Dante's POV
I burned the picture of my sister at exactly midnight.
Sofia's face curled and darkened in the flames, her eight-year-old smile disappearing into ash. Fifteen years ago today, Lorenzo Morelli's men had burned her alive. Now, on this anniversary, I would finally take something valuable from him in return.
"You don't have to do this." Marco stood in the doorway of my rooftop office, his scarred face tight with worry. "There are other ways to hurt Morelli."
"There are no other ways." I watched the last of the picture crumble. "I've ruined his businesses. Stolen his land. Turned his friends against him. But he still has the one thing he values most—his daughter. Tonight, I take her."
"She's innocent, Dante. She's not her father."
I finally looked at him, letting him see the ice in my eyes. "My sister was innocent too. Did that save her?"
Marco cringed but didn't back down. He was the only person living who could challenge me—because he'd been there that night. He'd crawled out of the burning house with me, both of us broken and bleeding. He'd watched me build an empire from nothing, driven by one goal.
Revenge. "Isabella Morelli is twenty-eight years old," I said, pulling up the file I'd learned. "Spoiled, nasty, engaged to the Castellano heir. She's never worked a day in her life. Every dress she wears, every gem around her throat—paid for with my family's blood."
"And you think kidnapping her will hurt Lorenzo?" Marco shook his head. "Men like him don't care about their children. They care about power."
"Then I'll make him care." I stood, fixing my cufflinks. "When his precious princess is in my cage, when I send him pieces of her perfect life one by one, when he realizes he can't save her—that's when he'll understand what he took from me."
Marco was quiet for a long moment. "You're not the same person anymore, Dante. The boy who survived that fire—he wouldn't know who you've become."
"Good," I said coldly. "That boy died with his family. I'm what Lorenzo made."
I walked past him to the closet, pulling out the suit I'd picked for tonight. Black. Expensive. The kind of armor that made people trust you, that made them think you were polite.
They were always wrong.
The gala was at the Belmont Hotel—neutral territory where all Five Families could meet without bloodshed. I'd spent a fortune bribing the event coordinator to change the site at the last minute. The original site had too many exits, too many variables.
The Belmont was beautiful. My men controlled three doors. Marco had people stationed at every entry. When Isabella left tonight, she'd leave with me.
"She just arrived," Marco said quietly, touching his earpiece. "Red dress. Northeast corner with her fiancé."
I scanned the ballroom and found her instantly. Isabella Morelli, draped in designer cloth and diamonds, laughing like she didn't have blood on her hands.
My hands curled into fists. Sofia had loved to laugh like that.
"Patience," Marco muttered. "Wait for the right moment."
But I wasn't willing anymore. I'd been patient for fifteen years.
I was about to move toward her when the music started. A string trio, tucked into the corner—background noise for rich people making corrupt deals.
Then I heard the violin.
It cut through the noise like light through darkness, pure and painful and alive. I stopped walking, stopped breathing, stopped thinking about anything except that sound.
"Who's playing?" I asked.
Marco checked his phone, frowning. "Session artists. Nobody important."
But he was wrong. That sound was important. That sound was— I turned toward the small stage and saw her.
Honey-blonde hair falling over her shoulders. Delicate features fully focused on her instrument. She played like the violin was part of her soul, like the music was the only thing keeping her alive.
She wasn't Isabella. "Marco." My voice came out rough. "Who is that?"
He pulled up something on his tablet, his frown deepening. "That's... wait. That's Aria Morelli."
Everything stopped.
"Morelli?" I repeated.
"Lorenzo's other daughter. The illegitimate one." Marco's eyes widened. "He had an affair with his bookkeeper twenty-six years ago. Kept the girl hidden, never claimed her officially. She lives in some run-down neighborhood, teaches music to kids. I didn't think she'd be here tonight."
I stared at the woman on stage, my mind running. Lorenzo had another daughter. A secret kid. One he'd hidden away like a shameful mistake.
Isabella was the prize everyone knew about. But this girl—Aria—she was the secret.
And secrets were always more valuable than gifts.
"Change of plans," I said quietly.
"Dante, no—" "Look at her, Marco. " I couldn't take my eyes off Aria as she played. "Lorenzo hid her. Kept her away from his world. That means she matters. Maybe more than Isabella does."
"Or it means she's worthless to him."
"Only one way to find out."
The music ended. Aria set down her violin with shaky hands—I could see her fear from across the room. She looked toward where Isabella stood, and her whole body tensed.
She was afraid of her own sister.
Interesting.
I watched as Aria gathered her things quickly, too quickly, like she was running from something. She headed for the kitchen exit—the one route my men hadn't fully secured because it was meant to be for staff only.
"She's leaving," Marco said. "Dante, if you do this—"
"Have someone bring the car around. And tell our guys at the east exit to be ready."
"Which girl are we taking?"
I looked at Isabella, still laughing with her fiancé, surrounded by guards and power and security.
Then I looked at Aria, slipping through the crowd like a ghost, alone and afraid.
The answer was easy.
"The one he tried to hide," I said.
I followed Aria to the kitchen exit, staying in the shadows. Marco was in my ear, his words tight with disapproval, but I ignored him.
This girl—this secret daughter—she was perfect. If Lorenzo valued her, I'd have my payback. If he didn't care about her, then she'd suffer for nothing, just like Sofia had.
Either way, justice would be served.
Aria pushed through the escape door into the alley. I signaled my men.
They grabbed her efficiently, properly. One hand over her mouth, chemical-soaked cloth pressed to her face. She struggled, but she was small, fragile compared to my trained troops.
Her violin case clattered to the ground.
I stepped out of the darkness as her eyes rolled back and she went limp in my man's arms.
She looked even younger up close. Innocent. Untouched by the violence that had shaped everyone else in her family.
"Take her to the lakehouse," I ordered. "And bring the violin."
"Boss," Marco said from behind me. "Are you sure about this?"
I looked down at Aria's unconscious face, at the tears still wet on her cheeks.
No. I wasn't sure.
But I'd stopped being sure of anything the night Lorenzo Morelli killed my family.
"Take her," I repeated.
As my men carried her to the waiting car, I picked up her violin case. Inside was an old instrument, worn but carefully kept. The case itself was coming apart, held together with tape.
This was Lorenzo Morelli's daughter, and she was playing a violin that cost less than my shoes.
Either he truly didn't care about her, or something else was happening here.
I'd find out which.
I was about to follow my men to the car when my phone buzzed. A message from my contact inside the police force.
Breaking: Isabella Morelli's fiancé just announced their engagement at the gala. Lorenzo giving speech now. He's making it official—consolidating power through the marriage.
I read the message twice, then looked back at the hotel where Lorenzo was celebrating his legal daughter's future.
He had no idea his other daughter was gone.
And suddenly, I had a terrible thought: What if Marco was right? What if this girl meant nothing to Lorenzo? What if I'd just kidnapped someone whose removal wouldn't even be noticed?
But it was too late now.
The car was pulling away with Aria asleep in the back seat.
And I realized with cold confidence that I'd just made a choice I couldn't undo.
I'd taken an innocent woman to hurt her guilty father.
Just like Lorenzo had taken my harmless sister fifteen years ago.
I was exactly like the monster I'd sworn to kill.
The thought should have worried me.
It didn't.