CHAPTER 20
SIENNA
I was sitting on the edge of the massive bed, still wearing the black silk dress from the Gala.
I had kicked my heels off hours ago, but I hadn't made a move to take the dress off or wash my makeup away.
I felt like if I changed into sweatpants, I would be breaking the spell we had cast in the ballroom.
I needed to stay in the armor until he came back.
The house was completely silent. Elena and Clara were asleep in the west wing. The interior guards were stationed at the top of the stairs, unmoving and completely silent.
My mind kept replaying the events of the night. The way Leo Vitiello had looked at me. The way Enzo had paled when Dante spun me across the dance floor. I had spent my entire life trying to avoid the gravitational pull of the mafia, only to discover that I was incredibly good at navigating it.
I wasn't just surviving. I was thriving. And that terrified me more than the guns or the blood.
A low, heavy vibration rumbled through the floorboards.
I stood up instantly. It wasn't the sound of an attack; it was the synchronized purr of the armored SUVs returning to the driveway.
I didn't run to the window this time. I walked to the center of the room and waited.
Five minutes passed. The heavy tread of boots echoed faintly from the grand staircase, moving down the hallway toward the master suite.
The heavy deadbolt clicked open.
Dante stepped into the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
He looked entirely different than he had in the ballroom.
He had stripped off his tuxedo jacket and tie somewhere between Brooklyn and here.
The top three buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone, the fabric wrinkled.
His shoulder holster was strapped firmly in place, the dark metal of the Glock resting against his ribs.
But it wasn't his clothes that caught my attention. It was his eyes.
The cold, calculated intelligence of the Don was gone, replaced by a raw, hollow exhaustion that made him look ten years older. He didn't look like a king returning from a victory. He looked like a man who had just dug a grave with his bare hands.
"Is it done?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper in the quiet room.
Dante didn't answer immediately. He walked over to the small table near the window, unbuckled his shoulder holster, and set it down with a heavy, metallic thud.
He braced both hands flat against the wood of the table, bowing his head, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a slow, ragged breath.
"It is done," he finally said, his voice rough and stripped of emotion.
I crossed the room, my bare feet silent on the thick rug. I stopped right behind him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his back, but I didn't touch him yet.
"Did he fight?" I asked softly.
"No." Dante pushed off the table, turning around to face me. He looked down, his amber eyes searching my face, looking for the judgment I had always harbored for my father’s world.
"He begged. He blamed the alcohol. He blamed his age.
He offered me half of his legitimate businesses if I let him walk. "
"And you didn't."
"I couldn't." Dante reached up, rubbing the back of his neck, the muscles corded tight with tension.
"If I let a Capo live after he actively sought an alliance with the Vitiello family, Sal and Carmine would lose respect for the seat.
The entire syndicate would fracture. I had to make an example of him. "
"I know," I told him, keeping my voice steady.
"I shot a man I have known for ten years in the back of the head, Sienna," Dante said, the words harsh and entirely unvarnished. He took a step toward me, stopping just inches away. "I didn't feel anything when I pulled the trigger. I just calculated the trajectory and the cleanup."
He was testing me. He was laying the absolute ugliest part of his soul bare, waiting for me to flinch. Waiting for me to realize that the man who had kissed me in the dining room was the same man who executed his friends for politics.
I didn't flinch.
I reached out, placing both of my hands flat against his chest, right over his heart. The steady, heavy rhythm beat against my palms.
"You did what you had to do to protect this house," I said, looking straight into his eyes. "You protected me. You protected Clara. I don't care what you felt when you pulled the trigger, Dante. I care that you came back."
Dante stared at me, the hollow exhaustion in his eyes slowly fracturing, replaced by a dark, consuming intensity.
He reached up, his large hands gripping my waist. He didn't pull me closer; he lifted me entirely off the floor.
I gasped, my hands flying up to grip his broad shoulders. He walked me backward until my spine hit the cool plaster of the wall next to the bathroom door. He pressed his body flush against mine, pinning me in place.
"You are wearing the dress," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, rough vibration that sent a sharp jolt of heat straight down to my core.
"I was waiting for you," I whispered, my fingers tangling in the collar of his wrinkled shirt.
"You looked like a queen tonight," Dante said, his mouth brushing against the sensitive skin just below my ear. "You stood in a room full of wolves, and you made them bow."
"I had the biggest wolf in the room standing right behind me," I reminded him, tilting my head to give him better access.
Dante let out a dark, ragged sound. He kissed his way down the long column of my neck, his teeth scraping lightly against my collarbone. The contrast between the violence he had just committed and the absolute reverence of his touch was intoxicating.
This time, he did not need to ask. I was already pulling him closer, already giving him the answer with every frantic touch.
His hands slid around to my back, finding the hidden zipper of the heavy silk dress. He pulled it down in one smooth motion. The dress pooled at my feet, leaving me wearing nothing but a scrap of black lace.
The cool air of the room hit my skin, but Dante immediately covered me, his chest pressing against my bare breasts. He kissed me, hard and demanding, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, tasting like expensive bourbon and dark, desperate need.
I kissed him back with equal ferocity, my hands tearing at the remaining buttons of his shirt. I wanted the fabric gone. I wanted the barrier between us completely removed.
Dante broke the kiss just long enough to pull his arms out of the sleeves, tossing the shirt aside. The bandage on his right bicep was still clean, a stark white contrast against his tanned skin and the map of faded scars covering his torso.
He gripped the back of my thighs, lifting my legs until they were wrapped securely around his waist.
"Hold on," he ordered, his voice thick with lust.
I locked my ankles behind his back, my arms wrapping tightly around his neck. Dante carried me away from the wall, crossing the large bedroom in three long strides, and dropped me onto the center of the massive king-sized bed.
He followed me down instantly, his knees parting my legs, his body settling heavily over mine.
He didn't bother with slow seduction. The political tension of the Gala, the violence of the warehouse, the sheer adrenaline of the last six hours—it all culminated in a frantic, desperate need for release.
He stripped away the black lace, his eyes dark and completely dilated as he looked down at me.
"Mine," Dante whispered, the word a brand, a promise, and a threat all rolled into one.His hand stilled on my thigh. Even now, with violence still drying on his soul and need burning through both of us, he waited. "Say stop, and I stop."
"Yours," I answered, arching my back, silently demanding that he finish what he started. "Do not stop."
He pushed into me.
A sharp, breathless cry tore from my throat. He filled me completely, the sensation so intense it bordered on overwhelming. Dante groaned, burying his face in the curve of my neck, his hands gripping my hips tightly to anchor himself.
He began to move. The rhythm was punishing, fast and deep, driven by a raw, primal instinct that stripped away the civilized veneer of the Don and left only the man underneath.
I matched him, my nails dragging lightly down his back, my hips rising to meet every thrust. The friction built a blinding, white-hot fire in my blood.
I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. I was entirely consumed by the heat of his skin, the smell of his cologne, and the heavy, rhythmic sound of our bodies colliding in the quiet room.
"Dante," I gasped, my fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling his mouth down to mine.
He kissed me, swallowing my cries as the first wave of pleasure broke over me. It was sharp and violent, shattering my control completely. I arched off the mattress, my body trembling uncontrollably beneath him.
Dante let out a harsh, guttural sound, his pace accelerating for three more punishing thrusts before his entire body went rigid. He found his release with a deep groan, his chest heaving against mine.
He collapsed, his heavy weight pressing me into the mattress.
We lay tangled together in the dark, the only sound the frantic, uneven rhythm of our breathing. Dante didn't pull away. He rolled slightly to the side, taking my weight with him, and pulled the heavy duvet over our cooling bodies.
He rested his head against the pillows, pulling me flush against his side. My head rested on his chest, right over his heart.
The adrenaline slowly drained from my system, leaving a heavy, profound exhaustion in its wake.
"Sal and Carmine accepted the execution," Dante said quietly into the dark room, his fingers tracing lazy, soothing circles on my bare shoulder. "They didn't argue. They understood the necessity."
"Who takes over Staten Island?" I asked, my voice sleepy but entirely focused.
Dante paused his tracing. He looked down at me, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips. "You just survived your first syndicate Gala, and you are already asking about territory distribution?"
"I’m just curious," I mumbled, shifting closer to his warmth.
"Silas," Dante answered. "He has earned a seat at the table. He will take over Enzo’s routes by tomorrow morning."
"Good." I closed my eyes, the steady beat of his heart lulling me toward sleep. "Silas is quiet. I like quiet."
Dante let out a soft huff of amusement. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, his arm tightening around me, securing me against his side.
"Sleep, Sienna," he murmured, his voice a low, protective rumble. "The house is secure. The war is over."
I drifted off to sleep in the arms of the most dangerous man in New York, entirely convinced that for the first time in my life, I was exactly where I was supposed to be.