She Never Expected the Mafia Boss’s Mother to Approve of Her—Then Came the Shocking Proposal

The waltz had ended, but the violence of the night was only beginning.

They left the gala before midnight. The black Maybach swept down Lake Shore Drive, slicing through a blinding blizzard that had turned the city into a ghost town. Dante sat beside Sienna in the rear, his jaw tight, his phone humming constantly with encrypted messages from his lieutenants.

“You almost started a war in that ballroom,” Sienna whispered, rubbing her bare arms against the chill that seemed to seep through the tinted windows.

“The war started the moment Marco sent men after my mother,” Dante said, not looking up from his screen. “Tonight, I merely set the terms. They know touching you means total annihilation. Fear is the only leash that works on dogs like the Santoros.”

“And what if they don't care about the leash?”

Dante looked up, his pale eyes catching the passing streetlights. “Then I put them down.”

Suddenly, the Maybach was violently jolted.

A deafening crunch of metal echoed through the cabin as a heavy-duty pickup truck slammed into the passenger side, sending the sedan skidding across the icy asphalt toward the guardrail.

“Brace!” Dante roared, throwing himself across Sienna and pinning her to the floorboards just as the driver’s window exploded into shards of reinforced glass.

Automatic gunfire tore into the night, sounding like heavy hail pounding against an iron roof. The Maybach’s armored panels absorbed the bulk of the barrage, but the vehicle slammed into a concrete divider, spinning out and coming to a violent halt.

The driver was slumped over the wheel, blood pooling against the deflated airbag.

“Dante!” Sienna cried out, her ears ringing from the concussive blast of gunfire.

“Stay down!” Dante commanded. He reached under his seat, pulling out an automatic submachine gun and two spare magazines. His eyes were entirely dilated, pure adrenaline transforming him into something terrifying and lethal. “They used an EMP or a jammer—the comms are dead. We have thirty seconds before they breach the doors.”

He kicked open his door, firing a short, controlled burst into the blizzard. A scream cut through the wind, followed by the thud of a body hitting the snow.

“Move! Out my side!” Dante dragged Sienna out by her wrist, keeping his massive frame between her and the source of the fire.

Bullets chipped away at the concrete barrier beside them. Dante fired back with terrifying accuracy, dropping a second gunman advancing through the snow. But as they vaulted over the divider toward an access road beneath the overpass, a sharp crack echoed from the darkness above.

Dante stumbled.

A grunt tore from his throat, his grip on her hand faltering for a split second.

“Dante!” Sienna caught him by the waist, feeling something warm and wet instantly soaking through the fine wool of his jacket.

“Keep moving,” he snarled through gritted teeth, leaning heavily against her as they scrambled down the snow-covered embankment into the shadows of an industrial rail yard. “Don't stop, Sienna!”

They reached an abandoned brick maintenance shed. Dante kicked the rusted door open, shoved her inside, and threw the heavy deadbolt. He collapsed against the peeling wall, sliding down to the dirt floor, his breathing ragged and shallow.

Sienna dropped to her knees beside him. In the faint moonlight filtering through the cracked skylight, she saw the dark crimson stain spreading rapidly across his white dress shirt, just beneath his ribs.

“You’re shot,” she breathed, panic clawing at her throat.

“Through-and-through,” Dante managed, his voice strained. “Missed the liver. Just... grazed the ribs. I need... pressure.”

Sienna didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the hem of her three-thousand-dollar silk gown and ripped it violently, tearing a long, wide strip of emerald fabric from the skirt. She tore another, exposing her legs to the freezing air, but she didn’t care.

“Lean forward,” she ordered, her voice surprisingly steady.

Dante looked at her, his pale eyes glazed with pain, yet filled with a strange, fierce wonder. “Bossy waitress.”

“Shut up and let me save your miserable life,” she snapped, pressing the wadded silk against the bleeding wound.

Dante hissed, his head falling back against the brick wall, a vein bulging in his neck. He reached out blindly, his hand finding the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her dark hair, pulling her close.

“You’re something else, Sienna Moretti,” he whispered, his hot breath brushing against her lips as she bound the silk tightly around his torso.

“I’m the woman keeping you from bleeding out in a dirt shack,” she said, tying the knot with vicious efficiency.

Their faces were inches apart. The smell of gunsmoke, copper, and his expensive cologne filled the tiny space. Dante’s gaze dropped to her mouth, his chest rising and falling against hers. For a moment, the world outside—the snow, the blood, the mafia war—simply vanished.

“If we die tonight,” Dante murmured, his thumb stroking her jawline, “I’m going to regret not kissing you in that ballroom.”

Before Sienna could process his words, headlights swept across the frosted windows of the shed. The low rumble of heavy engines rattled the foundation.