hallway with predatory efficiency.

The lounge was vacant, smelling of expensive lilies and vanilla. I walked up to the vanity, pulling a gold tube of lipstick from my clutch. As I leaned in to check my reflection, the heavy door behind me didn't click shut. Instead, it opened just wide enough for a figure to slip inside.

I looked in the mirror. Standing near the entrance, his catering uniform stained with spilled wine and his breathing heavy, was Derek.

He had slipped past Matteo by using the adjoining service corridor—a desperate, incredibly stupid move. His eyes were bloodshot, his face gaunt, and the sheer desperation rolling off him was pungent, mixing terribly with the scent of the lilies.

"Elena," Derek whispered, his voice cracking. He took a hesitant step forward, raising his hands as if approaching a wild animal. "Please. Just... just give me two minutes. Please."

I didn't turn around. I calmly finished applying my lipstick, clicked the cap back on, and dropped it into my clutch. Only then did I slowly pivot to face him. I didn't feel a spike of fear. I didn't feel the old, suffocating anxiety he used to trigger in me when he controlled our finances and my self-worth. I felt nothing but a clinical, detached curiosity at how pathetic a man could become.

"You have exactly ten seconds to leave this room before Matteo realizes you used the service door," I said, my voice perfectly level, devoid of any emotion. "And if Matteo walks in here, Derek, you will not walk out."

"I have nothing!" Derek choked out, tears suddenly brimming in his eyes. He dropped to his knees, right there on the pristine marble floor. "Britney left me. I lost the apartment. I’m sleeping in my car, Elena. I can't get a job anywhere. Every firm in the city has me flagged. I know... I know it was him. Your husband."

"My husband," I corrected softly, the emerald silk of my gown pooling around my feet as I took a single step toward him, "protects what is his. You made the mistake of thinking I was a stepping stone. You thought you could strip me of my dignity, throw me away, and face no consequences."

"I was stupid!" he sobbed, reaching out as if to touch the hem of my dress. He stopped himself, realizing that even brushing my clothes might warrant a death sentence. "I was an idiot. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, Elena, just... tell him to lift the blacklist. Let me get a low-level accounting job. Let me just exist. I beg you."

I looked down at the man I had once thought I would spend my life with. The man who had mocked my career, belittled my dreams, and left me with mounting debt while he bought diamond bracelets for a junior analyst.

"You are existing, Derek," I said coldly. "Exactly as you deserve to."

Before Derek could utter another pathetic plea, the mahogany doors burst open. The wood slammed against the wall with a deafening crack.

Dominic stood in the doorway.

The air in the room instantly vanished. Dominic wasn't just angry; he was a manifestation of pure, unadulterated violence. His dark eyes locked onto Derek kneeling on the floor, and the temperature in the room plummeted. Matteo stood behind him, looking deeply ashamed that a rat had slipped past his perimeter.

"Matteo," Dominic's voice was a terrifyingly quiet whisper. "Why is this piece of garbage breathing the same air as my wife?"

Derek scrambled backward, a whimper escaping his throat as he pressed his back against the vanity doors, visibly trembling. "Mr. Russo! Please, I wasn't—I didn't touch her! I just—"

Dominic didn't even look at him. He walked straight to me, his hands gently framing my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone to ensure I was unharmed. "Did he touch you?"

"No," I replied softly, placing my hands over his. "He was just leaving."

Dominic’s jaw clenched. He turned his head slightly toward Matteo. "Take him to the alley. Break both of his hands. If I ever see his face within city limits again, don't bother breaking anything. Just bury him."

"No! Please! God, please!" Derek screamed as Matteo and another massive guard grabbed him by the collar, dragging him effortlessly across the marble floor.

I didn't flinch as Derek was hauled away, his screams muffled the second the service doors closed behind him. Dominic wrapped his arms around me, burying his face in my hair, inhaling deeply to calm the murderous rage that had spiked in his blood.