The Don's runaway bride

First time Elena Rossi saw a dead man, she was eight years old. The second time, she was standing barefoot in her father's living room, staring at a pool of blood spreading across the marble floor. And this time, she knew exactly who was responsible. "Papa?" Her voice barely came out as a whisper. Vittorio Rossi stood near the fireplace, his hands trembling violently around a glass of whiskey. He didn't answer. He couldn't. Because three armed men dressed in black suits stood inside their home. And at their feet lay a man Elena recognized. Mr. Romano. Her father's business partner. Dead. Elena's heart slammed violently against her ribs. "What is going on?" she demanded, taking a step backward. Nobody answered. Then she heard it. Footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Deliberate. Every man in the room immediately lowered his head. Elena's breath caught. Someone was coming. A tall figure appeared at the entrance. He wore an immaculate black suit, his dark hair neatly pushed back from a face so calm it was almost terrifying. He didn't look angry. He didn't look rushed. He simply walked into the room as though the blood on the floor belonged there. Elena had never seen him before. But she knew exactly who he was. Everyone in Sicily knew his name. Dante Moretti. The youngest and most ruthless Don to ever control the Moretti empire. A man whispered about in dark corners. A man politicians publicly denied knowing. A man her father had spent years warning her about. And now... He was standing in her living room. Dante's eyes moved across the room until they landed on Vittorio. "Mr. Rossi." His voice was quiet. That somehow made it worse. Her father swallowed. "Dante." Elena's eyes widened. No one called a man like him by his first name. Not unless they were either very brave... Or very foolish. "I believe," Dante continued, removing a pair of black gloves one finger at a time, "we had an agreement." Vittorio's face had lost all its color. "Please." Dante paused. Elena had never heard her father beg before. Whatever was happening, it was far worse than she understood. "I need more time." Dante looked toward the dead man on the floor. "Romano also asked for more time." Elena covered her mouth. Her stomach twisted. "Papa," she whispered. "What did you do?" Vittorio finally looked at her. And in his eyes, Elena saw something that terrified her more than the guns. Guilt. "Elena..." Dante's gaze shifted toward her. For one endless second, their eyes met. She expected cruelty. She expected anger. Instead, his expression became unreadable. Like he had been expecting her. Elena suddenly wished she had stayed upstairs. "She doesn't know anything," Vittorio said quickly. Dante continued staring at her. "I didn't ask if she did." The room became silent. Elena crossed her arms, forcing herself to stand still despite the fear crawling beneath her skin. "Can someone please tell me what is happening?" One of Dante's men moved. Dante raised a hand. The man immediately stopped. Interesting. Even his men feared him. Vittorio walked toward Elena, his eyes pleading. "Go upstairs." "What?" "Now." "I'm not a child!" "Elena." His voice cracked. "Please." That single word stopped her. Her father never said please. She looked from him to Dante. Something was wrong. Very wrong. "How much does he owe you?" she asked Dante. Her father froze. Dante slowly turned his attention back to her. Elena lifted her chin. "If this is about money, tell me how much." A faint smile touched his lips. It wasn't warm. It was almost... amused. "You intend to pay your father's debt?" "If I have to." "Elena!" Vittorio snapped. She ignored him. Dante studied her for several seconds. Then he walked closer. One step. Then another. Elena's instincts screamed at her to move. She didn't. By the time he stopped, he was close enough for her to smell his cologne—dark, expensive, and dangerously intoxicating. "Do you know," he said quietly, "what your father owes me?" Elena swallowed. "No." "Everything." Her heartbeat stumbled. Dante reached into his jacket. For one horrifying second, Elena thought he was going for a gun. Instead, he pulled out a folded document. He handed it to her. Her fingers trembled as she opened it. Numbers. Names. Signatures. And at the bottom— A figure so large her mind struggled to process it. She looked up at her father. "Papa..." Vittorio looked away. "You borrowed this?" "I had no choice." "No choice?" Elena's voice rose. "You owe these people millions!" "Keep your voice down," he hissed. Elena laughed bitterly. "Keep my voice down? There's a dead man on our floor!" Dante watched her calmly. Too calmly. "What happens if he can't pay?" Elena asked. Nobody answered. Her eyes moved toward the dead body. She didn't need anyone to explain. Fear wrapped icy fingers around her throat. Vittorio suddenly dropped to his knees. Elena stared. "Papa!" Her father looked at Dante. "Please," he begged. "Take the house. Take the company. Take everything I own." Dante's face remained expressionless. "None of those things are worth what you owe." "Then I'll find the money." "You've had three years." "I'll work for you." Dante tilted his head. "You?" Vittorio's breathing became uneven. "Anything." The silence that followed was unbearable. Then Dante looked at Elena. Not briefly. Not accidentally. Directly. A cold feeling settled in her stomach. "No," she whispered. Her father looked at her. Dante's expression didn't change. Elena took a step back. "Whatever you're thinking—" "I haven't said anything." "But you're looking at me." Dante's jaw tightened slightly. For the first time, something flickered behind his cold eyes. Recognition. Or perhaps... Regret. Vittorio understood before she did. His face crumpled. "No." Dante finally spoke. "One thing." Elena's heart began pounding. Vittorio shook his head desperately. "Please, Dante. Anything but that." Elena looked between them. "What?" Dante took another step forward. His eyes never left hers. "Your debt will be erased." Vittorio's breathing stopped. Elena felt her entire body go cold. Dante's voice was quiet when he delivered the price. "In exchange for your daughter." Elena looks at her father. "What does he want?" Dante looks directly into her eyes. "Fulfilling a promise." She frowns. "What promise?" He steps closer. "That you'll become my wife before my enemies find you."