CHAPTER 17
SIENNA
No siren announced it. No guard clapped. No one opened champagne because the house had survived another crisis. The fortress simply exhaled, and somehow that quiet release felt more dangerous than the alarms.
Peace, I was learning, was not a soft thing in the Morretti estate. Peace was armed men stepping back from the windows. Peace was Elena putting fresh basil in the sauce again. Peace was my sister sleeping past dawn without screaming.
The heavy iron gates at the front of the estate were opened.
The extra perimeter guards were sent back to their respective boroughs.
The suffocating, claustrophobic tension that had gripped the house for the last four days vanished, replaced by the low, steady hum of the Morretti syndicate returning to business as usual.
I sat at the massive kitchen island, a mug of black coffee in my hands. The kitchen was the only room in the house that didn't feel like a museum. It was bright, filled with stainless steel appliances and the smell of fresh garlic and roasting tomatoes.
Boris, the terrifying Neapolitan Mastiff, was currently resting his massive, wrinkled head entirely on my right foot, snoring softly.
"If you keep feeding him from the table, Mrs. Morretti, he is going to forget how to guard the door," Elena said, not looking up from the cutting board where she was aggressively dicing an onion.
"I didn't feed him anything today," I defended myself, taking a sip of my coffee. "He just likes me."
"He likes that you drop prosciutto," Elena corrected, sweeping the diced onions into a hot pan. The sizzle filled the room. "The Don spoiled him when he was a puppy. Now he is a liability."
I smiled into my mug. Elena’s definition of a liability was incredibly broad. She had used the same word to describe the new floral arrangements in the foyer, claiming they provided too much cover for an assassin.
"Where is Clara?" I asked, shifting my foot slightly so it didn't fall asleep under the weight of the dog.
"In the library," Elena replied. "Luca brought her a stack of art history books from the city. He said they were 'confiscated' from a gallery that owed the family money. I did not ask for details."
I shook my head, a genuine, easy laugh escaping my throat.
Luca’s method of cheering up my sister was highly illegal, but it was working.
The bruise on Clara’s face was fading to a dull yellow, and she hadn't had a nightmare in two days.
The house was slowly becoming a safe harbor for her, just as it had become for me.
"And Dante?" I asked, my voice softening slightly.
Elena paused her cooking. She turned to look at me, her dark eyes evaluating my expression. Since the night of the parley, when I forced Viktor Petrov to apologize, the staff’s attitude toward me had shifted dramatically. I wasn't the hostage anymore. I wasn't the temporary bride.
"The Don is in the study with Enzo," Elena said, her tone flattening out. "They are discussing the transition of the Brooklyn docks."
My good mood instantly evaporated.
Enzo. The youngest Capo. The man who had sneered at me when I walked into the war council barefoot. He hadn't said a word during the parley with the Russians, but I had seen the look in his eyes when Dante pulled me against his side. It wasn't respect. It was barely concealed resentment.
"Has Enzo been here all morning?" I asked, setting my mug down.
"Since seven," Elena confirmed, turning back to the stove. "He is eager to take control of the new territory. Too eager, if you ask my opinion."
I didn't ask her opinion, but I completely agreed with it.
I slid off the barstool. Boris grunted in protest as my foot disappeared, but he didn't bother opening his eyes.
"I’m going to go say hello," I told Elena, smoothing the front of my black silk blouse.
"Do not interrupt syndicate business, Sienna," Elena warned, the sharp maternal edge in her voice surprising me. "Enzo is not Luca. He does not find you amusing."
"I don't want him to find me amusing, Elena," I replied, walking toward the kitchen door. "I want him to remember who lives here."
I walked down the long hallway toward the front of the house. The grand foyer was empty, the morning light streaming through the massive windows. The door to Dante’s study was closed, but the voices inside were loud enough to bleed through the heavy mahogany.
I stopped a few feet away, listening.
"The Petrovs pulled out, Dante," Enzo’s voice argued, sharp and frustrated. "The docks are clear. Why are we delaying the transition? My men are ready to move in today."
"Your men will move in when I give the order, Enzo," Dante replied.
His voice wasn't loud, but the lethal, quiet authority in it made the hair on my arms stand up.
"The Russians agreed to peace, but they are bleeding cash.
They will look for ways to recoup their losses.
I want the routes audited before we start moving our own product through them. "
"We are leaving money on the table," Enzo pushed back. "Rossi ran those docks like a coward. We need to show strength immediately. If we wait, the other families in the city are going to think we are soft. They are already talking about the parley."
"Let them talk."
"They are saying you let Viktor walk out of here with ten million dollars because your wife asked for an apology," Enzo snapped, the disrespect finally breaking through his careful phrasing.
The silence that followed was so absolute it felt like the oxygen had been sucked out of the hallway.
I didn't wait to hear Dante’s response.
I reached out and pushed the heavy double doors open.
Both men snapped their heads toward the entrance.
Dante was standing behind his desk, wearing a dark suit, his hands resting flat on the polished wood. The dangerous, violent tension radiating from his body was palpable. Enzo was pacing in front of the desk, his face flushed with anger, but he froze the second I walked in.
"Good morning," I said, my voice perfectly pleasant as I walked into the room.
I didn't look at Enzo. I walked straight to Dante, rounding the massive desk. He didn't move away. He shifted his stance slightly, allowing me to step into his space.
"I didn't mean to interrupt," I lied smoothly, resting my hand lightly on Dante’s forearm. I could feel the hard, coiled muscle beneath his suit jacket. "Elena mentioned you were still in a meeting. I just wanted to see if you needed coffee."
Dante looked down at me. The lethal, cold fury in his eyes softened the second he met my gaze. He knew exactly what I was doing. He knew I had heard Enzo.
"I am fine, mia sposa," Dante murmured, his hand coming up to rest on the small of my back. He turned his attention back to his Capo. "We were just finishing."
Enzo stared at us. He looked at Dante’s hand on my back, then at the casual, possessive way I was standing next to the Don. His jaw tightened so hard I thought his teeth might crack.
"Dante," Enzo started, trying to salvage the conversation. "The docks—"
"The docks will remain locked down until Silas finishes the audit," Dante interrupted, his voice dropping back to that terrifying, quiet register.
"And if I hear that you or any of your men are discussing my wife’s actions during the parley again, I will not ask for an apology. I will simply replace you."
Enzo swallowed hard. The flush of anger drained from his face, replaced by the pale, cold realization that he had pushed too far.
"Understood, boss," Enzo managed to say, forcing his gaze to the floor.
"Get out," Dante ordered.
Enzo didn't hesitate. He turned and walked out of the study, pulling the heavy doors shut behind him with a sharp click.
I let out a slow breath, dropping my hand from Dante’s arm. "He hates me."
"He hates that he cannot control me," Dante corrected, stepping closer until there was absolutely no space left between us. "He is young. He thinks violence is the only currency that matters. He doesn't understand the value of leverage."
"And what am I?" I asked, looking up at him. "Leverage?"
"You are my wife," Dante said simply. He reached up, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. "And you have a terrible habit of eavesdropping on syndicate business."
"I wasn't eavesdropping," I defended myself, a small smile breaking through my serious expression. "I was conducting a perimeter check of my own hallway."
Dante let out a low, dark laugh. He leaned down, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to my mouth. I melted against him instantly, the familiar heat of his body chasing away the lingering tension Enzo had brought into the room.
When he pulled back, his amber eyes were heavy with desire, but his tactical focus remained sharp.
"Enzo is right about one thing," Dante admitted quietly, his hands resting on my hips. "The other families in the city are watching us. The Petrovs backed down, but the Five Boroughs want to know if the Ghost has gone soft because he took a bride."
"How do we show them you haven't?" I asked.
"We don't hide," Dante said. He stepped back, walking over to his desk and picking up a thick, cream-colored envelope.
He held it out to me. "There is a charity gala at the Plaza Hotel on Friday night.
All the major players in the city will be there.
The politicians, the judges, and the heads of the other families. "
I took the envelope. The heavy cardstock felt expensive. "A charity gala? Are we going to bid on silent auction items or threaten people in the coat check?"
"Both," Dante replied, dry as dust. "I need them to see you. I need them to see that you are not a hostage, and that you are not a weakness. I need them to understand that if they come for this syndicate, they have to go through both of us."
I looked down at the invitation.
Four days ago, I was terrified of walking down the stairs of this house. Now, the most dangerous man in New York was asking me to walk into a room full of sharks and act like I owned the ocean.
I looked back up at Dante.
"I’m going to need a new dress," I told him.
A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. "Buy whatever you want, Sienna. Just make sure it’s black."