MY SISTER RAN AWAY, SO I MARRIED THE MAFIA KING

Chapter 4: Terms Of Surrender

“Only when the woman says yes.”

A third bullet struck the marble pillar behind us.

Dante’s hand covered the back of my head as he dragged me across the floor. Glass bit through the lace covering my arms, but I barely felt it.

“North tower!” someone shouted.

“No,” I said.

Dante pushed me behind the kitchen island. “Stay down.”

“The first bullet came through the window. The last one didn’t.”

His eyes snapped toward me.

Gunfire erupted in the hallway.

Not outside.

Inside the penthouse.

Dante drew a pistol from beneath his coat.

The weapon looked disturbingly natural in his hand.

“Lucia,” he ordered, “take her to the safe room.”

Lucia crouched beside us, a gun held against her thigh. “Come with me.”

Dante started to rise.

I caught his sleeve.

He looked down at my hand.

“If someone entered through the hallway,” I said, “they already passed your guards.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then why would the shooter reveal himself before reaching you?”

His expression changed.

The lights were out. His men were positioned around the shattered windows, facing the surrounding rooftops.

Exactly where the attackers wanted them looking.

“It’s a distraction,” I said.

A metallic sound came from the secured office.

The room containing the ledger.

Dante heard it too.

He turned and fired.

A man dressed in black stumbled from the office doorway. The bullet struck his shoulder, spinning him against the wall.

He recovered quickly.

Too quickly.

He raised his weapon toward Dante.

I grabbed the nearest object—a crystal decanter—and threw it.

The decanter struck the attacker’s wrist. His shot went wide.

Dante fired again.

The man collapsed.

For one terrible second, everything stopped.

Then an alarm began shrieking from the office.

“The drive!” the technician yelled.

Smoke poured through the doorway.

Dante rose, but Lucia blocked him.

“It could be another trap.”

“Marco is inside.”

One of Dante’s men rushed into the office before anyone could stop him. He emerged coughing, dragging the young technician who had examined the drive.

The laptop was gone.

So was the flash drive.

“Lock down the building,” Dante ordered. “No elevators. No stairwells. Nobody leaves.”

His men scattered.

Dante crossed to the fallen attacker and kicked the gun away. Blood spread beneath the man’s shoulder, but he was still breathing.

“Who sent you?”

The attacker smiled.

Then his jaw moved.

Dante seized his face, but it was too late.

The man convulsed.

White foam gathered at his lips.

Within seconds, his body went still.

“Poison,” Lucia said.

Dante released him with a curse.

I stared at the dead man.

He had carried poison inside his mouth because capture had never been an option.

The attack was not merely an attempt to kill Dante.

Someone had sent him to erase the ledger—and whatever secrets it contained.

A guard appeared in the hallway.

“Boss, we found Emilio unconscious near the service elevator. His access card is missing.”

“Camera footage?”

“Disabled eleven minutes ago.”

“By whom?”

“We’re checking.”

Dante’s gaze swept across the penthouse.

The broken windows.

The dead attacker.

The smoke spilling from his private office.

This place was supposed to be secure. Yet someone had known precisely how to enter, when to cut the electricity, and where the drive would be taken.

Someone close to him had opened the door.

Dante looked at the black ring on my finger.

Then at me.

The suspicion returned.

“You arrived,” he said, “and within fifteen minutes my home was breached.”

Anger burned through my fear.

“Yes. I planned the entire attack while wearing a dress without pockets.”

“You identified the distraction before my men did.”

“Would you prefer I had let him shoot you?”

His jaw hardened.

“You also struck his weapon with remarkable accuracy.”

“I aimed at his head.”

Lucia’s eyebrows rose.

I gestured toward the shattered decanter. “Apparently, I’m not as accurate as you think.”

Dante moved closer.

“You knew someone would target the office.”

“I heard a sound.”

“No one else did.”

“No one else was listening. They were all staring at the windows.”

His eyes searched mine.

I understood what he saw.

A woman connected to an attack seven years ago.

A stolen ledger programmed with my fingerprint.

An unknown message predicting that I would become his bride.

And now an intruder inside his fortress minutes after my arrival.

If our positions were reversed, I would not trust me either.

But understanding his suspicion did not make it hurt less.

I pulled his ring from my finger.

His gaze dropped to it.

“If you believe I arranged this, our negotiation is over.”

I held it out.

He did not take it.

“Sienna—”

“You said the ring was a warning. To whom? Your enemies or me?”

“To anyone who might harm you.”

“That apparently includes you.”

Something dangerous moved across his face.

I kept my hand extended.

“You cannot offer me protection with one hand while preparing to condemn me with the other. My family already perfected that trick.”

The smoke alarm stopped.

The sudden quiet sharpened every word between us.

Dante looked at the ring resting in my palm.

Then he closed my fingers around it.

“I said you were connected,” he replied. “I did not say you were guilty.”

“In my experience, powerful men rarely care about the difference.”

“I do.”

“Then prove it.”

His gaze held mine.

A shout came from the hallway before he could answer.

One of Dante’s guards dragged a struggling man into the penthouse. He wore the gray uniform of the building’s maintenance staff. Blood ran from his temple.

“We caught him in the west stairwell,” the guard said. “He had this.”

He placed the missing access card on the counter.

Dante approached the prisoner.

“Where is the drive?”

The man spat blood at his shoes.

The penthouse went still.

Dante calmly wiped his shoe against the man’s trousers.

Then he pressed the barrel of his pistol beneath the prisoner’s chin.

“I will ask once more.”

The man laughed.

“The bride is going to bury you.”

Dante’s face became empty.

It was far more terrifying than anger.

“Who told you about her?”

“You should have died seven years ago.”

My blood turned cold.

Dante grabbed the prisoner by the throat.

“Who sent you?”

The man looked past him.

At me.

“He knows what she is.”

Before I could ask what he meant, the prisoner twisted toward the guard holding him.

A blade flashed from beneath his sleeve.

Dante fired.

The bullet struck the man’s chest.

He fell backward and did not move again.

My ears rang.

Blood spread across the white marble.

Dante lowered the gun.

“What did he mean?” I asked.

No one answered.

I stepped closer. “What am I?”

“He wanted to frighten you,” Dante said.

“He succeeded. Now answer me.”

“We don’t know.”

“You recognized what he said.”

“I recognized a dying man attempting to create distrust.”

“He said you should have died seven years ago. This is connected to the ambush.”

“Yes.”

“And someone knows I was there.”

“Yes.”

“Then the attack tonight was not only about the ledger.”

His silence was confirmation.

My chest tightened.

For seven years, I had treated the shooting as a terrible accident—one reckless decision from a girl desperate to prove herself.

But someone had preserved the memory.

Someone had waited.

Someone had placed my fingerprint on a stolen drive and arranged for it to appear inside my room on the same night Dante discovered my identity.

None of this was accidental.

“What happened after I left the clinic?” I asked.

Dante’s grip tightened around his weapon.

“This is not the time.”

“Someone just tried to kill us because of it. I disagree.”

Lucia stepped between us.

“We need to relocate first. This building is no longer secure.”

Dante nodded. “Prepare the lower exit. Use the third convoy.”

Lucia gave instructions into her earpiece.

I looked at Dante. “Where are you taking me?”

“To my estate outside the city.”

“No.”

His eyes narrowed. “This is not negotiable.”

“Everything between us is negotiable, or there is no marriage.”

“Sienna, there may be additional shooters in this building.”

“And your country estate is safer?”

“Yes.”

“You said that about this penthouse.”

A muscle moved in his jaw.

Lucia returned holding a long black coat.

“She has a point.”

Dante gave her a look.

“I enjoy remaining employed,” Lucia said, draping the coat around my shoulders. “But your security has been compromised twice in one evening. Confidence will not repair it.”

Dante reloaded his weapon.

“Five minutes,” he told his men. “Sweep the garage and prepare the armored vehicle.”

His people moved.

I wrapped the coat around my ruined dress.

The absurdity of the night struck me all at once.

That morning, I had worried whether the flowers matched the bridesmaids’ gowns.

Now I was standing beside two dead men, negotiating marriage with a mafia king while assassins searched for an encrypted criminal ledger bearing my fingerprint.

I began to laugh.

It was either that or scream.

Dante watched me carefully.

“Is something amusing?”

“My father said marriage would bring stability to my life.”

Lucia smiled despite herself.

Dante did not.

“Are you in shock?”

“Probably.”

He put away his weapon and removed a piece of glass caught in my hair.

His fingers were surprisingly gentle.

“You’re bleeding.”

I looked at my forearm. Several shallow cuts marked the skin.

“So are you.”

A line of blood stained the side of his neck.

“It isn’t mine.”

“That is not as comforting as you seem to think.”

For a moment, something almost human passed between us.

Then his gaze returned to the signet ring in my hand.

“Keep it.”

“Why?”

“Because whether or not we marry, whoever arranged tonight believes you matter to me.”

“I met you hours ago.”

“You saved my life.”

“Seven years ago.”

“Debts do not weaken with time.”

“To you, perhaps.”

“To men like me, they are the only promises that survive.”

I studied his face.

He was not asking me to trust him.

That would have been easier to dismiss.

He was telling me the rule by which he lived.

I slid the ring back onto my finger.

“This does not mean I have accepted your terms.”

“I haven’t offered them yet.”

“Then let us hope they improve.”

---

We left through a service corridor beneath the building.

Dante’s men surrounded us as we descended three flights into a second underground garage. The armored vehicle waiting there had no plates and windows thick enough to resist gunfire.

Lucia climbed into the seat opposite us with a leather folder on her lap.

“You drafted the contract already?” I asked.

She opened it.

“I began when you proposed marriage. The attack provided additional time.”

“You wrote a marriage contract during a gunfight?”

“I attended law school for a reason.”

Despite everything, I liked her.

The vehicle began moving.

Dante sat beside me, close enough that his knee brushed the layers of my gown whenever we turned. He spoke quietly into his phone, issuing orders to locate the stolen drive and investigate every person with access to the penthouse.

No panic.

No hesitation.

By the time we emerged onto the highway, he had transformed chaos into assignments, suspects, and deadlines.

I understood why men followed him.

That realization was more dangerous than finding him attractive.

Lucia handed me the draft.

The first page named Dante Alessandro De Luca and Sienna Elena Moretti as the parties entering a legally recognized marriage.

Seeing our names together made the situation suddenly real.

I turned the page.

“Clause four gives Dante operational access to the ports controlled by my shares.”

“Access,” Lucia said. “Not ownership.”

“For the duration of the marriage.”

“Yes.”

I crossed out the sentence and rewrote it.

Dante ended his call.

“What did you change?”

“Access requires my written authorization for every shipment.”

“That makes the arrangement inefficient.”

“That prevents my company from becoming a pipeline for anything you choose to move.”

“My shipments will not endanger your company.”

“My father probably said the same thing before he destroyed it.”

Dante reached for the contract.

I moved it away.

“I’m not finished.”

His eyes darkened.

Lucia looked toward the window, suddenly fascinated by the passing highway.

I continued reading.

“Clause seven allows you to determine my residence.”

“For security,” Dante said.

“No.”

“You cannot remain in Manhattan.”

“Then specify mutually agreed residences with adequate protection.”

“An enemy will not wait for us to agree before attacking.”

“Neither will a controlling husband wait for permission before turning protection into imprisonment.”

The words landed between us.

Dante leaned back.

“Rewrite it.”

I did.

Clause nine required confidentiality regarding all De Luca business. Reasonable.

Clause eleven allowed either party to maintain separate financial assets. Necessary.

Clause twelve stated that neither party could publicly engage in another romantic relationship.

I glanced at him. “Do you have a mistress?”

“No.”

“A lover?”

“No.”

“Someone who believes she is one of those things?”

Lucia coughed.

Dante’s expression cooled. “No.”

“Good. I dislike unnecessary complications.”

“And Adrian?”

The name felt like something rotten.

“He ceased being a complication when he planned my institutionalization.”

“That was not my question.”

I looked up.

Dante’s face revealed nothing, but there was an edge beneath his voice.

“Are you asking if I intend to continue seeing the man who slept with my sister and tried to steal everything I own?”

“I’m asking whether he still has an emotional claim on you.”

“No one has a claim on me.”

The answer came sharper than intended.

Dante’s gaze lingered on my face.

“Then we agree.”

I returned to the contract before he could see how deeply the question had unsettled me.

I had loved Adrian—or believed I did.

Discovering his betrayal had not erased three years of hope. It had merely poisoned every memory attached to it.

Pain remained, even when love became contempt.

I reached Clause Fifteen.

My stomach tightened.

“This says the marriage cannot be dissolved until the ledger is recovered and the conspiracy against you is eliminated.”

“Yes,” Dante said.

“That could take years.”

“Then we remain married for years.”

“No.”

“Sienna—”

“We need a fixed term.”

“A fixed term tells my enemies how long they must wait before you lose my protection.”

“Then twelve months with an option to renew by mutual agreement.”

“Twenty-four.”

“Eighteen.”

“Twenty-four.”

“This is a negotiation.”

“And that is my answer.”

I met his eyes.

“Eighteen months, with automatic extension only if a confirmed threat remains against either party.”

His mouth curved slightly.

“Eighteen.”

Lucia revised the clause.

I reached the final pages.

There was no mention of intimacy.

I should have been relieved.

Instead, the omission felt like another question waiting to be asked.

“What about expectations inside the marriage?” I said.

Dante’s gaze sharpened.

“Be specific.”

My face warmed, which irritated me.

“Will you expect us to share a bedroom?”

Lucia quietly closed her laptop.

“No,” Dante said. “You will have your own suite.”

“And physical relations?”

“Only if you ask for them.”

The certainty of his answer stole mine.

He leaned closer.

“I will not take what is not freely offered.”

Something low in my stomach tightened.

It was not fear.

That made it worse.

“And if you ask?” I said.

“You may refuse.”

“No consequences?”

“Disappointment, perhaps.”

His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth.

“But never punishment.”

The vehicle suddenly felt too small.

I looked back at the contract.

“Add it.”

Lucia did.

I read the remaining clauses twice before setting down the pages.

“There is one more condition.”

Dante waited.

“My mother’s shares remain exclusively mine. You will help me stop Adrian’s guardianship petition and remove my father from the company. In return, I will authorize legitimate access to the eastern ports and help trace the ledger.”

“Agreed.”

“You will also provide every record you possess regarding the attack seven years ago.”

His expression hardened.

“That information is dangerous.”

“So am I, apparently.”

“Sienna.”

“No secrets concerning anything that threatens my life. If you conceal relevant information, the contract becomes void.”

Dante stared at me for a long moment.

Then he looked at Lucia.

“Add it.”

She typed.

“And my final condition,” I said. “You do not kill Adrian, Isabella, or my father without telling me first.”

Lucia stopped typing.

Dante’s voice became very quiet.

“Are you asking me to spare them?”

“No.”

I folded my hands over the black ring.

“I’m asking you not to steal my revenge.”

Silence filled the vehicle.

Then Dante smiled.

Not the cold smile he had given my family.

This one contained something darker.

Something almost proud.

“Agreed.”

Lucia finished the revisions and turned the tablet toward me.

“Once signed, the agreement becomes effective upon the legal marriage. Both parties will receive independent counsel before execution.”

“When will the ceremony take place?” I asked.

Dante checked his watch.

“Ten tomorrow morning.”

I stared at him. “That is less than twelve hours away.”

“My enemies already believe you are my bride. The difference between belief and legal protection should be corrected quickly.”

“I have nothing to wear.”

His gaze traveled slowly over the ruined wedding gown.

“You do.”

“I am not marrying two men in the same dress.”

“Technically, you didn’t marry the first.”

“I nearly did. The dress is contaminated.”

Lucia nodded solemnly. “Legally compelling.”

Dante looked between us.

“Choose another one.”

“I will.”

“You are remarkably demanding for a woman who proposed to me.”

“You are remarkably controlling for a man who said yes.”

His phone rang before he could respond.

He answered.

His expression changed as he listened.

“What happened?”

The voice on the other end spoke too quickly for me to understand.

Dante looked at Lucia.

“Vittorio filed an emergency petition.”

“For what?” I asked.

Dante ended the call.

His face had become terrifyingly calm.

“To have you declared mentally incompetent.”

My pulse stopped.

“He cannot do that overnight.”

“He has a judge willing to try.”

Lucia opened her laptop. “On what grounds?”

Dante’s gaze fell to the contract between us.

“He claims Sienna suffered a psychological breakdown during the wedding, threatened her family with a weapon, and was abducted while incapable of making rational decisions.”

“The letter opener,” I whispered.

My father had witnesses.

Hundreds of them.

“He is asking the court to freeze your shares,” Dante continued, “and appoint Adrian as temporary guardian.”

The plan had never depended on the wedding.

They had prepared another path.

Lucia began typing rapidly. “The hearing will be sealed, but I can challenge it.”

“When?” I asked.

“Nine tomorrow morning.”

Dante looked at his watch again.

Our marriage was scheduled for ten.

If my father succeeded first, I might lose the legal capacity to sign the contract—or marry anyone without Adrian’s consent.

Dante took the tablet from Lucia and placed it before me.

“Your father has moved the deadline.”

On the screen waited a blank signature line.

SIENNA ELENA MORETTI.

I looked at Dante.

“If I sign now, am I surrendering to you?”

“No.”

His voice held no softness, but it held something stronger.

“A surrender requires defeat.”

He placed a pen beside my hand.

“This is a declaration of war.”