CHAPTER 5
SIENNA
The taillights of the black SUVs disappeared down the winding road, swallowed by the dense trees surrounding the estate.
I stood on the gravel driveway, the crisp September wind cutting right through the thin silk of my dress, but I couldn't feel the cold. I couldn't feel anything except the violent, frantic hammering of my own heart against my ribs.
Clara.
My little sister was nineteen years old. She was supposed to be safe. She was supposed to be studying art history through a Swiss semester program, far away from the blood and the debts and the mess my father had made of our family.
I looked down at the black box still resting on the pavement. The white lily was ruined, the dark rust of dried blood staining the petals. And right beneath it, the delicate silver chain I had bought her for her sixteenth birthday.
I took a step forward, my hand reaching out.
"Don't touch it, Mrs. Morretti."
The voice was rough, stripped of the humor I had heard earlier.
I snapped my head up. Luca was standing a few feet away. He hadn't gone with Dante. He was holding his phone in one hand, the screen dark, and his other hand was resting casually near his waist. The switchblade was gone, but the shift in his posture told me he was armed with something much louder.
"That’s her necklace," I said, my voice cracking. I pointed at the box, my finger trembling so badly I had to drop my hand. "They have her, Luca. The Petrovs have Clara."
"We don't know that for sure," Luca replied evenly, stepping between me and the box. He didn't look at the flower. He kept his eyes scanning the perimeter of the gates. "It’s a message. They want Dante to know they can reach past his walls. The boss is handling it."
"Handling it?" The panic in my chest flared into a sudden, blinding spike of anger. "He just got on a plane! He left me here!"
"He left you here because this is the safest place on the eastern seaboard," Luca corrected, his tone leaving absolutely no room for debate. "He took twenty men. He’s heading straight to Geneva. If your sister is there, he will find her. If she’s not, he will find the people who sent this box and he will dismantle them. "
I stared at him, the reality of the situation crashing over me in a suffocating wave.
Dante Morretti was a monster. I had spent the last twenty-four hours using sarcasm and defiance to pretend I wasn't terrified of him. But when I looked at that bloody flower, when the absolute horror of what the Petrovs were capable of settled into my bones, Dante’s violence didn't seem terrifying anymore.
It seemed necessary.
"I need to call my father," I demanded, taking a step toward the house.
"Your father isn't answering his phone," Luca said flatly.
I stopped. I turned slowly to look at him. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I’ve called him three times since the box arrived. His men aren't picking up either." Luca’s jaw tightened. "Rossi went to ground. He knew the Petrovs were coming for him, he sold you to Dante to buy protection, and then he ran."
The betrayal hit me like a physical blow to the stomach.
My father hadn't just sold me. He had used my wedding as a distraction so he could disappear, leaving Clara completely exposed.
"Get inside, Sienna," Luca ordered, dropping the casual 'Mrs. Morretti'. He gestured toward the massive front doors. "Fridge and the perimeter team are locking down the gates. We’re moving to a Code Red."
I didn't argue. I couldn't.
I turned and walked back up the driveway, the silver heels I had fought Dante over feeling like lead weights on my feet. The grand foyer, which had been full of men and noise just thirty minutes ago, was now eerily quiet. The chairs from the ceremony had already been cleared away by the staff.
The priest was gone. The illusion of a wedding was gone.
I was standing in a fortress, wearing a white dress, completely alone.
"Elena," Luca called out as we stepped inside.
The severe housekeeper appeared from the hallway leading to the kitchen. She didn't look surprised by the sudden change in atmosphere. She looked exactly as she had this morning—calculating, cold, and entirely prepared.
"Take her upstairs," Luca instructed. "Nobody goes into the guest wing except you. If she needs food, bring it to her. If she tries to leave the room, lock the door."
I spun around to face him. "You can't lock me in again. My sister is missing!"
"Your sister is in Europe, and you are in New York," Luca shot back, his dark eyes hard.
"You can't help her from here. What you can do is stay out of my way so I can secure this house.
If the Petrovs are bold enough to drop a package at the front gate, they might be bold enough to try something else. "
He didn't wait for my response. He turned and walked down the hall toward Dante’s study, pulling his phone out and barking orders in rapid Italian.
I stood in the center of the foyer, my hands clenched into tight fists at my sides.
"Miss Rossi." Elena’s voice was dry, lacking any trace of sympathy. "Upstairs."
"It’s Morretti now," I snapped, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
Elena didn't blink. "Then act like it. The Don’s wife does not stand in the foyer looking like a lost child while the men prepare for an attack. Go to your room."
The insult stung, but it also grounded me.
She was right. Panicking in a silk dress wasn't going to help Clara. If I wanted to survive this, if I wanted to be of any use when Dante called with news, I needed to stop acting like a victim.
I turned and walked up the grand staircase, my spine perfectly straight.
Elena followed me, her sensible shoes making absolutely no sound on the hardwood. When we reached the door to my room, she stopped.
"I will not lock the door unless you give me a reason to," she said quietly.
I looked at her, surprised by the tiny concession. "Thank you."
"Do not thank me. I am doing it because the Don would prefer you learn to stay put on your own.
" She reached into the pocket of her black apron and pulled out a small, sleek smartphone.
She held it out to me. "The house Wi-Fi is restricted, but the cellular data works.
It is encrypted. Do not try to call the police. "
I took the phone, my fingers brushing against the cold metal casing. "Why are you giving me this?"
"Because sitting in a quiet room with nothing but your own thoughts is a very fast way to lose your mind," Elena replied. "And Dante does not have the patience for a hysterical wife."
She turned and walked away before I could respond.
I pushed the heavy oak door open and stepped into the bedroom.
The fire I had started was completely cleared away. The ashes were gone, the grate was clean, and new, perfectly symmetrical velvet pillows were sitting on the edge of the bed. It was as if my small act of rebellion had never happened.
I walked over to the bed and sat down, the heavy mattress dipping under my weight.
I looked at the phone in my hand.
I didn't call the police. Luca was right; they couldn't help me. The authorities didn't operate on the same timeline or with the same lack of rules that Dante did. If Clara was taken by the Russians, Dante was her only chance.
I unlocked the screen. There were no contacts saved. Just a dial pad and a browser.
I opened the browser and typed in my father’s name. Antonio Rossi.
Nothing new. Just old articles about his legitimate businesses—a string of failing restaurants in Little Italy—and rumors of his connection to the syndicate.
I typed in Dante Morretti.
The results were entirely different. There were no pictures of him.
Not a single clear shot. Just grainy surveillance photos and articles detailing federal investigations that always ended in dropped charges, missing witnesses, or dead ends.
The media called him the Ghost of New York.
They speculated about his net worth, his ruthlessness, and the iron control he maintained over the five boroughs.
I locked the screen and tossed the phone onto the mattress.
Reading about the monster I married wasn't going to calm my nerves.
I stood up and walked to the window. The view overlooked the sprawling back gardens of the estate. The sun was beginning to set, casting long, dark shadows across the manicured lawns. I could see the perimeter guards pacing along the high stone walls. They carried rifles now, not just sidearms.
The reality of the lockdown was visible everywhere.
I crossed my arms over my chest, rubbing my bare shoulders. The silk dress suddenly felt ridiculous. I was dressed for a celebration that had ended in a declaration of war.
I walked into the massive closet. Elena had unpacked the single suitcase I brought. My clothes looked pathetic hanging next to the rows of expensive, tailored suits that clearly belonged to Dante. This was his guest room, but it was connected to his space.
I stripped off the wedding dress, letting the heavy silk fall to the floor. I didn't care if it wrinkled. I grabbed a pair of soft gray sweatpants and an oversized black cashmere sweater from my meager pile of clothes.
I pulled the sweater over my head, the soft fabric offering a tiny sliver of comfort.
I walked back into the bedroom and stopped.
The small red light on the security camera, hidden in the wooden rosette near the ceiling, was blinking.
Dante wasn't here. He was on a plane to Switzerland. So who was watching the feed?
I walked directly under the camera, tilting my head back.
"Luca," I said clearly, my voice echoing slightly in the large room. "If you are watching this, I want a cup of tea. And I want to know if Dante’s plane landed."
I waited.
Nothing happened.
I sighed, feeling incredibly stupid for talking to a piece of wood. I walked over to the fireplace, grabbed the brass iron I had used last night, and dragged a heavy leather armchair directly in front of the door.
If they weren't going to lock me in, I was going to make sure nobody could just walk in.
I sat down in the chair, pulling my knees to my chest. I rested the heavy brass iron across my lap.
The silence of the house pressed in on me, heavier than before. I closed my eyes, the image of the bloody lily flashing behind my eyelids.
I will bring her back.
Dante’s promise echoed in my head. He had squeezed my hand. He had looked at me with a possessiveness that terrified me, but in that moment, it was the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart.
I didn't want to rely on him. I didn't want to trust him.
But as the sun fully set outside the window, plunging the room into shadows, I realized the terrifying truth.
I was waiting for the devil to come home.