Sienna POV

Three days passed.

Or perhaps it was four.

Time loses its meaning when the sun ceases to exist.

I survived on the crusts of stale bread and the tepid water that Rocco shoved through the slot in the iron door once a day.

But the cold was the worst part.

It seeped past my skin and settled deep into my marrow, making my joints ache with a familiar, biting throb. It reminded me of the freezer. Of the docks.

On the fourth day, the metal slot slid open with a harsh scrape.

Rocco didn't push food through this time.

Instead, he slid a sleek tablet across the rough stone.

"Boss wants you to watch," he grunted, his voice devoid of pity.

I dragged my body over to the device, my limbs heavy.

The screen flared to life, the brightness stinging my eyes.

It was a live stream.

The Vitiello estate gardens had been transformed into a paradise of white roses. A string quartet was playing Vivaldi, the elegant notes filtering tinny and distorted through the tablet's speakers.

It was a wedding.

My wedding.

But I wasn't the bride.

The camera panned to the altar.

Dante stood there. He looked devastating in a black tuxedo, sharp and imposing against the soft florals. He wasn't smiling. He looked like a statue carved from unyielding marble, beautiful and cold.

Then the music swelled and changed.

Valeria walked down the aisle.

She was wearing a gown of intricate lace that likely cost more than my entire existence. It was tight-fitting, perfectly showcasing the body that my blood had been spilled to save.

Beside the tablet, Rocco slid a piece of paper and a pen through the slot.

I picked it up, my fingers numb.

Divorce papers.

Reason: Irreconcilable Differences and Mental Instability.

I looked at the screen. The priest was speaking now, his words a low murmur.

I looked down at the paper.

My hand didn't shake.

For the first time in years, a strange, hollow calm settled over me.

I signed the paper.

Sienna Vitiello.

Then, I reached into the hidden hem of my dress.

The guards had searched me, patting down my ribs and pockets, but they hadn't checked the lining.

The vial was still there.

Gia had said one drop slows the heart. The whole vial stops it.

I worked the tiny cork free.

On the screen, Dante took Valeria’s hands in his.

"Do you, Dante Vitiello, take this woman..."

I raised the vial to my lips.

It tasted like nothing. Innocuous as water.

I swallowed it all.

I lay back on the cold stone floor, clutching the tablet to my chest like a lifeline.

My heart gave a hard thud against my ribs.

Then another.

Then it slowed.

Thump... thump...

On the screen, Dante was sliding a ring onto her finger.

He looked up then. Straight into the camera lens.

For a split second, I thought he could see me.

My vision blurred at the edges. The biting cold wasn't painful anymore. It was warm. Comforting, like a heavy blanket.

My lungs stopped drawing air.

The darkness wasn't a cage anymore.

It was freedom.

Dante Vitiello POV

The reception was nothing short of a circus.

Fake smiles. Fake congratulations. Fake loyalty.

I hated every goddamn second of it.

I had downed three glasses of scotch just to tolerate the sound of Valeria’s voice. She was drunk on champagne and power, parading around the room like she owned the very air we breathed.

Meanwhile, I couldn't get the image of Sienna out of my head.

The way she looked in that cell. Broken. Dirty.

And those eyes.

They didn't plead. They judged.

"Dante, baby," Valeria slurred, tugging me toward the elevators. "Let's go upstairs. The night is young."

I let her lead me to the bridal suite.

I didn't want her.

I craved silence.

Valeria kicked off her heels and collapsed onto the bed. She reached into her clutch and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

"Look what Rocco gave me," she giggled. "The little mute finally signed."

She tossed the paper at me.

It fluttered to the floor between us.

I picked it up.

The divorce decree.

At the bottom, the signature was shaky but firm.

Sienna Vitiello.

She had signed away her name. She had signed away her place by my side.

Something inside me snapped.

It was a violent, ugly fracture in my chest.

I didn't feel relief. I didn't feel free.

I felt rage.

Pure, molten rage.

"She signed it?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet.

"Yes!" Valeria clapped her hands. "Now we are official. No more loose ends."

I stared at the paper.

She gave up.

Sienna never gave up. She fought me at every turn. She defied me with her silence.

Signing this paper wasn't surrender. It was an exit.

I tore the paper in half.

Then in quarters.

"Dante?" Valeria sat up, her smile faltering. "What are you doing?"

I let the confetti of legal documents rain down on the carpet.

"She is my wife," I growled, stalking toward the bed. "She stays my wife until I say otherwise."

Valeria scrambled back against the headboard. "But... but we just got married! The ceremony!"

"A show," I said. "For your father. For the Commission."

I grabbed Valeria’s chin, forcing her to look at me. Her eyes widened in fear.

"You are a placeholder, Valeria. Do not forget that. You wear the ring because I allow it. But Sienna..."

My chest heaved.

"Sienna belongs to me. Even in that cell. Even in hell."

I released her. She fell back against the pillows, sobbing.

I walked to the window and looked out at the dark grounds.

Why did I feel like I had just lost something I could never replace?

Dante Vitiello POV

The morning sun assaulted my eyes, doing nothing to burn off the alcohol or the simmering anger.

I found Valeria in the kitchen, barking orders at the staff. She was posturing, trying too hard to play the role of the Donna she would never be.

"Get out," I growled at the staff.

They scrambled, abandoning their tasks to leave us alone.

Valeria turned, holding a cup of espresso. Her hand was shaking so badly the ceramic rattled against the saucer.

"Dante, about last night..."

"Don't," I said, my voice low as I leaned against the counter. "Just tell me one thing. And if you lie to me, Valeria, I will cut out your tongue."

She paled, her knuckles turning white around the cup.

"Why does she hate me?" I asked. "Sienna. Before the poison. Before the gala. Why did she look at me like I was the devil?"

Valeria swallowed hard. She set the cup down before she dropped it.

"Because of her parents, Dante. You know this."

I narrowed my eyes. "What about her parents?"

"She... she told me," Valeria stammered. "She signed it to me once. She said she hates you because you killed them. She said she knows you gave the order to sink her father's boat five years ago."

I froze.

The air in the kitchen seemed to vanish.

"Sink the boat?" I repeated, the words tasting like ash.

"Yes. With them on it."

My mind snapped back five years.

Sienna's father had been late on payments. I had threatened him. I had told Rocco to put the fear of God into him.

But I never gave an order to sink the boat.

And her parents weren't dead.

They were alive. I had ordered them moved to a safe house in Jersey two days ago to use as leverage against Sienna.

If Sienna thought they were dead...

If she thought I killed them...

Then her "hatred" wasn't rebellion. It was grief.

And it was justified.

A heavy silence settled between us.

"She told you?" I asked softly, dangerously.

"Yes," Valeria insisted, gaining a desperate sort of confidence. "She said you were a murderer."

"Sienna barely signs to anyone," I said, pushing off the counter. "Especially not to you. But if she believes this..."

I yanked my phone out.

"Rocco," I barked into the receiver. "Bring the car around. We're going to the safe house. Pick up the fisherman and his wife."

"Dante?" Valeria stepped forward, confusion warring with fear. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to prove you wrong," I said, checking the clip of my gun. "I'm going to bring her parents to the dungeon. I'm going to show Sienna that I am not the monster she thinks I am."

I felt a strange, desperate need to clear my name. To see her eyes change from hate to... something else. Relief. Maybe even gratitude.

"And you," I pointed a finger at Valeria. "You stay here. If you leave this house, the guards have orders to shoot."

I turned and strode out.

I was going to fix this.

I was the Don. I could fix anything.

I didn't know that I was already too late.