CHAPTER 16
DANTE
The heavy mahogany table in the formal dining room had been cleared of everything except a single crystal decanter of bourbon and two glasses.
I stood at the head of the table, adjusting the cuffs of my dark suit.
The bandage on my right bicep pulled slightly against the tailored fabric, a dull throb that I easily pushed to the back of my mind.
The entire estate was operating on a razor’s edge.
Every guard was armed with heavy artillery, positioned out of sight but ready to flood the room in under five seconds if the meeting went sideways.
"They just cleared the front gate," Silas reported through the earpiece I wore. "Three vehicles. We disarmed them at the perimeter. They brought six men total, including the Pakhan."
"Bring him to the dining room," I ordered. "Leave his men in the foyer with Luca."
I looked across the room.
Sienna was standing near the massive stone fireplace. She wasn't wearing sweatpants anymore. She wore a sleek, high-necked black dress that fell to her knees, her dark hair pulled back into a severe twist. She looked elegant, cold, and entirely untouchable.
She caught me watching her and offered a small, tight smile.
"You don't have to stay," I told her, my voice dropping to a quieter register. "If you want to wait upstairs with Clara, I will handle this."
"I’m staying." She crossed her arms, the heavy platinum ring catching the low light of the chandelier. "They threatened my sister. They sent a bloody flower to my new house. I want to see the look on his face when you make him apologize."
A dark, heavy surge of pride expanded in my chest.
She wasn't just surviving my world. She was adapting to it with a terrifying grace.
The heavy double doors swung open.
Fridge stepped inside, followed immediately by Viktor Petrov. The head of the Petrov bratva was a massive, heavily scarred man in his late fifties. He wore a tailored suit, but he moved with the lumbering, heavy steps of a street brawler.
Viktor stopped a few feet from the table. His cold, pale blue eyes scanned the room, lingering on the empty chairs before finally settling on me.
"Dante," Viktor said, his voice a thick, gravelly rumble. "You have made my week very difficult."
"You made my week difficult first, Viktor." I gestured to the empty chair at the opposite end of the table. "Sit."
Viktor didn't sit. His gaze drifted past me, landing on Sienna standing by the fireplace. His eyes narrowed, a flash of genuine surprise crossing his heavy features.
"Ah," Viktor murmured, a slow, ugly smile spreading across his face. "The Rossi girl. I must admit, Dante, I didn't think you would keep her around after you found out her father played you. I assumed she would be collateral damage."
The air in the room instantly turned to ice.
I didn't reach for my weapon. I didn't need to. I simply placed both hands flat on the mahogany table and leaned forward.
"Address my wife again," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper that carried perfectly across the long room, "and I will have Silas cut your tongue out and mail it back to Moscow."
Viktor’s ugly smile vanished. The casual arrogance bled out of his posture, replaced by the rigid tension of a man who suddenly realized he had miscalculated the room. He looked at my face, saw the absolute, unblinking certainty in my eyes, and slowly pulled the heavy wooden chair out.
He sat down.
I remained standing.
"We are here to discuss terms," Viktor said, clearing his throat, his eyes fixed strictly on me now. "Your men hit three of my distribution centers. You cost me millions in product."
"You sent a hit squad to Switzerland and threatened my family," I countered smoothly. "You are lucky I only burned three buildings. If you hadn't called for this parley, I would have burned the rest of them tonight."
Viktor’s jaw tightened. "Antonio Rossi stole ten million dollars from my organization. He used the marriage to you as a shield. The debt is his, not mine."
"Antonio Rossi is dead."
The blunt statement hung in the air. Viktor blinked, clearly caught off guard. He had expected a negotiation over Rossi’s life. He hadn't expected me to have already executed the man.
"He is dead," I repeated, "and the debt he owed you died with him."
I reached under the table and pulled up the heavy leather briefcase I had taken from Rossi in Miami. I tossed it onto the polished wood. It slid across the table, stopping exactly two inches from Viktor’s hands.
Viktor looked at the briefcase, then back up at me.
"Open it," I instructed.
He popped the brass latches. The stacks of bearer bonds and offshore account ledgers were neatly arranged inside. Ten million dollars. Exactly what Rossi had stolen.
"The money is all there," I said, watching his eyes widen slightly as he processed the sum.
"Take it. You have your money back. In exchange, you will pull your men out of my territory.
You will never approach the Brooklyn docks again.
And you will never, under any circumstances, speak the name Rossi or Morretti in a threatening manner for the rest of your natural life. "
Viktor slowly closed the briefcase. He rested his heavy hands on the leather, his mind clearly working through the logistics. He had lost men. He had lost product. But he had his money back, and he knew a prolonged war with my syndicate would destroy what was left of his operation in New York.
"You are a generous man, Dante," Viktor said, his tone carefully neutral.
"I am a pragmatic man," I corrected. "I don't want a war over a dead man’s stupidity. But make no mistake, Viktor. If you cross my perimeter again, I won't send a briefcase. I will send Silas to your house."
Viktor stood up, gripping the handle of the briefcase. He offered a stiff, formal nod. "The Petrov bratva accepts your terms. The war is over."
He turned to leave, taking two steps toward the door before Sienna’s voice stopped him.
"Wait."
Viktor froze. He slowly turned around, his eyes flicking nervously toward me before settling on Sienna.
She pushed off the stone fireplace, walking slowly toward the table. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor, the sound sharp and deliberate. She stopped right next to me, her shoulder brushing against my arm.
"You forgot something," Sienna said, her voice completely steady, carrying the cold, aristocratic authority of a woman born into this life.
Viktor frowned. "I have the money."
"You sent a box to my house," Sienna reminded him, her brown eyes locking onto his pale ones. "You put my sister’s necklace inside it. You terrified a nineteen-year-old girl to send a message."
Viktor shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable being addressed by a woman in a mafia parley, but entirely unwilling to disrespect her after my earlier threat. "It was business, Mrs. Morretti."
"It was sloppy," Sienna corrected coldly. "And you are going to apologize for it."
The silence in the dining room was absolute.
I looked down at my wife. The sheer, terrifying brilliance of her demand sent a heavy jolt of pure adrenaline straight to my core. She wasn't just asking for an apology. She was forcing the head of the Petrov bratva to submit to her in front of my men.
Viktor’s face flushed a deep, angry red. He looked at me, waiting for me to intervene. Waiting for me to tell my wife to step down.
I didn't say a word. I simply rested my hand on the small of her back, a silent, absolute endorsement of her demand.
Viktor swallowed hard. He looked at the briefcase in his hand, calculating the cost of his pride against the cost of his life.
He looked back at Sienna.
"I apologize, Mrs. Morretti," Viktor gritted out, the words clearly tasting like ash in his mouth. "It was a breach of respect. It will not happen again."
"See that it doesn't," Sienna replied smoothly. She turned her back on him, dismissing the head of the bratva as if he were a misbehaving servant.
Viktor turned and practically marched out of the dining room.
The heavy doors clicked shut behind him.
I stood perfectly still, listening to the sound of his heavy footsteps fading down the hallway, followed by the muffled sound of Luca escorting the Russians out the front doors.
When the sound of their vehicles pulling away from the estate finally echoed through the glass, I turned to Sienna.
She was standing by the table, staring at the empty space where the briefcase had been. The adrenaline was fading, her shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch as the reality of what she had just done settled in.
I reached out, gripping her waist with both hands, and lifted her effortlessly onto the edge of the mahogany dining table.
She gasped, her hands instinctively flying out to grip my shoulders to steady herself.
I stepped between her thighs, crowding her against the edge of the wood.
"Do you have any idea what you just did?" I murmured, my voice a rough, dark vibration in the quiet room.
Sienna looked down at me, her breathing accelerating. "I made him apologize."
"You humiliated him," I corrected, my hands sliding up her sides to rest just below her ribs. "You forced the Pakhan of the Petrov bratva to bow to you in my dining room. My men are going to talk about this for the next ten years."
"Are you mad?" she asked, her fingers curling into the fabric of my suit jacket.
I let out a low, dark laugh, pressing my forehead against hers. "Mad? Sienna, I have never been more turned on in my entire life."
She let out a soft, breathless sound, her hands sliding up my neck to tangle in my hair.
I kissed her, the slow, consuming pressure of my mouth entirely different from the desperate urgency of last night. This wasn't about survival. This was absolute, undeniable worship.
I had married her to secure a shipping route. I had expected a nuisance. I had expected a transaction.
Instead, I had found the only person in the world who could stand beside me in the dark and not flinch.
Sienna broke the kiss, her lips swollen, her eyes dark and heavy with desire. She rested her forehead against mine, her thumbs tracing the line of my jaw.
"The war is over," she whispered.
"The war with the Russians is over," I agreed, my hands sliding down to grip her hips. "But the rest of the city is going to test us now. They are going to see if the new Don and his wife are truly as dangerous as the rumors say."
Sienna smiled, a slow, wicked expression that made my chest tight.
"Let them try," she murmured.
I pulled her flush against my chest, burying my face in the curve of her neck. The fortress was secure. The enemies were gone. And for the first time since I took control of the syndicate, I wasn't ruling the empire alone.
I had my queen.