The air in the mountain house had grown thick, not just with the cold Alpine draft, but with a tension so heavy it felt like a physical weight. Dante stood by the window of the study, a glass of amber scotch in one hand and a burner phone in the other. He watched the snow fall, but his mind was on the woman in the other room.
Sienna was no longer just bait. She was becoming a fever in his blood.
A soft click of heels on the hardwood made him turn. Sienna stood in the doorway, wearing a deep emerald silk dress he'd had Marco fetch from a high-end boutique in the valley. It was tight, daring, and made her look every bit the queen of a dark empire.
"You look like you're planning a massacre, Dante," she said, her voice steady despite the way her eyes darted to the gun on his desk.
"In this business, if you aren't planning one, you're the victim of one," Dante replied, taking a slow sip of his drink. He gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit. We need to talk about your father."
Sienna sat, crossing her legs with a grace that made Dante's jaw tighten. "What about him? Has he realized I'm not in a shipping container yet?"
"He has," Dante said, a predatory smile touching his lips. "He called the Moretti main line an hour ago. He was screaming. He knows I have you. He offered money, territory, even a ceasefire."
Sienna leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "And? What did you say?"
"I told him I don't want his money. I told him I want him to feel the same hollow rot I felt when I buried Enzo." Dante set his glass down and leaned over the desk, his eyes locking onto hers. "I told him that every hour he doesn't sign over the Adriatic ports the ones he used to smuggle the hitmen into Rome I'd send him a piece of you."
Sienna flinched, her hand instinctively going to her throat. "Are you going to?"
Dante stood up and walked around the desk, stopping until he was towering over her. He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of her collarbone. "No. I have a much better way to break him. I'm going to send him a message that proves you aren't his daughter anymore. I'm going to show him you're *mine*."
He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and snapped it open. Inside sat a heavy gold ring, etched with the Moretti crest a coiled viper.
"Put it on," Dante commanded.
"A ring? You think a piece of jewelry makes me yours?" Sienna laughed, a bitter, sharp sound. "You're delusional."
Dante's hand moved fast, gripping her chin and forcing her to look up at him. "It's not jewelry, Sienna. It's a brand. In our world, this ring means you are under the protection and the total control of the Moretti family. When your father sees this on your finger, he'll know I've done more than just kidnap you. He'll think I've turned you."
"He'll never believe that," she whispered, though her breath was hitching.
"Won't he?" Dante leaned in, his nose brushing hers. "He knows what kind of man I am. He knows that no woman stays in my house for five days and remains 'loyal' to anyone else. I'm going to take a photo of you wearing this. A photo where you don't look like a prisoner. You're going to look like my queen."
He slid the ring onto her right hand. It was heavy and cold.
"Now," Dante muttered, his voice dropping to that dark, gravelly tone that made Sienna's skin prickle. "Look at me. Look at me like you did last night on the counter."
"I hate you, Dante," she said, but her hand was trembling in his.
"Liars go to hell, *cara*," he whispered. He pulled out his phone, framing her in the lens. "Smile for Daddy. Show him how well the Moretti blood suits you."
Sienna didn't smile, but she didn't pull away. She looked into the camera with a defiant, hooded gaze that was more erotic than any smile could be. Dante snapped the photo and immediately hit send.
"There," Dante said, tossing the phone onto the desk. "The fuse is lit. By tomorrow, your father will be losing his mind. He'll make a mistake. He'll come for you, and when he does, I'll be waiting in the tall grass."
Sienna stood up, the heavy ring glinting in the dim light. "You're using me as a target. If he comes here with his soldiers, I'm the first one in the crossfire."
Dante stepped into her space, his hands sliding down to her waist, pulling her flush against his hard frame. "I told you. You're mine. I don't let anyone touch what belongs to me. Not even your father."
"You're so possessive it's a sickness," Sienna gasped, her hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady, powerful thud of his heart.
"It's not a sickness, it's a promise," Dante growled. He tilted her head back, his eyes dark with an obsessive hunger. "I've spent my whole life losing people I love. My mother, my brother... I'm not losing you. Even if I have to burn this whole country down to keep you, you stay with me. Do you understand?"
Sienna looked at him the man who had killed her guards, kidnapped her, and used her for revenge and she realized with a terrifying jolt that she didn't want to leave. The darkness in him called to the darkness her father had planted in her long ago.
"What happens when the revenge is over, Dante?" she asked softly. "When my father is dead and the ports are yours... what happens to me?"
Dante's grip tightened, his fingers digging into the silk of her dress. "You think I'm ever letting you go? You're a Moretti now. The ring stays on. And you stay in my bed."
"You're a fucking animal," she cursed, but she reached up, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.
"And you're the only one who knows how to cage me," he replied, before his mouth crashed onto hers, obliterating the rest of the world.
The war was raging outside, but in that study, surrounded by the scent of scotch and ancient blood feuds, Sienna Cavallo finally stopped fighting the man who had stolen her. She was a Moretti now, and God help anyone who tried to take her back.