1203 The Mob Boss Refused to Marry Me for Eight Years, Then Married My Sister—Now I’m Back in Chicago With His Secret Son, and the Truth About My Family Will Destroy Us All

“Dante,” I breathed, my fingers turning ice-cold as I thrust the phone screen directly into his line of sight.

The color drained from his face instantly. The calculated, powerful mafia boss vanished in a fraction of a second, replaced by a predator whose territory had just been breached. His eyes scanned the photo, locking onto the figure in the background with chilling precision.

“Stay behind me,” Dante ordered, his voice dropping into a register of absolute command.

Before I could process the movement, he swept across the room with terrifying speed, drawing a heavy, dark-barreled Sig Sauer pistol from a concealed holster beneath his arm. The fluid, practiced motion of his hand chambering a round sounded like a death knell in the quiet penthouse.

“Dante, Mia is out there—!”

“I know,” he snapped, his eyes fixed on the reinforced double doors of the suite. “Keep your voice down. Move toward the interior study. Now.”

He shoved me gently but firmly toward a heavy oak-paneled doorway leading deeper into the suite, keeping his own body positioned between my line of sight and the entrance. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped animal. The theoretical danger of the Chicago Outfit, of shadowed ledgers and secret family pacts, had just violently materialized into a loaded gun resting against the back of my friend’s head.

Tap. Tap.

Two deliberate, heavy knocks echoed against the outer doors.

Dante didn't answer. He raised his pistol, safety clicking off with a sharp metallic snap, and sidestepped toward the entryway wall.

“Dante Moretti,” a muffled voice called through the thick mahogany. It wasn't shouting; it was conversational, chillingly calm. “I know you’re in there. And I know you brought company today. Open the door, or the blonde in the hallway takes a bullet through the spine.”

My breath hitched. Mia. Innocent, loyal Mia, who had only come to Chicago to help me settle my father’s estate, was currently a pawn in a game she didn't even know she was playing.

“Who is it?” Dante called out, his voice steady, devoid of panic, though the muscles in his jaw were corded like steel cables.

“Someone who thinks your little arrangement with the Carter family has gone on long enough,” the voice replied. “The commission knows about the audit, Moretti. And they know you’ve been hiding Lawrence Carter’s second daughter in Europe for three years. Step outside with your hands empty, or we clean house right here on the twentieth floor.”

The pieces clicked together with terrifying speed. This wasn't just about Dante and Victoria. This wasn't just about my father’s hidden past as a shadow treasurer. The Outfit was fracturing, and someone was gunning for the throne—using my return to Chicago as the catalyst to flush Dante out into the open.

“Dante, don't,” I whispered from the shadow of the study door, my hands trembling as I gripped the doorframe. “If you go out there, they’ll kill you both.”

Dante didn't look back at me. His gray eyes were locked on the peephole of the door.

“They want me,” he muttered under his breath, his mind working at lightning speed. “They don't know about Leo yet. If they knew about Leo, he wouldn't be a threat—he’d be a hostage.”

The realization hit me like a physical blow. Leo was back at the hotel suite we had rented downtown, sleeping under the care of a trusted nanny Mia had hired. If these men knew about me, how long before they found Leo?

“Dante, Leo—!”

“Listen to me, Elena,” Dante interrupted, his voice dropping to an urgent, commanding whisper as he kept his eyes on the door. “My security detail on the ground floor is compromised or neutralized, or these men wouldn't be standing outside this door. That means there’s a leak inside my inner circle.”

A leak. Not just a rival faction, but a traitor within the Moretti organization.

“Could it be...” My mind flashed to Victoria. Could my sister, the woman who had married Dante to protect our family’s legacy, be tangled up in this?

“No,” Dante said, reading my thoughts with terrifying accuracy. “Victoria is ruthless, but she isn't suicidal. She needs me alive to keep the Outfit stable. This is someone else. Someone who wants the ledger Lawrence Carter left behind.”

“The ledger?” I stared at him. “My father’s financial books? Where are they?”

Dante gave me a sharp, penetrating look. “Where do you think a historian keeps his most valuable manuscripts?”

Before I could answer, a heavy thud shook the double doors. They were ramming it.

“Dante!” I cried out.

“Out the service balcony,” Dante ordered, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the master bedroom at the back of the penthouse. “There’s an exterior fire escape connecting to the adjacent parking structure. Take my car keys—they’re on the dresser. Get to Leo. Do not stop for anyone.”

“I’m not leaving you here to die!”

“You aren't leaving me,” Dante said, his expression softening for a fraction of a second as his hand cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear I hadn't realized I’d shed. “You’re going to protect my son. That’s the only thing that matters now.”