The gunshot echoed through the marble halls like a death knell.
Alessia Romano's world shattered in that single, terrible moment. She dropped the wine glass she'd been holding, crimson liquid spreading across the white Persian rug like blood—a terrible premonition of what she was about to find.
"Papa!"
Her heels clicked frantically against the floor as she ran toward her father's study. The guards who usually stood outside the heavy oak doors were gone. That alone sent ice through her veins. Her father, Vittorio Romano, the most powerful man in the eastern territories, was never left unprotected.
Never.
She shoved the doors open, and the sight before her carved itself into her memory with cruel permanence.
Vittorio Romano lay sprawled across his mahogany desk, blood pooling beneath his chest, his eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. His hand was outstretched, reaching for the gun that lay just inches from his fingertips. He'd tried to defend himself. He'd fought back.
It hadn't been enough.
"No. No, no, no." Alessia's legs gave out, and she fell to her knees beside him. Her hands shook as she reached for his face, still warm, as if he might wake up at any moment. "Papa, please. Please don't leave me."
But Vittorio Romano was gone.
The man who had taught her to shoot when she was eight, who had shown her the family ledgers when she was twelve, who had promised her that she would never be a pawn in this deadly game—he was gone.
And Alessia was alone.
"Miss Romano."
The voice came from the doorway, low and cold as winter frost. Alessia's head snapped up, tears streaming down her face, and her grief instantly transformed into something far more dangerous.
Rage.
Standing in the doorway was a man she'd seen only in photographs and from a distance at neutral ground meetings. He was tall, well over six feet, with broad shoulders that filled out his black suit perfectly. His dark hair was styled back from a face that could have been carved from stone—sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and eyes so dark they looked almost black in the dim light.
Dante Salvatore.
Heir to the Salvatore family. Her father's greatest rival. The man who had every reason to want Vittorio Romano dead.
"You," Alessia breathed, her voice breaking. She lunged for her father's gun, her fingers closing around the cold metal.
Dante didn't move. He stood there, perfectly still, watching her with those emotionless eyes as she raised the weapon and pointed it directly at his heart.
"You killed him," she said, her voice steadier now, hardened by hatred. "You murdered my father."
"Put the gun down, Alessia."
"Don't you dare say my name!" She stood, her aim never wavering. Twenty feet separated them. She could make the shot. Her father had trained her well. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't put a bullet through your skull right now."
"Because I didn't kill him."
"Liar!" Her finger tightened on the trigger. "You've wanted him dead for years. Everyone knows the Salvatores have been trying to take our territory—"
"If I wanted your father dead," Dante interrupted, his voice cutting through her words like a blade, "I would have done it myself, face to face, and he would have seen it coming. I wouldn't have sent a coward to shoot him in the back."
Alessia's breath hitched. In the back. She hadn't let herself process the position of the wound, but he was right. Her father had been shot from behind, probably as he worked at his desk. An assassination. A betrayal.
"How did you know where he was shot?" she demanded. "Unless you were there. Unless you gave the order."
"I knew because I've seen the security footage."
"What?"
Dante reached into his jacket slowly, deliberately, giving her time to see that he was pulling out a phone, not a weapon. He held it up, screen facing her. Even from this distance, she could see the black and white security feed.
"Your father sent this to me ten minutes before he died," Dante said. "Along with a message."
Alessia's hands trembled. "That's impossible. Why would he—"
"Because he knew someone was coming for him. Someone close. Someone he trusted." Dante's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "And he knew that when he died, you would be next."
The words hit her like a physical blow.
"That's insane. My father would never trust you with—"
"With protecting his daughter?" Dante's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "No, he wouldn't. But he trusted me to keep my word. And three months ago, your father and I made an agreement."
Alessia's world tilted again. "What agreement?"
"An alliance. Sealed by marriage." Dante's dark eyes locked onto hers. "Your marriage. To me."
The gun nearly slipped from her fingers. "You're lying."
"Your father was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them. He knew the smaller families were forming coalitions. He knew that divided, the Romanos and Salvatores would both fall. Together, we'd be unstoppable." Dante took a step forward. "He agreed to the marriage. So did I."
"I don't believe you. My father would have told me. He would never—"
"He was going to tell you tonight."
Alessia's blood ran cold. Tonight. Her father had asked her to come to his study after dinner. He'd said they needed to talk about something important. About her future.
She'd thought he was finally going to let her take a real role in the family business.
Instead, he'd been planning to sell her off like a piece of property.
"Even if that's true," she said, her voice shaking with emotion, "the agreement died with him. I'm the head of the Romano family now. And I would rather burn everything my father built than marry you."
"You don't have a choice."
"I always have a choice."
"No, Alessia. You don't." Dante's voice was soft but absolutely certain. "Because in approximately four hours, the Capo dei Capi will call an emergency council meeting. And when they do, every family in the syndicate will learn that Vittorio Romano is dead and his twenty-four-year-old daughter with no real experience is now in charge of one of the largest territories on the eastern seaboard."
He took another step closer.
"They'll smell blood in the water. The Costas, the Marchettis, the Russos—they'll all make plays for your territory. Your father's allies will fracture. His enemies will unite. And you'll be lucky if they just kill you quickly instead of making an example of you."
"I can defend what's mine," Alessia said, but even she could hear the uncertainty creeping into her voice.
"With what army? Half your father's men were loyal to his captains, not to him. And certainly not to you." Dante was close now, close enough that she could see flecks of gold in his dark eyes. "You've spent your life being the princess of the Romano family. Protected. Sheltered. You know business, you know numbers, but you don't know this world. Not really. Not the way you'll need to."
"And you do?"
"I was forged in it." There was something dark in his expression, something that spoke of violence and blood and survival. "I took my first life when I was fourteen. I've been leading my family's soldiers since I was eighteen. I know every family's weaknesses, every alliance, every grudge. And I know that alone, you'll be dead within a month."
Alessia wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he was wrong. But her father's body was still warm behind her, and she knew—she knew—that Dante was right.
She was intelligent. She was capable. But she wasn't ready for this.
"So what?" she said bitterly. "You expect me to just... what? Marry you? Play the dutiful wife while you take everything my father built?"
"I expect you to survive." Dante's hand moved, faster than she could track, and suddenly he was gripping the gun, pulling it from her hands. But he didn't point it at her. He simply removed the magazine and cleared the chamber with efficient, practiced movements. "And then I expect you to help me find out who really killed your father."
Alessia's breath caught. "You want to find his killer?"
"Someone murdered Vittorio Romano in his own home, bypassing his security, his guards, everything. Someone who knew his routines. His blind spots." Dante's expression was hard. "That same someone is now trying to start a war between our families. They want us to destroy each other."
"How do you know that?"
"Because three of my warehouses were hit tonight. Same time your father was killed. Professional hits. Military precision." His jaw clenched. "Someone is making a move against both our families. Your father figured it out. That's why he agreed to the alliance."
Alessia's mind raced. It made a horrible kind of sense. Her father had been paranoid the last few months, increasing security, having private meetings with people he'd never tell her about. She'd thought he was just being overprotective as usual.
But he'd been preparing. Planning.
And now he was dead.
"Even if I believe you," she said slowly, "even if everything you're saying is true... I can't just marry you. The family would never accept it. The Romanos and Salvatores have been enemies for—"
"Twenty-three years. Since my father killed your uncle in a dispute over the port territories." Dante handed her back the empty gun. "I know the history. But history won't matter when we're both dead."
"There has to be another way."
"There isn't. Not one where you survive with your power intact." He stepped back, giving her space. "Marry me, and we announce a united front. The other families won't dare move against us. We combine our resources, find who's really behind this, and make them pay."
"And what do you get out of this? Power? Territory?"
"Revenge." The word was cold and absolute. "Whoever did this killed your father and attacked my family. They made this personal." His dark eyes burned with something that might have been rage or might have been something even more dangerous. "I'm going to find them. I'm going to destroy everything they love. And then I'm going to kill them slowly enough that they beg for death."
A shiver ran down Alessia's spine. This was the real Dante Salvatore. Not the businessman in the expensive suit. This was the predator underneath. The killer.
And he was asking her to bind herself to him.
"I need time to think," she said.
"You have two hours. That's when I need to call the council and announce the engagement." Dante checked his watch, a movement so casual it seemed obscene given the circumstances. "After that, if you refuse, I'll walk away. And you'll face what comes next alone."
"Two hours to decide the rest of my life?"
"Two hours to decide if you want a life at all." He turned toward the door, then paused. "Your father's last words, in his message to me, were 'protect her.' Not the territory. Not the business. You. Whatever else you think of me, know this—I keep my word."
Then he was gone, leaving Alessia alone with her father's body and an impossible choice.
Marry her enemy or die.
She looked down at her father's face, peaceful now in death, and felt tears sliding down her cheeks again.
"What do I do, Papa?" she whispered. "What do I do?"
But the dead couldn't answer. And the clock was ticking.
In the end, there was only one choice she could make.
The choice to survive.
To be continued...