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

The assault on the Gary meatpacking plant did not begin with negotiations.

It began with an explosion that blew the front steel gates off their hinges, followed by the terrifying, rhythmic roar of fifty automatic weapons firing in unison.

Inside the warehouse, Marco’s men scrambled in total panic. “They’re here! The Valentes are here!”

“Kill them!” Marco screamed, terror finally cracking through his bravado. He drew his revolver, pointing it directly at Arthur Moretti’s head. “Kill the old man first!”

“No!” Sienna shrieked, throwing her entire body forward, tipping her chair over and slamming into Marco’s knees with all her weight.

Marco stumbled, his shot firing wildly into the ceiling.

Before he could recover, the corrugated metal wall behind them was obliterated as an armored SUV smashed straight through the building, spraying concrete and twisted steel in every direction.

Dante emerged from the driver’s side before the vehicle had even stopped rolling.

He carried an assault rifle in one hand and moved through the smoke like a demon summoned from the underworld. Two Santoro guards raised their weapons; Dante dropped them both with two double-taps to the chest without breaking his stride.

“Dante!” Marco screamed, scrambling backward, trying to retrieve his gun from the floor.

Dante didn’t shoot him. He dropped his rifle, closed the distance in a heartbeat, and kicked Marco squarely in the chest, launching him ten feet across the concrete floor until he slammed into an iron pillar.

Marco coughed up blood, groveling on the floor as Dante stepped over him, planting a heavy leather boot directly onto Marco’s throat.

Dante looked down at him with utter revulsion. “You touched what is mine.”

“Dante... please... peace... we can make a deal...” Marco wheezed under the crushing weight.

“There is no peace for you, Marco,” Dante said softly.

He drew his sidearm, pressed it between Marco’s eyes, and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed through the cavernous space, followed by the abrupt silence of complete annihilation. Valente soldiers secured the remaining exits, disarming the surviving guards who threw down their weapons in surrender.

Dante turned. He dropped his gun, fell to his knees beside Sienna, and sliced her zip-ties with a pocketknife.

He saw the bruise on her cheek, and for a moment, the untouchable Prince of Chicago looked like he was about to break into a million pieces.

“Sienna,” he choked out, pulling her into his chest, burying his face in her hair. His hands were shaking violently. “Sienna... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“My dad,” she cried against his shoulder, clutching his bloody jacket. “Dante, my dad!”

Dante turned to Leo, who had already untied Arthur Moretti and was checking the old man’s pulse.

“He’s fine, Sienna,” Leo called out, his tough exterior softening. “He’s just shaken up. The medics are right outside.”

Sienna collapsed against Dante, weeping with a mixture of overwhelming relief and exhaustion. Dante wrapped his massive arms around her, rocking her gently amidst the smoke and ruins of the battlefield.