Claimed By The Don

**DANTE** "You're going to marry him." Marco's words hit me like a physical blow. I stared at him across his desk, certain I'd misheard. The whiskey in my glass suddenly felt like poison. "Say that again." "Alessandro Santoro. Sofia brokered the deal. The wedding is in three weeks." Marco leaned back in his leather chair, utterly calm, like he hadn't just detonated a bomb in my chest. I set down the glass before I shattered it. "You're insane. I'm going to kill him, not marry him." "You're going to do exactly what I tell you to do." His voice hardened. "Five years, Dante. Five years I've fed you, trained you, given you everything you needed for your revenge. Now I need something in return." My jaw clenched so tight it ached. Marco wasn't wrong. When I'd stumbled into his territory half-dead from grief and rage, he could have turned me away. Instead, he'd made me dangerous. Taught me how to shoot, how to fight, how to think like the men I wanted to destroy. The vendetta I'd built my entire existence around was only possible because of him. "How does marrying a Santoro help anyone?" "It puts you inside their estate. Inside their meetings. Inside their “beds”. " Marco pulled out a folder, slid it across the desk. "Alessandro liquidates assets. Large sums, regularly. We don't know where the money goes. Could be another family. Could be something worse. You find out. You gather evidence. And when the time is right, you burn them all from the inside." I opened the folder. Alessandro's face stared back at me from a surveillance photo, those same exhausted eyes from the casino. Dark hair falling across his forehead, full lips pressed into a thin line. He looked nothing like a killer. That's what made him dangerous. "He was there," I said quietly. "The night they murdered my family. Maybe he didn't light the match, but he's a Santoro. His hands are covered in their blood." "Then make him pay for it. Intimately." Marco's smile was sharp. "The marriage contract stipulates you both live in the Santoro estate. You'll have access to everything. Vittorio's dying, the brothers are fighting over succession, and Alessandro's the weak link. Use him." I looked at the photo again. Alessandro at a gallery opening, surrounded by paintings. Alessandro leaving a bookstore with a bag of purchases. Alessandro sitting alone in a cafe, staring out the window like he was searching for an escape route. Nothing about him screamed Santoro except the last name and that damned ring. "What if he recognizes me from the casino?" "He will. That's the point. Sofia's spinning this as a peace offering, reconciliation through union. The boy who lost his family marrying into the one that destroyed it. Very poetic." Marco poured himself more whiskey. "Vittorio loves the symbolism. Romeo and Juliet shit." "They both died at the end." "Exactly." I stood, pacing to the window. Somewhere out there, Alessandro Santoro was living in the estate built on my family's ashes. Sleeping in silk sheets while my sisters' bones turned to dust. The rage that had sustained me for five years roared back to life. "Fine. I'll marry him." I turned back to Marco. "But when this is over, when I have what we need, I want Nico. That's my price." Nico Santoro. The enforcer. The one who'd reportedly led the team that torched my home. I'd dreamed about killing him so many times I could taste it. Marco nodded slowly. "Agreed. But Dante?" He fixed me with a hard stare. "You need to make this convincing. The Santoros aren't stupid. If Alessandro suspects you're using him, they'll kill you before you can blink. That means you actually have to play the part of a husband." The implication settled over me like oil. I'd have to touch him. Be touched. Share a bed with the enemy while pretending I didn't fantasize about wrapping my hands around his throat. "I can handle it." "Can you?" Marco raised an eyebrow. "Because from what I hear, Alessandro's not exactly thrilled about this either. Vittorio's forcing his hand just like I'm forcing yours. You'll both be walking a tightrope. One wrong step and everything explodes." I thought about those seven minutes in the casino. The way Alessandro had looked at me down the barrel of my gun, utterly resigned. No fear, no anger. Just exhaustion. What kind of man gives up like that? "When do I meet him again?" "Tomorrow. Dinner at Sofia's restaurant, neutral ground. You'll discuss the wedding arrangements." Marco's smile turned predatory. "Try not to shoot him this time." I left his office with the folder tucked under my arm, my mind already racing through possibilities. Three weeks until the wedding. Three weeks to prepare for the greatest performance of my life. I'd have to learn everything about Alessandro Santoro. His habits, his weaknesses, his secrets. I'd have to become someone he could trust. The thought made me sick, but I'd done worse things in the name of revenge. Back in my mansion, I spread the surveillance photos across my bed. Alessandro laughing with gallery owners. Alessandro hunched over a sketchbook in the park. Alessandro arguing with a tall man who had to be Nico, his face twisted in frustration. In every photo where he was alone, he looked lost. I picked up one image, held it closer. He had a bruise on his jaw in this one, partially hidden by the angle. The date stamp was three months ago, right after some Santoro deal had gone south. My phone buzzed. A text from Marco: “Wear something nice tomorrow. First impressions matter. And Dante? Don't forget why you're doing this.* I looked at the photos one more time before sweeping them back into the folder. Alessandro Santoro. My future husband. My key to destroying everything his family had built. I'd marry him. I'd play the devoted partner. I'd learn every inch of him until I knew exactly how to make him bleed. And when it was over, when the Santoro empire was ashes and bones, maybe I'd finally be able to sleep without seeing my sisters' faces. My phone buzzed again. Unknown number this time. “I know what Marco's making you do. This doesn't have to end badly. - A” I stared at the message, my blood running cold. Alessandro had my number. Alessandro was reaching out. Before I could decide whether to respond, another text came through. “Meet me tonight. Alone. The old cathedral on Fifth. Midnight. I'll tell you everything.”