He will be dead within a year of the wedding.
Dante’s fingers crushed the paper.
A vein throbbed violently at his temple.
For three years, he had carried the guilt of Leo’s death.
He had believed he failed to protect his younger brother.
He had agreed to this marriage to bring peace, to ensure no more Lombardi blood ran in the streets.
And the murderers were the very monsters he was supposed to welcome into his home tomorrow.
The bedside phone began to ring.
It was the secure line.
Dante picked up the receiver.
“Speak.”
“Dante, darling.”
Bianca Falcone’s smooth, melodic voice drifted through the speaker.
She sounded playful.
Innocent.
“The florist is asking about the white orchids for the altar.”
“They arrived an hour late, but they look divine.”
Dante looked at Gemma’s resting face.
He looked at the bandage over her ribs.
“The orchids won’t be necessary, Bianca.”
A pause lingered on the line.
“What do you mean, sweetheart?”
“The wedding is canceled.”
Her voice tightened instantly.
The playful tone vanished.
“Is this a joke, Dante? My father has five hundred guests arriving in eight hours.”
“Every family on the eastern seaboard is on their way to the cathedral.”
“Tell your father to keep the cathedral,” Dante said.
His voice was dead ice.
“He can use it for your funerals.”
“Dante—what are you talking about?”
“Gemma Thorne is in my bed,” Dante said.
“She brought your folder, Bianca.”
A sharp intake of air hissed across the line.
Bianca’s composure shattered.
“She was supposed to be dead,” Bianca snarled, the mask completely dropping.
“She is an assistant, Dante! A nobody!”
“You would throw away an empire for a secretary?”
“She isn’t a nobody,” Dante replied softly.
His gaze rested on Gemma’s quiet face.
“She is the only person in this city who was willing to bleed for the truth.”
“And you, Bianca?”
“You are already dead.”
Dante hung up the phone.
He did not place it back on the hook.
He pulled the wire out of the wall.
He turned toward the door as Enzo entered, breathless.
“Dante,” Enzo said, his face pale.
“Salvatore Falcone just put a five-million-dollar bounty on Gemma’s head.”
“He told every crew in New England that whoever brings her body gets the North End docks.”
Dante walked over to the gun rack beside the steel vault.
He pulled down a tactical combat rifle.
“Let them come,” Dante said.
Dawn broke over Boston without sunlight.
The sky was the color of lead.
Rain lashed the steel-reinforced glass of the Lombardi Tower.
Down on the street level, the convoy of delivery vans carrying wedding tiers and white lilies arrived at the Holy Cross Cathedral.
They were turned away by men in dark suits with automatic rifles.
News of the cancellation ripped through the underworld like wildfire.
The Lombardi-Falcone alliance was dead.
The blood feud was reignited.
Inside the penthouse study, Gemma stirred.
Pain flared through her ribs like liquid fire as she tried to turn.
A groan escaped her dry throat.
“Don’t move,” a voice said from the shadow beside the bed.
Dante was there.
He wore a dark tactical sweater and shoulder holster.
His hair was uncombed, his dark eyes shadowed with exhaustion.
He held a glass of water with a straw.
He raised it gently to her lips.
“Drink.”
Gemma took two small sips.
The cold water soothed her raw throat.
She looked around the massive bedroom.
The dark wood, the vaulted ceilings, the scent of expensive bourbon and cedar.
She had organized the purchase of this penthouse three years ago.
She had never stepped inside the master suite until now.
“Your wedding…” she whispered.
“There is no wedding,” Dante said.
He set the glass down.
“You called it off?”
“I canceled it the second I saw your blood on my floor.”
Gemma’s heart gave an irregular beat against her bandages.
“Dante, the alliance—”
“Damn the alliance.”
He leaned closer.
His hand rested on the mattress beside her hip.
“They murdered Leo.”
Her breath caught.
“You read the ledger?”
“Every line,” he said.
His eyes burned with an ancient, unforgiving flame.
“They used his murder to corner me.”
“They wanted the southern routes.”
“They wanted to bleed the Lombardi family dry from the inside.”
“And you stopped them, Gemma.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
She blinked them back fiercely.
“They almost killed me, Dante.”
“I was so afraid I wouldn’t make it to your office.”
“I thought… I thought you would already be at the rehearsal dinner.”
“I would have searched the earth for you,” he said.
The words were not loud.
They were absolute.
A heavy truth that hung between them, undeniable and raw.
For five years, they had maintained the professional barrier.
He was the Don.
