CHAPTER 19
SIENNA
The flashbulbs of the paparazzi blinded me as we stepped out of the heavy brass doors of the Plaza Hotel.
I didn't flinch. I didn't raise my hand to shield my face. I kept my chin high, my left hand resting lightly on Dante’s forearm as we walked down the red-carpeted steps toward the waiting line of black SUVs.
The air in New York was crisp, carrying the faint scent of roasted nuts from a nearby street cart and the sharp tang of exhaust. It felt incredibly normal, a jarring contrast to the absolute violence humming just beneath the surface of the man walking beside me.
Fridge opened the back door of the lead SUV.
Dante guided me inside, his hand resting on the small of my back until I was safely settled on the leather seat. He slid in next to me, the heavy armored door shutting out the noise of the city and the blinding flashes of the cameras.
The silence in the cabin was immediate and profound.
Luca climbed into the passenger seat, not bothering to buckle his seatbelt. He turned around, resting his arm over the center console, his eyes locked on Dante.
"Enzo left the ballroom five minutes before we did," Luca reported, his voice devoid of his usual easy humor. "He got into a car with two of his own men. They are heading back to Staten Island."
"Let him go," Dante replied, leaning his head back against the leather headrest. He reached over, pulling my hand into his lap, his thumb tracing the edge of my platinum ring. "I want him comfortable. I want him to think he survived the night."
"He talked to Leo Vitiello, boss," Luca pressed, clearly unhappy with the delay. "If he thinks he’s safe, he might try to solidify a deal with them before morning."
"He won't make it to morning," Dante said quietly. "But I am not going to execute a Capo in the middle of Manhattan traffic. We do this cleanly. We call a meeting at the Brooklyn warehouse at 3:00 AM. Tell Sal and Carmine to be there."
"And Enzo?"
"Tell Enzo he is receiving the new shipping manifests for the docks. He will come."
Luca nodded, turning back to face the windshield. He pulled out his encrypted phone and began typing out the death warrant for a man he had known for ten years.
I sat perfectly still, listening to the logistics of a murder being planned in the back of a luxury car.
A week ago, this conversation would have sent me into a full-blown panic attack. I would have felt sick. I would have tried to find a way out. Now, looking at the dark city streets blurring past the tinted window, I only felt a cold, heavy sense of necessity.
Enzo had disrespected Dante. He had questioned my place in the house. He had actively sought an alliance with a rival family while we were standing in the same room. If Dante let him live, the rest of the syndicate would see it as weakness.
The wolves would circle. And Clara and I would be the first ones dragged down.
"You are quiet," Dante murmured, his voice cutting through my thoughts.
I turned my head. The streetlights passing outside cast moving shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw and the cold intelligence in his whiskey eyes.
"I’m calculating," I admitted softly.
"Calculating what?"
"How long it will take for the rest of the Capos to fall in line once Enzo is gone." I looked down at our joined hands. "Sal is loyal to your father’s memory, but he’s old. Carmine is quiet. Will they accept you executing one of their own without proof of a physical betrayal?"
Dante’s thumb stopped moving against my ring. He studied my face, the dark, possessive pride I had seen in the ballroom returning to his eyes.
"They will accept it because I am the Don," Dante said. "And because Enzo broke the cardinal rule of this syndicate. He spoke against my family to an outsider. That is treason, Sienna. Proof of a physical betrayal is irrelevant when the verbal betrayal is already confirmed."
"Leo Vitiello confirmed it just by looking at him," I noted, remembering the subtle, arrogant shift in the older man’s eyes.
"Exactly." Dante lifted my hand, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of my wrist. The contrast between his lethal conversation and the gentle, reverent touch sent a shiver straight down my spine. "You handled Leo perfectly tonight. You gave him absolutely nothing to use against us."
"I told him his assumptions were boring," I corrected, a small smile touching my lips.
"You told him you were exactly where you wanted to be," Dante murmured, his gaze dropping to my mouth. "Were you lying?"
The SUV hit a small pothole, the chassis absorbing the shock, but the space between Dante and me felt entirely frictionless.
"No," I whispered.
I wasn't lying. I had walked into a room full of monsters, and the only one I wanted to be near was the one holding my hand.
The drive back to the estate passed in a heavy, charged silence. When the iron gates finally swung open to admit us, the house was fully illuminated, the perimeter guards standing at attention.
We stepped out of the car. The cool night air felt good against my heated skin.
I walked up the front steps beside Dante, the heavy silk of my dress brushing against his trousers. Fridge opened the doors, offering a respectful nod as we passed.
"I need to change," Dante told me as we reached the bottom of the grand staircase. He let go of my hand, the tactical focus returning to his posture. "I will leave for Brooklyn in twenty minutes."
"I’ll wait up for you," I said instinctively.
Dante paused on the first step. He looked back down at me. "It will be late, Sienna. You should sleep."
"I’m not going to sleep while you are executing a Capo in a warehouse," I replied, crossing my arms over my chest. "I’ll wait in the study."
He didn't argue. He simply nodded once, a silent acknowledgment of my place in this new reality, and continued up the stairs.
I didn't follow him. I turned and walked down the hallway toward the kitchen. I needed water. I needed to move.
The kitchen was empty, the stainless steel appliances gleaming under the low overhead lights. Elena had already retired for the night. I walked over to the massive refrigerator, poured myself a glass of cold water, and leaned against the marble island.
A soft, shuffling sound came from the doorway.
I turned, my heart giving a slight jump, but it was only Clara.
She was wearing an oversized t-shirt, clutching a thick art history book to her chest. The bruise on her face looked darker in the dim light, but her eyes were clear.
"You look beautiful," Clara said quietly, walking into the kitchen. She set the heavy book down on the island. "Like a movie star."
"Like a mob wife," I corrected dryly, taking a sip of my water. "There is a distinct difference in the survival rate."
Clara offered a small, tired smile. She climbed onto one of the barstools, pulling her knees up. "Luca said you went to a Gala. He said Dante wanted to show you off to the other families."
"Dante wanted to show them that we aren't hiding," I clarified. I set my glass down. "How are you doing? Did you read the whole book?"
"Most of it." Clara traced the gold lettering on the cover of the stolen book. She hesitated, her fingers tapping nervously against the binding. "Sienna... what happens to the men who took me? The ones Dante didn't kill in Switzerland?"
I looked at my younger sister. She was nineteen. She should be worrying about exams and boys, not the mortality rate of a Russian hit squad.
"The Petrovs agreed to a ceasefire tonight," I told her gently. "They paid back the money Dad stole. The war with them is over."
Clara let out a long, shaky breath, her shoulders dropping. "So it’s done. We’re safe."
"From them, yes."
I didn't tell her about Enzo. I didn't tell her that the man who had brought her the stolen art book was currently loading weapons into an SUV to go execute one of their own commanders. She didn't need to carry that weight.
"Go back to bed, Clara," I urged, offering a reassuring smile. "It’s late. Everything is fine."
She nodded, sliding off the stool. She picked up the heavy book and hugged me tightly with her free arm before walking back toward the guest wing.
I stayed in the kitchen for another ten minutes, listening to the quiet sounds of the house.
Eventually, I heard the heavy tread of boots on the marble stairs.
I walked out into the foyer.
Dante was standing near the front doors. He had stripped off the tuxedo. He was wearing dark tactical pants, combat boots, and a black long-sleeved shirt that clung to his broad chest. He was strapping a secondary holster to his thigh, his movements precise and stripped of hesitation.
Luca was standing next to him, checking the magazine of a matte-black submachine gun.
They didn't look like businessmen anymore. They looked like soldiers.
Dante looked up as I walked into the foyer. He finished securing the holster and handed a spare magazine to Luca.
"I will be back before dawn," Dante said, his voice carrying clearly across the quiet space.
"Be careful," I replied.
It was a stupid, domestic thing to say to a man going to commit a murder, but the words slipped out before I could stop them.
Luca offered a brief, wicked grin. "Don't worry, boss lady. Enzo is bringing a knife to a gunfight. He just doesn't know it yet."
Luca walked out the front doors, leaving Dante and me alone in the foyer.
Dante closed the distance between us. He didn't touch me. He stood just close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body and smell the sharp scent of gun oil clinging to his clothes.
"Lock the doors to the master suite," Dante instructed quietly. "Do not open them for anyone except me."
"You said the house was secure," I noted, a flicker of genuine concern breaking through my calm facade.
"The house is secure," Dante confirmed. "But treason makes men desperate. If Enzo realizes it’s a trap before he reaches the warehouse, he might try to send someone here to gain leverage. I have doubled the interior guard, but I want you behind a deadbolt."
I nodded, the gravity of the situation settling heavily in my chest.
"I’ll be waiting," I promised.
Dante held my gaze for a long, heavy second. He reached out, his knuckles brushing briefly against my cheek, a fleeting touch that felt more like a vow than a goodbye.
Then, he turned and walked out into the dark.
I stood in the foyer, listening to the heavy engines of the SUVs roar to life and speed away down the driveway.
I didn't go to the study like I had planned.
I walked upstairs, went straight into the master suite, and slid the heavy deadbolt into place with a loud, final clack.
I sat on the edge of the massive bed, still wearing the black silk dress, and stared at the door.
I was the wife of the Don. I had survived my father’s betrayal. I had survived the Russians.
But as the hours ticked by in the silent, empty bedroom, I realized that the hardest part of this new life wasn't facing the monsters.
It was waiting for my monster to come home.