Chapter 3

Siena POV: The hallway to the West Wing was lined with silk screens and antique vases. Every piece had been paid for by my accounts. Dante and Valeria stood shoulder-to-shoulder, blocking the double doors of the bridal suite. Half a dozen Moretti guards formed a barricade, their hands resting on their holstered weapons. "Halt!" Dante barked, his face a mottled red with fury. "You are trespassing on Capo territory, Siena!" I moved through the line of my own soldiers. I held up the annulment papers in my left hand, and my black-bound shadow ledger in my right. "A Moretti nameplate on a door," I said, my voice dangerously even, "does not change the ownership of the blood money inside." Valeria placed a delicate hand against Dante's chest, playing the innocent victim. "Please, Siena," she begged, her eyes wide. "Don't do this. We can act like adults." I lowered my gaze to her manicured nails, then back to her face. "I find your presence in my house to be filthy," I told her, my voice devoid of warmth. I nodded to Enforcer Vitale. Vitale gave a sharp hand signal. Moving with precision, my soldiers bypassed the posturing Moretti guards and kicked the double doors open. My men began stripping the suite. They hauled away the mahogany bed, pulled the vanity mirrors from their mounts, and rolled up the silk rugs. Valeria shrieked, stumbling forward on the polished marble. "Stop! I am moving in tomorrow!" she yelled, her mask slipping. "That annulment was signed to make room for me!" I stopped. Slowly, I turned my head and looked at Dante. "Tell me, Dante," I asked, the silence amplifying my words. "Where did you get the money to pay Valeria's exorbitant bride price?" Dante clenched his jaw, a muscle ticking. "That is family business." I pulled a stack of offshore account deeds from my folder and threw them onto the floor. They scattered like dead leaves. "Let it be known," I announced to the echoing hallway, "that Dante Moretti used the profits from my shipping fronts to pay the Vitiello family!" "Accountant Luca Bianchi!" I called out. A ripple of shock went through the Moretti ranks as a quiet man stepped out from their own financial entourage, calmly dropping his Moretti lapel pin to the floor. He was a Rossi mole, embedded inside the Moretti financial team for five years. "Seize the bearer bonds from the Moretti vault," I ordered him. "Every last one." That was the breaking point. Dante lost all control. With a feral roar, he lunged, his hands reaching for my throat. Click. Click. Click. The sound of a dozen safeties clicking off echoed through the hall. My Rossi soldiers raised their assault rifles, aiming at Dante's chest and the heads of his frozen guards. I looked at Dante's furious face, his hands hovering inches from my neck. "Did you think," I clarified, "my men were here to move furniture?" By now, the Gala guests had spilled out from the ballroom. They stood clustered at the far end of the hall, whispering about Dante's pathetic display. Carmela pushed her way through the gawking crowd. "You traitor!" she screamed, her voice shrill. "You're breaking Omertà!" Sweating, Dante backed away from the gun barrels. He pointed a shaking finger at Gia, who stood tucked behind Enforcer Vitale. "If you take a single dollar," he threatened, his voice dripping with venom, "Gia will remain a prisoner of the Moretti family." My eyes went dark. My heart felt like a block of ice. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a thick document, stamped with crimson wax. I held it up for him, and everyone else, to see—the official, Commission-stamped custody decree. Dante's face went white. He had signed her away without ever reading what I had prepared.