CHAPTER 13
SIENNA
The sound of automatic gunfire is entirely different in real life than it is in the movies. It doesn't sound like action. It sounds like tearing metal and pure chaos.
I sat in the back of the massive SUV, my hands pressed flat against the leather seat, staring through the thick, tinted ballistic glass. The heavy thud of bullets hitting the hull of the dry-docked yachts echoed across the marina.
"Get down, Mrs. Morretti," Fridge ordered from the driver's seat, his massive hand resting on the grip of his sidearm. He hadn't flinched when the shooting started, but his eyes were constantly scanning the dark perimeter.
I didn't get down. I leaned closer to the window, my breath fogging the glass.
I couldn't see Dante.
The shadows between the boats were too deep, broken only by the sharp, terrifying flashes of muzzle fire. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, painful rhythm. Even if you see me bleeding on the pavement, you do not get out of that car. His order rang in my ears, heavy and absolute.
I had spent my entire life trying to escape the violence of my father’s world, and now I was sitting in a bulletproof box, terrified that the monster I married was going to die fighting my father’s war.
The worst part was how useless fear felt inside a sealed car. There was nowhere to run, nothing to break, no clever insult sharp enough to cut through armored glass and reach the man bleeding somewhere in the dark.
My old life had taught me how to survive rooms full of men who smiled while they ruined people. It had not taught me how to sit still while bullets hunted the only person who had ever chosen me after seeing every inconvenient, furious part of me.
A loud, metallic clang echoed through the cabin as a stray bullet ricocheted off the rear quarter panel of the SUV.
Fridge shifted his weight, his jaw tight. "They have higher ground. Silas is trying to flank them."
"Can you see Dante?" I asked, hating the slight tremor in my voice.
"The Don is moving toward the harbormaster’s office," Fridge replied, his eyes fixed on the concrete building fifty yards away. "He’s inside."
The gunfire outside intensified, a deafening roar that vibrated through the floorboards of the vehicle.
I pressed my fingertips against the cold glass.
The seconds stretched into agonizing minutes.
I didn't care about the ten million dollars.
I didn't care about the shipping routes.
I just wanted to see Dante walk back out of that building.
Suddenly, the heavy steel door of the harbormaster’s office kicked open.
Two figures emerged into the chaotic, flashing light of the marina.
Dante was walking backward, his rifle raised, firing short, controlled bursts toward the roof of the storage shed. His dark shirt was torn at the bicep, a dark stain spreading across the fabric, but his movements were entirely fluid and lethal.
With his other hand, he was dragging a man by the collar of his suit.
My breath caught in my throat.
Antonio Rossi.
My father stumbled, his knees buckling as Dante hauled him across the pavement. He wasn't fighting back. He wasn't trying to help. He was clutching a leather briefcase to his chest, using Dante’s body as a physical shield against the incoming fire.
A fresh wave of nausea hit me.
He looked exactly the same as he had two days ago when he handed me over in the foyer of our house in New York. The expensive linen suit, the perfectly styled hair, the absolute cowardice in his eyes.
"Fridge," Dante’s voice crackled sharply over the radio on the dashboard. "Open the back. We are coming in hot."
Fridge hit the unlock button.
The heavy rear door of the SUV was yanked open from the outside. The suffocating humidity of Miami rushed into the air-conditioned cabin, carrying the sharp scent of cordite and burning fiberglass.
Dante practically threw my father into the back seat.
Antonio crashed onto the leather upholstery, scrambling backward until his back hit the opposite door. He was panting, his face slick with sweat, his eyes wide with terror.
Dante climbed in right behind him, slamming the heavy armored door shut.
"Drive!" Dante barked, not looking at me.
Fridge slammed his foot on the gas. The massive SUV lurched forward, the tires screaming against the pavement as we tore away from the dry-docks, leaving the firefight behind us.
The cabin was plunged back into heavy silence, broken only by the roar of the engine and the ragged sound of my father’s breathing.
Dante leaned back against the seat, resting his rifle across his knees. He reached up, pressing his hand against his left bicep. The dark stain on his shirt was spreading, the blood seeping through his fingers.
"You’re shot," I said, my voice sounding far too loud in the confined space. I reached toward him, my hands trembling.
"It’s a graze," Dante dismissed, catching my wrist before I could touch the wound. His grip was firm, his whiskey eyes locking onto mine. "I told you to stay in the car."
"I stayed in the car," I shot back, my pulse racing as I looked at the blood on his hand. "Let me see it."
"It’s fine, Sienna." He let go of my wrist, his attention shifting to the other side of the vehicle.
Antonio Rossi was staring at me.
The terror in his eyes slowly morphed into a look of profound confusion as he processed the fact that his daughter was sitting in the back of a bulletproof SUV in Miami, wearing sweatpants and a massive diamond ring.
"Sienna?" my father choked out, clutching the leather briefcase tighter against his chest. "What are you doing here?"
The sheer audacity of the question made the blood roar in my ears.
"I’m on my honeymoon, Dad," I said, my voice dropping to a cold, deadpan register. "The beaches in Miami are beautiful this time of year."
Antonio blinked, looking from me to Dante, then back to me. "I don't understand. The Petrovs... they said they were going to kill me. I thought Dante was in New York."
"Dante was in New York," I corrected, leaning forward slightly. "Until the Petrovs dropped Clara’s silver necklace on our front doorstep."
The color completely drained from my father’s face. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
"They took her from the school," I continued, the anger I had been holding back for the last twenty-four hours finally breaking free. "They beat her. They tied her up in a dark room in Switzerland because you stole ten million dollars and used my wedding as a distraction to run."
"I had to," Antonio stammered, pressing his back harder against the door. "You don't understand, Sienna. They were going to kill me anyway. The money was my only way out. I thought Dante would protect you. I thought the Morretti syndicate would crush them before they could reach Clara."
"You gambled your daughters' lives on a mafia turf war," Dante said softly.
The quiet lethality in Dante’s voice made my father flinch.
Dante didn't yell. He didn't raise his weapon. He simply reached across the seat and ripped the leather briefcase out of Antonio’s hands.
"Hey!" Antonio protested weakly, reaching for it.
Dante shot him a look that promised absolute violence. Antonio froze, dropping his hands back to his lap.
Dante popped the brass latches on the briefcase. It wasn't filled with cash. It was filled with bearer bonds, offshore account ledgers, and three different passports, all bearing Antonio’s face with different names.
"Ten million dollars," Dante murmured, flipping through one of the ledgers. "You caused a war that is currently burning down half of Queens for ten million dollars."
"It’s yours," Antonio said quickly, his voice desperate. "Take it, Dante. Take the money, take the docks, take everything. Just let me go. The Petrovs saw you take me. They’ll focus on you now. I can disappear."
I stared at the man who had raised me.
He wasn't asking for forgiveness. He wasn't asking if Clara was okay. He was trying to buy his life with the very money that had almost gotten us killed.
"You want to disappear," Dante repeated, closing the briefcase.
"Yes," Antonio nodded frantically. "I’ll go to South America. You’ll never hear from me again. Sienna will be safe with you."
Dante looked at me.
He didn't look at my father. He looked directly into my eyes, the amber depths completely unreadable. He was waiting. He had promised me that he would carry the sin of this execution, but he was giving me the final choice.
I looked at Antonio Rossi.
I thought about the bruise on Clara’s face. I thought about the heavy lock on the door of my bedroom. I thought about the blood currently soaking into the sleeve of Dante’s shirt.
"He doesn't get to disappear," I said, my voice perfectly steady.
Antonio’s head snapped toward me, his eyes wide with shock. "Sienna! What are you doing? I’m your father!"
"No," I replied, leaning back against the leather seat, crossing my arms over my chest. "You’re a liability."
Dante’s jaw tightened. A dark, terrifying look of absolute pride flashed across his features.
"Fridge," Dante called out toward the front seat. "We are bypassing the airstrip. Drive to the secondary safe house in the Everglades. Silas and the team will meet us there."
"Yes, boss," Fridge replied, taking a hard left turn that sent us speeding away from the city lights and toward the dark, sprawling swamps of southern Florida.
Antonio began to panic, his breathing turning into rapid, shallow gasps. "Dante, please. We had a deal. I gave you the territory."
Dante didn't answer him. He reached across the seat, ignoring Antonio completely, and took my left hand. He laced his fingers through mine, his thumb resting against the platinum band on my ring finger.
The heat of his touch anchored me, chasing away the cold dread that had settled in my stomach.
I didn't look at my father as he begged. I kept my eyes on the dark landscape blurring past the tinted window, holding tightly to the hand of the monster I had chosen to save me.