CLAIMED BY THE DON

ELENA’S POV The rain came down in sheets, hammering against the hospital windows as if even the sky had lost patience with this city. My shift had ended hours late, and every muscle in my body screamed from standing too long, smiling too hard, caring for patients who barely noticed me. My scrubs clung damp to my skin, and my shoes squelched faintly with every step I took across the hospital courtyard toward the waiting cab. I wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed. But not my bed. Ours. The one place that felt like sanctuary. Matteo. The thought of him was the only thread holding me together as I pushed open the cab door and slid inside. My chest ached with relief at the idea of walking into his arms, hearing his stupid jokes, letting his warmth drown out the echoes of Dr. Gavin’s biting remarks and the endless complaints of patients who thought nurses were nothing but disposable servants. He was my peace. My reprieve. The one good thing I still had left in this world. Th

ENZO’S POVTwo hundred thousand. The moment I said it, silence devoured the room. The air snapped taut, the weight of my voice dragging every pair of eyes toward me. Glasses clinked against tables, chairs scraped. The auctioneer froze mid-gesture, his jaw slack, his hand trembling where it hovered above his little hammer. I didn’t need to look to know what they saw: a ghost made flesh. I stepped forward from the shadows, every stride deliberate, the soles of my polished shoes echoing like gunshots across marble. And then, because I fucking could, I slid into the empty chair beside Dante Moretti himself, unhurried, deliberate, as though the whole damn world had been waiting for me to sit. In truth, they had. The fool stiffened like he’d swallowed glass. His expensive suit couldn’t mask the way his shoulders coiled tight, or how his jaw ticked when I smirked at him. I leaned back casually, one arm thrown over the chair, the other adjusting my cufflink. “Don’t stop on my account,” I