ON HER 21ST BIRTHDAY, SHE WOKE IN THE MAFIA BOSS’S BED—THEN HE SAID, “YOU’RE MY WIFE NOW”

The mansion went into absolute lockdown. Heavy steel shutters dropped over the windows, armed guards lined the perimeter, and the air inside the house grew thick with the stench of impending war.

Lia spent the night pacing her bedroom, her mind racing. She remembered her friends at Rosie's Diner—Sarah, the single mother who worked the morning shift; Marcus, the old cook who treated her like a daughter. Innocent people were going to die because Carol had sold her into this nightmare.

At 3:00 AM, Lia snuck down to Dante's study. The door was slightly ajar. Inside, Dante and Julian were standing over a large map of the city, flanked by three senior capos.

"We strike their club in Soho first," one of the capos, a scar-faced man named Bruno, grunted. "Burn it to the ground. Send a message."

"No," Dante said coldly, resting his palms on the table. "Moretti wants a war. If we start burning property, the High Council will step in and demand a truce. A truce means negotiation. I do not negotiate for my wife."

"Dante, Antonio has fifty men stationed at their docks in Staten Island," Julian warned. "If he feels cornered, he will execute those civilians just to prove he can. You can't protect everyone."

"I can protect what is mine," Dante snapped, his eyes flashing with lethal intent. "We locate Antonio's safehouse before dawn. We eliminate him quietly. No Council, no truce."

Lia leaned back against the wall outside, her heart hammering. Dante was willing to spark a full-scale mafia war to protect her past life. He wasn't just defending his reputation anymore—he was defending her.

She pushed the door open and stepped into the room. Every man turned, hands instinctively drifting toward their holstered weapons before realizing who it was.

"Lia," Dante said, his tone softening slightly, though his posture remained rigid. "You should be asleep."

"I heard," she said, walking straight up to the table and looking at the map. "You can't attack Staten Island directly. Antonio expects you to come with heavy firepower. That's why he made the threat—he wants you to make a sloppy move."

Julian chuckled dryly. "With all due respect, Mrs. Romano, this isn't a diner shift. This is tactical warfare."

Lia glared at Julian. "I grew up in Queens. I know how men like Antonio think. He's arrogant. He thinks he's the cleverest guy in the room. He didn't send that note to fight Dante—he sent it to make Dante look like a fool who can't control his own territory."

Dante studied her face, intrigued. "Go on."

"He wants me to run," Lia explained, looking directly into Dante's eyes. "He left that letter knowing I would see it. He expects me to get scared, panic about my friends, and try to make a trade—myself for their safety."

"And are you?" Dante asked softly, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice. "Are you planning on walking into Moretti's arms to play the hero?"

"No," Lia said firmly. "I'm planning on using his arrogance against him."

She laid her hand flat on the map, pointing to a small warehouse district near the Brooklyn harbor. "My father used to store auto parts in a garage right here. It sits directly behind Moretti's secondary shipping yard. There is an underground drainage tunnel connecting the two properties—it was built in the 1920s during Prohibition. Moretti doesn't know about it, but I do. My father used to show me the old city maps."

Dante’s eyes flared with a mix of surprise and dark pride. He leaned over the table, inspecting the location she indicated.

"A blind spot," Dante murmured. "We slip a strike team through the tunnel while Julian creates a distraction at the main gate."

"I go with you," Lia said immediately.

"Absolutely not," Dante barked, his eyes snapping up to meet hers. "You stay in the fortress."

"If Antonio sees me with the strike team—or thinks I'm the bait—his men won't open fire immediately. They'll try to take me alive," Lia argued fiercely. "That gives you the two seconds you need to take out his command guards. I'm not sitting in a bedroom waiting for men to decide my fate anymore, Dante. If this is my life now, I fight for it."

The room was dead silent. Julian and the capos exchanged stunned looks. No wife in the history of the Romano family had ever stood in a war room and offered herself as tactical leverage.

Dante stared at her for a long, agonizing moment. He walked around the table until he was standing directly in front of her. He reached up, cupping her nape, pulling her close so his face was inches from hers.

"If anything happens to you..." Dante whispered, his voice dark and raspy with raw emotion.

"It won't," Lia said, placing her hand over his. "Because you're going to be right behind me."