CHAPTER 22
SIENNA
The words hung in the air, heavy and impossible.
For one suspended second, every sound in Dante’s study disappeared: the low hum of the air system, the distant tread of guards in the hallway, the tiny click of Luca’s knife opening and closing somewhere near the window.
A federal warrant should have felt ridiculous. I had been many things in the last week—sold daughter, unwilling bride, reckless sister, accidental strategist—but criminal defendant was so absurd that my mind rejected it before my body understood enough to be afraid.
The warrant is for your wife.
I stared at Luca. My brain simply refused to process the information. I was twenty-two years old. I had never received a parking ticket, let alone a federal indictment. I didn't even know where the Brooklyn warehouse was located until two days ago.
"That makes no sense," I said, my voice sounding incredibly small in the massive study. "I don't have anything to do with the syndicate’s finances."
"Your father did," Dante said.
His voice wasn't small. It was a cold, sharp blade cutting through the rising panic in the room. He stood up, lifting me effortlessly off his lap and setting me on my feet. He didn't look panicked. He looked like a man evaluating the blast radius of a bomb that had already detonated.
"Rossi handled the legitimate front businesses," Dante explained, moving rapidly around the desk.
He pulled open the bottom drawer, pulling out three thick stacks of cash and a pair of dark passports.
"If he knew the Petrovs were coming for him, and he knew I was going to execute him for the theft... he must have built a failsafe."
"He framed me," I realized, the blood draining completely from my face. My knees felt weak. "He put my name on the shell companies. He made me the fall guy for the ten million."
"And Leo Vitiello tipped off the Feds," Luca finished, his jaw tight. "Leo knew Rossi was dead. He knew we had the money. He used the FBI to hit our vault and take Sienna off the board in one move."
It was brilliant. It was devastating. And it was going to put me in federal prison for the rest of my life.
"How far out are they?" Dante asked, shoving the cash and passports into a small black duffel bag.
"Ten minutes, maybe less," Luca said, checking his encrypted phone. "They hit the warehouse hard, boss. They’re bringing a tactical team to the estate. We can't hold them off at the gate. If we shoot at federal agents, the entire syndicate goes down."
"We don't shoot at them," Dante agreed, zipping the bag shut. He grabbed the Glock from the desk, checking the chamber before sliding it into his holster. "We leave."
I stood frozen in the center of the room. Leave? Dante Morretti didn't leave. He was the Don. This house was his fortress. If he ran from the FBI, he would look guilty. He would lose the city.
"Dante," I started, my voice trembling. "If you run with me, they’ll put a warrant out for you too. You’ll lose everything."
He stopped moving. He turned to look at me, his amber eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that stole the remaining breath from my lungs.
"I already told you, Sienna," he said, his voice dropping to a low, absolute register. "I keep what is mine. I am not letting the federal government lock you in a cage for your father’s sins."
He didn't wait for me to argue. He grabbed my hand, his grip bruisingly tight, and pulled me toward the door.
"Luca, get Clara," Dante ordered as we moved into the hallway. "Take her to the safe house in Vermont. Do not use the main roads. Do not use your regular phones. I will contact you when we are clear."
"Understood." Luca turned on his heel, sprinting up the grand staircase to get my sister.
Dante pulled me in the opposite direction, moving quickly toward the back of the house.
We passed Elena in the kitchen. She took one look at the black duffel bag in Dante’s hand and the weapon strapped to his chest, and she simply nodded, stepping out of our way.
She didn't ask questions. In this world, you survived by knowing when to look away.
We reached the heavy steel door that led to the underground garage.
Dante punched a six-digit code into the keypad. The door hissed open, revealing a cavernous, dimly lit space filled with a fleet of luxury cars and armored SUVs.
He didn't go for the SUVs. He walked straight to a sleek, dark gray Audi sedan parked in the far corner. It didn't look like a mafia vehicle. It looked like a car a mid-level executive would drive to work.
"Get in," Dante instructed, opening the passenger door.
I climbed inside. The leather seats were cold. The reality of the situation was finally breaking through the shock. I was a fugitive. I was running from the FBI.
Dante threw the duffel bag into the back seat and slid behind the wheel.
He hit a button on the overhead console, and the massive concrete wall at the back of the garage began to slowly roll upward, revealing a narrow, unpaved service road that cut directly through the dense woods behind the estate.
"Put your seatbelt on," he ordered, putting the car in gear.
I fumbled with the buckle, my hands shaking so badly I missed the latch twice. Dante reached over, his large hand covering mine, and smoothly clicked the belt into place. He squeezed my knee once, a silent, grounding touch, before hitting the gas.
The Audi shot forward, plunging into the dark woods just as the faint, high-pitched wail of sirens echoed in the distance.
They were coming to the front gates.
Dante kept the headlights off. He navigated the narrow dirt road using only the moonlight filtering through the trees, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. He drove with the same cold, mechanical precision he used when he was holding a weapon.
"Where are we going?" I asked, keeping my voice as steady as possible.
"We need to get out of the state," Dante replied, turning the steering wheel sharply to avoid a deep rut in the dirt. "They will freeze the syndicate’s accounts within the hour. They will flag the airports and the train stations. We are driving."
"To where?"
"Pennsylvania, first," he said. "I have a contact there who owes me a favor. He can provide clean transport and a place to stay until I figure out how to unspool the mess your father left in those ledgers."
I looked out the window. The trees were a dark, terrifying blur.
"Dante," I whispered, the guilt finally settling heavy and suffocating in my chest. "I’m sorry."
He didn't look away from the road. "For what?"
"For bringing this to your door," I said, my voice cracking. "You had the city under control. You had the Petrovs handled. If you hadn't married me, my father wouldn't have been able to frame me. The FBI wouldn't be raiding your house."
The Audi hit a bump, the suspension absorbing the shock.
"If I hadn't married you," Dante said, his voice stripped of regret, "I would still be sitting in an empty fortress, surrounded by men who only respect violence. I would rather be in this car."
I closed my eyes, a single tear slipping down my cheek. He was throwing away his empire for me, and he didn't even hesitate.
We hit the end of the service road ten minutes later, pulling onto a quiet, two-lane highway. Dante finally turned the headlights on. The sudden illumination felt incredibly exposing. Every passing car looked like an unmarked federal vehicle. Every shadow looked like a trap.
We drove in silence for two hours.
The adrenaline slowly burned out of my system, leaving me hollow and exhausted. I stared at the dashboard clock. It was almost noon. The world outside the tinted windows was bright and painfully normal. People were going to work. People were buying coffee.
And I was sitting next to a man with a gun, running for my life.
Dante’s encrypted phone buzzed in the cup holder.
He didn't answer it immediately. He checked the rearview mirror, ensuring the road behind us was clear, before picking it up.
"Speak," he commanded.
"It’s Silas," the voice crackled through the speaker. "The Feds breached the main house. They tore the place apart looking for Sienna. When they realized you were gone too, they expanded the warrant. You’re officially a fugitive, boss. Aiding and abetting."
I pressed my hand against my mouth to stifle a sob. It was exactly what I had feared.
"Did they find anything else in the sub-level?" Dante asked, his tone completely clinical.
"Just the ledgers Rossi planted," Silas confirmed. "But Dante... Leo Vitiello made a public statement to the other families. He said you abandoned your post. He’s calling for a vote to strip the Morretti family of its seat at the table. He wants to take over your territory while you’re on the run."
Dante’s jaw tightened, a muscle feathering dangerously near his temple.
Leo had played a perfect game of chess. He used the FBI to remove Dante from the board without firing a single shot, leaving the city wide open for a hostile takeover.
"Let him call his vote," Dante said softly. "Tell Sal and Carmine to stand down. Do not engage Vitiello’s men. Let him think he won."
"Boss, if we don't fight back, we lose Brooklyn by tomorrow night," Silas warned.
"We already lost Brooklyn, Silas," Dante corrected, the cold reality of the situation evident in his voice. "We are playing a different game now. I will contact you when we are settled. Ditch this phone."
Dante hung up. He rolled his window down an inch and casually tossed the expensive, encrypted smartphone out onto the highway. It shattered against the asphalt, severing our last tie to the syndicate.
I looked at him. The Don of New York. The Ghost.
He had nothing left but the clothes on his back, a bag of cash, and me.
"He took your city," I whispered.
Dante kept his eyes on the road. He reached over, his hand finding mine in the space between the seats. He laced his fingers through mine, his grip bruisingly tight.
"He took my city," Dante agreed, a dark, terrifying smile touching the corner of his mouth. "But he forgot that I am the one who built it. And when I come back, Sienna, I am going to burn Leo Vitiello alive inside it."