Claimed By The Don

Chapter Three

**DANTE**

The restaurant was too elegant for the conversation we were about to have. Crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, servers who moved like they were overtrained. Sofia had reserved the entire private dining room, which meant whatever happened tonight, there'd be witnesses she controlled.

I arrived early, ordered whiskey, and tried not to think about Alessandro's hand in mine at the cathedral. The way his pulse had jumped under my fingers. The heat in his eyes when he'd admitted wanting me.

Dangerous thoughts. Distracting thoughts.

Marco slid into the seat across from me. "You met him last night."

It wasn't a question. Of course he knew.

"He wants to help. Says he'll give us everything we need." I took a drink. "I think he's telling the truth."

"Or he's a better liar than his brothers." Marco studied me. "Did he touch you?"

The question caught me off guard. "What?"

"I need to know if you can handle the physical aspect of this. Because they'll expect consummation. They'll expect you to share a bed, to be seen together, to act like newlyweds." His gaze sharpened. "Can you f**k someone you hate?"

Heat crawled up my neck. "If that's what it takes."

"That's not what I asked."

Before I could answer, the door opened. Alessandro walked in wearing a dark suit that fit him perfectly, his hair slightly disheveled like he'd been running his hands through it. Our eyes met across the room, and something electric passed between us.

Vittorio Santoro followed behind him, leaning heavily on a cane. The cancer had eaten away at him, leaving behind a skeleton wrapped in expensive clothes. But his eyes were still sharp and cruel.

"Dante Moretti." Vittorio's voice rattled. "The boy who survived."

I stood, forcing myself to stay calm. This man had ordered my family's execution. Had celebrated their deaths like a victory.

"Mr. Santoro."

"Please, we're going to be family. Call me Vittorio." He settled into a chair with visible effort. "Alessandro, sit next to your fiancé."

Alessandro hesitated, then took the seat beside me. Close enough that I could smell his cologne, something expensive and understated. His knee brushed mine under the table, and I wasn't sure if it was accidental or deliberate.

Sofia appeared with wine and contracts. "Gentlemen. Shall we discuss the terms?"

The next hour was surreal. They talked about our wedding like it was a business merger. Guest lists, venue options, press statements. Alessandro sat silent beside me, his face carefully blank. But under the table, his hand found mine.

I should have pulled away. Instead, I let him thread our fingers together.

"The marriage will be legally binding in all respects," Sofia said. "Joint assets, shared residence at the Santoro estate, full marital rights and privileges."

"And consummation?" Vittorio asked bluntly. "I want this alliance sealed properly."

Alessandro's hand tightened on mine. I felt his tension like a physical thing.

"That's between them," Marco said smoothly. "But I'm sure they'll do their duty."

Vittorio's laugh was wet and horrible. "My son's never shown much interest in such things. I trust you'll teach him, Moretti."

The implication made my stomach turn. But Alessandro just stared at his father with those dead eyes, like he'd heard worse.

"I'm sure we'll figure it out," I said coldly.

After Vittorio and Marco left to discuss financial details, Sofia excused herself, leaving Alessandro and me alone. The silence stretched.

"I'm sorry," Alessandro said quietly. "About him. About all of this."

"Stop apologizing." I released his hand, immediately missing the contact. "We both know what this is."

"Do we?" He turned to face me fully. "Because I'm starting to think we're both in deeper than we planned."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you held my hand through that entire meeting. Meaning I wanted you to." His voice dropped. "Meaning when you had your hand on my throat last night, part of me hoped you'd squeeze."

The confession hung between us, raw and honest. I stared at him, trying to reconcile the broken man in front of me with the enemy I was supposed to destroy.

"We can't do this," I said. "We can't actually want each other. It'll complicate everything."

"It's already complicated." Alessandro stood, moving to the window. "In three weeks, I'll be your husband. We'll share a bed. We'll have to touch each other, kiss each other, pretend we're in love." He looked back at me. "Wouldn't it be easier if some of it was real?"

I stood too, crossing to him. "Nothing about you is real. You're a Santoro. You're the enemy."

"Then why are you walking toward me instead of away?"

He had a point. I was close enough now to see the faint scar on his lower lip, the tension in his jaw. Close enough to do something stupid.

"This is a mistake," I said.

"Probably." Alessandro's hand came up, fingers ghosting along my chest. "But we're going to make it anyway, aren't we?"

I grabbed his wrist, pinning it between us. "If we do this, it doesn't change anything. I still hate your family. I still want them destroyed."

"I know."

"And I still might kill you when it's over."

"I know that too." He stepped closer, our bodies nearly touching. "But right now, in this moment, I don't care."

I should have pushed him away. Should have remembered my sisters, my parents, the seventeen people who died screaming. But Alessandro was looking at me like I was the only real thing in his world, and something in me cracked.

I kissed him hard, all teeth and anger and five years of pent-up rage. He gasped against my mouth, then kissed me back just as fiercely. His hands fisted in my jacket, pulling me closer, and I backed him against the window.

"This doesn't mean anything," I growled against his lips.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself." He bit my lower lip, and I groaned. "But you're still kissing me."

I was. God help me, I was kissing a Santoro and wanting more. My hand slid into his hair, tugging his head back to expose his throat. I could feel his pulse racing under my mouth as I kissed down his neck.

"Dante." My name was a prayer and a curse. "We can't. Not here."

He was right. Sofia could come back any moment. But I couldn't seem to stop touching him, tasting him, claiming what was about to be mine anyway.

Alessandro's phone buzzed. He pulled back reluctantly, checking the screen. His face went pale.

"What is it?"

"Nico. He knows about last night. About the cathedral." Alessandro's hands were shaking. "He's waiting for me at the estate. He wants to 'discuss my loyalty.'"

I knew what that meant. I'd seen the scars.

"Don't go."

"I have to. If I don't, he'll come looking, and he'll find you." Alessandro headed for the door, then stopped. "Three weeks, Dante. Just survive three weeks, and then I'm yours. We can end this together."

"Alessandro…."

He turned back, his eyes desperate. "Promise me something. When you finally destroy them, when you burn it all down, make sure Nico suffers. Make him feel everything he's done to me. To you. To everyone."

Before I could respond, he was gone.

I stood there, lips still burning from his kiss, and realized I was in serious trouble. Because some part of me wanted to protect him almost as much as I wanted revenge.

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

“If you want to save your little Santoro, come to the east warehouse. Alone. You have one hour. - N”