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.

Dante Vitiello POV

I thought I was being benevolent.

That was the lie I told myself as the armored SUV crunched over the gravel driveway of the estate. I sat in the front passenger seat, adjusting the cuffs of my suit jacket with precise, practiced movements. In the rearview mirror, I saw them.

The fisherman and his wife.

They were huddled together in the back, terrified. The resemblance was haunting. They looked exactly like Sienna. The same dark hair, the same wide, expressive eyes that held too much fear and not enough fight.

I hadn't killed them.

I had transferred them to a safe house in Jersey five years ago to ensure the old man paid his debts, and then I kept them there to ensure Sienna behaved. It was a simple transaction. Leverage.

But if what Valeria said was true—that Sienna thought they were dead, that I had drowned them—then the game had changed.

If that was true, then Sienna’s hatred wasn't rebellion. It was grief.

And grief... grief was something I could fix. Rebellion had to be crushed, broken bone by bone, but grief could be soothed.

"We are here," I said, my voice cutting through the heavy silence of the car.

The fisherman flinched violently.

I got out and opened the back door. The air smelled of rain and pine, a stark difference from the salt and rot of the harbor they were used to.

"Come," I ordered. "Your daughter is waiting."

I wanted to see her face.

I wanted to see the moment the hate in her eyes shattered and was replaced by relief. I wanted her to look at me and realize I wasn't the monster she had painted in her head. I was her savior. I was the one reuniting her family.

God, I was arrogant.

I walked them through the main hall, ignoring the curious glances of the guards. I led them straight to the heavy oak door that guarded the stairs to the lower levels.

"She is down here?" the mother whispered, clutching her husband's arm as if it were a lifeline.

"She is in a secure location," I said smoothly. "For her protection."

I unlocked the door.

The smell hit me first. Damp stone. Stale air. And something else. Something sharp, copper-tangy, and cold that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

I descended the stairs, my expensive shoes clicking rhythmically against the stone. The parents followed, their footsteps shuffling and hesitant.

I reached the cell door.

"Sienna," I called out. My voice echoed in the dark corridor.

There was no sound from inside. No rustle of chains. No soft intake of breath.

I frowned.

I slid the key into the lock and turned it. The mechanism groaned in protest.

I pushed the door open.

"Sienna, look who is—"

The words died in my throat.

The cell was dim, lit only by the hallway light spilling in.

She was lying on the stone floor.

And she wasn't moving.