THE MAFIA BOSS CAME TO TAKE BACK HIS DOG—BUT WHEN THE DOG CHOSE THE HUMILIATED WOMAN INSTEAD, HE CLAIMED HER AS HIS FUTURE WIFE

The basement of the Valente estate did not resemble the luxury above. It was thick concrete, soundproofed, and filled with tactical monitors, satellite feeds, and a massive mahogany table where six heavy-set men in dark suits sat waiting.

Dante walked into the room, tossing his blood-stained cuffs onto the table.

Marco stood at attention near the head of the table, while the six Capos—the regional commanders of the Valente syndicate—looked up with tense, angry expressions.

At the far end sat Leo Marcone, the oldest Capo and a man who had served Dante’s father.

“Dante,” Leo rumbled, his voice like gravel. “Word is spreading through the docks. Carmine’s men hit your convoy. Brutus was shot. And instead of launching a counter-strike, you spent two hours in a tenement pet shop and brought a street girl back to the compound.”

Dante sat down at the head of the table. He leaned back, resting his chin on his steepled fingers, his gray eyes sweeping over the six men with icy indifference.

“The street girl saved Brutus’s life,” Dante said calmly.

“She’s a nobody!” another Capo, a younger man named Rico, shouted, slamming his fist on the table. “Carmine is laughing at us! He thinks you’ve gone soft! The other four families are watching to see if the Valente empire is collapsing from the top!”

Dante didn't flinch. He slowly leaned forward, placing his hands flat on the mahogany table. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

“Carmine Maroni took three of my trucks tonight,” Dante said, his voice dangerously soft. “He thinks he has leverage because he knows where my dog went. He thinks the girl is a target.”

Dante looked Rico directly in the eye until the younger man looked away, unable to bear the weight of his boss’s gaze.

“Tomorrow night is the Annual Harbor Gala,” Dante continued. “Every Don, judge, and politician in Port Aurelia will be in that ballroom. Carmine expects me to show up alone, bleeding, and defensive.”

“And what are you going to do?” Leo asked, his eyes narrowing.

“I am going to walk into that ballroom with Emily Parker on my arm,” Dante declared, his voice ringing like forged steel. “I am going to introduce her as my fiancée. I am going to show this city that while Carmine Maroni sits in the dark shooting at supply trucks, I am expanding my empire and claiming whatever I desire.”

“And Carmine?” Marco asked.

“By the time the last waltz ends tomorrow night,” Dante smirked coldly, “Carmine Maroni’s shipping licenses will be revoked, his bank accounts frozen, and his lieutenants arrested by the federal agents I bought three months ago. We do not fight in the mud with pigs, Marco. We butcher them.”

The Capos sat in stunned silence. The absolute, ruthless brilliance of Dante’s strategy left no room for argument.

“Dismissed,” Dante commanded.

The next morning, Emily woke up to the smell of fresh coffee and rich pastries.

She opened her eyes to find the storm had cleared, replaced by brilliant golden sunlight streaming through the balcony doors. Resting at the foot of her bed was Brutus, who thumped his heavy tail against the mattress the moment she sat up.

A soft knock sounded at the door before it opened.

Signora Vitale walked in, followed by four women pushing rolling racks filled with dozens of breathtaking evening gowns, silk shoes, and diamond jewelry cases.

Emily gaped. “What is all this?”

Signora Vitale stood with her hands folded, her expression still cool, though a glint of reluctant respect flickered in her eyes. “Don Dante’s orders, Miss Parker. The tailor has arrived. You are to be fitted for tonight’s Harbor Gala.”

“Tonight?” Emily gasped, pulling the duvet up to her chest. “I can't go to a gala! I don't know how to act around billionaires and mobsters!”

“You won't have to act,” a deep voice spoke from the doorway.

Dante stepped into the room, dressed in a sleek black suit, a cup of espresso in his hand. He looked fully rested, his dark hair damp from the shower, smelling clean and lethal.

He motioned for the tailors to begin setting up, then walked over to the side of Emily’s bed.

“You are going tonight, Emily,” Dante said gently, leaning down so only she could hear him. “Because tonight, Carmine Maroni will be there. And I need the whole world to see that you belong to me.”

Emily looked at the racks of glittering silk, then up at the dark, powerful man standing over her. Her heart gave a sudden, terrifying flutter that had nothing to do with fear.

“And what if I don't want to belong to you?” Emily whispered.