The Capo’s Daughter

Dante

“Luca! What the hell happened here?” he barked as he strode forward, taking in the scene. Mia recognized him—the guy who’d bought drinks for her and Kat earlier. As he looked down at the dead man on the floor, his expression darkened. Anger simmered beneath the surface. How could Luca let something like this happen inside his club, one of the few businesses he kept completely legitimate? There were other ways this could have been handled. Just as he was about to explode with anger. He heard it - the quietest small voice.

"I'm sorry… I—I didn’t mean to. Oh my God… I k*ll*d him."

The words tumbled out of Mia in a broken whisper as tears smeared her vision. Her cheek throbbed with a deep, growing ache, the swelling already tightening the skin on the side of her face. She could barely breathe, the reality of what had happened crashing over her in suffocating waves.

Dante’s expression softened the moment he saw her. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Luca inching toward the girl—his girl. Dante had known it the second she walked into the club wearing that adorable tiara, like she didn’t belong anywhere near the darkness of his world.

“Luca,” Dante said quietly, “lock the door. Shut down the club and get the cleaners.”

Luca cleared his throat. “Ah—Dante, I’m really sorry about this. This is Mia, my cousin’s best friend. When I came up from the basement, I saw that man attacking—” Dante lifted a hand, cutting him off.

“Do what I said. Now.” Dante managed to say in the calmest voice he'd ever be able to manage. He didn't want to frighten the girl any further. The sight of her, hugging herself, the tears streaming, but she wasn't making a sound. Her red, puffy, bleeding face p*ssed him off. That as*hole got what he deserved. He stood slowly and took in a deep breath and let out a sigh.

“Mia… Mia, look at me.”

She couldn’t tear her gaze from the body on the floor. Her whole body trembled, fear rooting her in place. Slowly, she lifted her head, meeting Dante’s eyes.

“That’s it,” he said softly. “Good, Mia. I’m Dante—I own the club. You’re safe now. I’m going to take care of everything.”

He extended his hand toward her, steady and reassuring.

Mia hesitated, her eyes flicking to his hand. Uncertainty tightened her features. She reached out—then quickly pulled back. Her voice came out small and shaky. “Where’s Luca? I… I can’t go without Luca. He brought me.”

Dante understood. After what she’d just endured, of course she was looking for the one familiar face she trusted. He opened his mouth to answer her, but Mia’s breathing suddenly quickened. Her hand flew to her chest, her lips parting like she was trying to speak.

Before he could react, her knees gave out. Dante moved on instinct, catching her as she collapsed and lifting her against his chest. Holding her securely, he strode down the hallway toward the locked door at the end. He swiped his key card, pushed it open, and stepped inside just as the private elevator slid open—waiting, as always, for him.

During the ascent to his suite office, he looked down at Mia’s delicate face. Her breathing had evened out now, soft and steady. When the doors opened, he carried her over to the couch in his private lounge and gently laid her down. Then he dug his phone from his pocket and dialed without hesitation.

“Maurice, pull the footage from the back hall—tonight’s incident. And call Dr. Greg. Tell him it’s an emergency and to get here immediately.” He hung up before Maurice could reply.

Dante turned toward the bar he needed a stiff drink, but his gaze stayed anchored to Mia. He stepped closer, unable to stop himself. His rough knuckles brushed down the uninjured side of her cheek in a slow, tender stroke.

“Mio Dio… dolce Mia, chi sei?” he whispered.

My God… sweet Mia, who are you?