The safehouse in San Remo was a sharp contrast to the cold mountain fortress. It was a modern villa perched on a cliffside, overlooking the Mediterranean. The air smelled of salt and expensive jasmine, but inside, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of gunpowder and desperation.
Dante was hunched over a laptop in the kitchen, his fingers flying across the keys. The red ledger lay open beside him, its pages filled with the codes for Lorenzo's offshore accounts.
Sienna walked in, wearing one of Dante's oversized black dress shirts. It hung off her shoulder, barely covering the tops of her thighs. She looked exhausted, her eyes rimmed with red, but there was a new hardness in her gaze.
"How much longer?" she asked, leaning against the marble island.
"Almost there," Dante muttered, not looking up. "I've bypassed two of his firewalls. Once I hit the third, I'm draining every cent he has in the Cayman and Swiss accounts. Without that money, his soldiers will desert him within forty-eight hours. A mercenary's loyalty only goes as deep as his paycheck."
Sienna watched him, her heart doing that strange, rhythmic thud it only did for him. "And then what? We just sit here and wait for him to find us?"
Dante stopped typing and looked at her. The blue light from the screen made his features look like they were carved from ice. "No. We're leaving, Sienna. For good."
She froze. "Leaving? To where?"
"South America. I have a contact in Brazil. A coastal town where the Moretti name means nothing and the Cavallo name means even less." He stood up and walked around the island, stopping until he was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. "I'm done with the war. I have the proof I need to sink him with the Commission. Once the money is gone, he's a dead man walking. I don't need to be the one to pull the trigger anymore."
"You're giving it up?" Sienna whispered, disbelieving. "The power, the syndicate... for me?"
Dante grabbed her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. His hands were possessive, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips. "Don't get it twisted, *piccola*. I'm not doing it to be a hero. I'm doing it because I want you all to myself. In Milan, you're a target. In the mountains, you're a prisoner. In Brazil... you're just mine."
"You're serious," she realized, her hands sliding up to his chest. "A life without blood?"
"There will always be blood," Dante growled, his lips ghosting over her forehead. "But it won't be ours. We'll have a villa on the beach. No guards. No cameras. Just us and the ocean. I'll spend every morning waking up next to you and every night reminding you that you're the best thing I ever stole."
Sienna felt a tear escape, rolling down her cheek. "I've spent my whole life waiting for a cage door to open. I just didn't think the man who opened it would be the one who kidnapped me."
"I didn't open the door, Sienna," Dante murmured, his voice dropping to a dark, husky tone. "I broke the whole fucking cage."
He lifted her onto the counter, his hands sliding under the shirt. "But before we go, I need to know you're with me. Not just because you have no choice. Because you want this. You want *me*."
"I do," she gasped, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. "God, Dante, I want everything with you. The danger, the peace... all of it. Just don't ever let me go."
"Never," he promised, his mouth crashing onto hers.
The kiss was different this time it wasn't just about ownership; it was about a future. It was frantic and hungry, a desperate attempt to seal a pact made in the shadow of death.
"Dante," she moaned into his mouth. "The money... the accounts..."
"They can wait," he growled, his teeth grazing her neck. "The world can burn for the next hour. Right now, I only care about this."
He carried her toward the bedroom, the laptop forgotten on the counter. In the quiet of the villa, they planned their escape in whispers and touches, oblivious to the fact that back in Milan, Lorenzo Cavallo was looking at a satellite feed of their location, his face a mask of pure, murderous betrayal.
"One more day," Dante whispered against her skin as they lay together in the dark. "One more day, and we're free."
"One more day," Sienna echoed, clutching the Moretti ring on her finger like a talisman.
But as the moon hung low over the Mediterranean, the silence of the night felt less like peace and more like the breath held before a scream. The plan was perfect, the money was moving, and the girl was his. But in the world of the Mafia, the only thing more dangerous than a rival is a daughter who knows too many secrets.