The Mafia King Claimed Me As His Contract Bride, But He Risked His Empire To Keep Me Alive

Dante signaled to his guards, who hoisted the weeping lawyer to his feet and dragged him toward the private medical clinic in the lower level of the residence.

Elena stood in the center of the ruined study, surrounded by broken glass, plaster dust, and the heavy smell of cordite. Her knees buckled slightly, but Dante caught her by the waist before she could fall.

"You're in shock," he said gently, his large hands surprisingly warm against her trembling sides.

"My own father left me to die," she whispered, the agonizing truth tearing through her chest like a knife. "He flew to Switzerland while men with rifles shot out your windows."

"Your father is a coward, Elena," Dante replied, looking down into her eyes with raw, unshielded honesty. "He thought if he was in another time zone, his hands would look clean when the dust settled."

He led her out of the study, down the wide marble staircase, and into a secure, windowless library in the interior wing of the mansion. The walls were lined with thousands of leather-bound books, and a massive limestone fireplace cast a warm, comforting amber glow across the room.

Dante poured two fingers of amber bourbon into a heavy crystal tumbler and handed it to her.

"Drink it," he commanded softly. "It will stop the shaking."

Elena took a slow sip, coughing as the fiery liquor burned down her throat, but the trembling in her hands began to ease. She looked around the fortress he had built.

"How did you know they were coming tonight?" she asked, leaning against the deep leather sofa.

"I didn't know they would strike tonight," Dante admitted, sitting in the armchair opposite her, resting his elbows on his knees. "I knew they were getting desperate. The quarterly audit for the Chicago Port Authority closes on Friday. If Cerberus Holdings doesn't have the deed by midnight tomorrow, their loans collapse."

Elena looked down at the amber liquid in her glass, watching the firelight dance across the surface.

"You soap my back, and then you save my life," she murmured, a faint, bittersweet smile touching her lips. "Is this standard hospitality for Moretti guests?"

Dante’s mouth curved into that same subtle, dangerous smirk she had seen in the shower upstairs.

"Only for the ones who don't run away when I tell them to," he replied.

Then his expression sobered, the playful shadow vanishing into grim reality.

"Tomorrow morning, Giancarlo will file an emergency probate petition in the Cook County chancery division claiming your father is incapacitated and you are missing," Dante explained. "He will use Malcolm's forged power of attorney to seize the riverfront terminals."

Elena set her glass down with a firm click against the side table.

"Not if I am standing in that courtroom," she said, her voice ringing with newfound steel.

Dante studied her, a spark of genuine admiration flaring in his dark eyes.

"To stand in that courtroom, Elena, you need more than an inheritance deed," Dante said quietly. "You need legal immunity from the syndicates."

"And how do I get that?"