Claimed By The Don

Chapter Four

**ALESSANDRO**

Nico had me on my knees in the center of the concrete floor, my hands zip-tied behind my back. Blood dripped from my split lip onto my shirt.

"You met with him." Nico circled me slowly. "The Moretti boy. In a f*****g church, no less."

"We're getting married. We needed to talk."

His fist connected with my jaw, snapping my head sideways. "Don't lie to me. You think I don't have eyes everywhere? You offered to help him. To betray your own family."

I spit blood. "You're not my family. You're my captors."

The kick to my ribs knocked the air from my lungs. I curled forward, gasping, waiting for the next hit. But it didn't come.

Instead, the warehouse door exploded inward.

Dante stood silhouetted in the doorway, gun raised. Behind him, three of Nico's men were already down. His eyes found me on the floor, and something murderous crossed his face.

"Let him go, Santoro."

Nico laughed, pulling his own weapon. "Or what? You'll shoot me? There are twenty armed men in this building."

"I counted fifteen. And I brought friends." Dante stepped inside as Marco's men flooded in from the side entrances. "Your move."

For a tense moment, nobody breathed. Then Nico slowly lowered his gun.

"This isn't over, Moretti. The wedding's off. I'm taking my brother home."

"Actually," Dante moved closer, his gun never wavering, "Alessandro's coming with me. The wedding's still on. And if you touch him again before then, this truce ends and I put a bullet in your skull."

"You don't give orders to me."

"I do now." Dante's smile was cold. "Check your phone."

Nico pulled out his cell, his face going dark as he read whatever was there. "You bastard."

"That's a live feed to every news outlet in the city. One word from Marco, and they'll publish everything. Your trafficking routes, your money laundering schemes, the names of every politician you've bought." Dante c****d his head. "So here's what's going to happen. You're going to cut those zip ties. Alessandro walks out of here with me. And you're going to smile at our wedding like the loving brother you pretend to be."

I'd never seen Nico back down from anyone. But he pulled out a knife and cut my restraints.

"Three weeks," Nico said quietly. "Enjoy them. Because after the wedding, you're both living under my roof. And accidents happen all the time in our house."

Dante helped me to my feet, his hand surprisingly gentle. "Let's go."

We made it to his car before my legs gave out. He caught me, practically carrying me into the passenger seat.

"You're insane," I managed. "He could have killed you."

"He could have killed you." Dante started the engine, pulling away fast. "What the hell were you thinking, going there alone?"

"I was thinking if I didn't, he'd hurt you instead."

He glanced at me, something complicated in his expression. "We need to get you cleaned up. My apartment's closer than a hospital."

"No hospitals. Nico has people there."

Twenty minutes later, we were in his bathroom. Small, clean, nothing like the luxury I'd grown up with. Dante wet a cloth, tilting my face up to examine the damage.

"This is going to sting."

It did. I hissed as he cleaned the cut on my lip, but I didn't pull away. His fingers were careful, almost tender.

"Why did you come?" I asked. "You could have let Nico handle me. One less Santoro to worry about."

"I don't know." He moved to the bruise forming on my jaw. "Maybe I'm starting to believe you actually want out."

"I do. I have since the day they dragged me back." I caught his wrist. "Thank you. For saving me."

Dante's eyes met mine, dark and intense. "Don't thank me yet. You're still in danger. They all are watching now, waiting for us to slip up."

"Then we don't slip up." I stood, wincing at my ribs. "We give them exactly what they expect to see."

"Which is?"

"Two people who can't keep their hands off each other." I stepped closer. "You already kissed me at the restaurant. Might as well make it convincing."

"Alessandro." His voice was rough. "You're hurt. This isn't…"

I kissed him, swallowing whatever protest he was about to make. For a second, he froze. Then his hands were in my hair, on my waist, pulling me flush against him.

"We shouldn't," he breathed between kisses.

"I know." I tugged at his jacket. "We should stop."

"Yeah." But he was already backing me toward his bedroom, his mouth hot on my neck.

We crashed onto his bed, tangled together. Dante pinned my wrists above my head, his body covering mine. The weight of him felt right in a way nothing else ever had.

"Tell me to stop," he demanded.

"No."

His laugh was dark. "You really do want me to hurt you."

"Maybe I want to feel something real for once." I arched up against him. "Maybe I'm tired of being afraid."

Dante's grip tightened on my wrists. "I'm not going to be gentle."

"Good."

He kissed me hard enough to bruise, his free hand shoving up my shirt. When his fingers found the scars on my back, he went still.

"Nico did this?"

"Among others." I tried to pull him back. "It doesn't matter."

"It does." His voice was lethal. "I'm going to make him pay for every single mark."

Then his mouth was on my skin, kissing down my chest, my stomach. Every touch felt like claimed territory, like he was marking me as his. When he bit down on my hip, I gasped.

"Still want this?" he asked.

"Yes. God, yes."

Dante's hands made quick work of my belt. "Then I'm going to make you forget everything but my name."

He did. For hours, he took me apart piece by piece, demanding and possessive and almost violent in his intensity. I matched him, scratching down his back, biting his shoulder hard enough to leave marks. We were both bleeding from old and new wounds, both desperate for something neither of us could name.

When it was over, we lay tangled together, breathing hard. Dante's fingers traced lazy patterns on my skin.

"This was a mistake," he said quietly.

"Probably." I turned to face him. "Are you going to pretend it didn't happen?"

"I don't know." He looked at me with those haunted eyes. "Everything about you confuses me. I should hate you. I want to hate you."

"But you don't."

"But I don't." He pulled me closer, almost against his will. "And that's going to get us both killed."

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I reached for it, saw Vittorio's name, and felt my blood run cold.

"It's my father."

"What does he want?"

I opened the message, then showed Dante the screen. One line, simple and devastating.

“The wedding moved up. Tomorrow night. Be ready.”

Dante stared at the message, his jaw clenched. "Tomorrow? That's impossible."

"With my father, nothing's impossible." I sat up, already feeling the loss of his warmth. "He knows something happened tonight. This is his way of taking control back."

"Or it's a trap."

"Probably that too." I found my scattered clothes, started dressing. "But we don't have a choice. If we refuse, the whole thing falls apart."

Dante grabbed my arm, spinning me around. "Twenty-four hours. We were supposed to have three weeks to plan, to prepare. Now we have one day before you're legally mine and living in that house."

"So we improvise." I cupped his face. "We've both survived worse than this."

He kissed me again, slower this time. When he pulled back, his expression was resolved.

"Then we do this my way. Tomorrow night, after the ceremony, you tell me everything. Every secret, every weakness, every piece of leverage we can use." His thumb brushed my swollen lip. "And Alessandro? After tomorrow, you belong to me. Not Vittorio, not Nico. Me. Understand?"

The possessiveness in his voice shouldn't have made a heat pool in my stomach. But it did.

"I understand."

"Good." He released me. "Now go home. Pack light. Because once you're in my bed tomorrow night, I'm not letting you out of it until I've had my fill."

I left his apartment on shaky legs, my body still humming from his touch. Tomorrow I'd be Dante Moretti's husband. Tomorrow the real game will begin.