The study was a wreckage of broken glass and splintered mahogany. Dante had managed to drag Sienna behind the heavy oak desk just as the first volley of suppressed fire shredded the leather chair where Lorenzo had been standing seconds before.
"Stay down!" Dante roared over the thud of bullets. He leaned out, firing three precision shots. Two of Lorenzo's guards crumpled, but more were shouting in the hallway.
Sienna was trembling, her hands clamped over her ears, but her eyes were fixed on Dante. He looked like a god of war splattered with dust, his white shirt torn, his eyes glowing with a terrifying, lethal heat. He turned to her, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her flush against him in the cramped space behind the desk.
"Are you hit?" he demanded, his hands frantically checking her shoulders, her waist, her legs.
"I'm fine, Dante! Just go!" she gasped.
"I'm not leaving without you," he growled. He gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him amidst the chaos. "Look at me. You are mine. Do you understand? No one takes you. Not the police, not your father, and certainly not death. You belong to me."
He kissed her then a hard, desperate clash of teeth and tongue that tasted like copper and adrenaline. It was a claim, a mark of ownership in the middle of a slaughterhouse.
"Dante, they're flanking us!" Sienna screamed, pointing toward the balcony doors.
Dante spun, kicking the desk over to create a better barricade. "Lorenzo!" he shouted into the room. "You want the ledger? Come and get it! But you'll have to step over your daughter's corpse to reach me!"
"She's no daughter of mine anymore!" Lorenzo's voice echoed from the hallway, distorted and filled with a cold, hollow rage. "She's a Moretti whore now! Kill them both!"
Sienna flinched at the words, a sob catching in her throat. Dante's expression shifted from calculated violence to pure, unadulterated malice. He looked at Sienna, his voice dropping to a jagged whisper.
"Hear that? He gave up his claim. You're completely mine now, Sienna. No more Cavallo blood. Just me."
He pulled a flashbang from his belt, pulled the pin with his teeth, and hurled it toward the doorway.
**WHAM.**
The white light blinded the remaining guards. Dante surged forward, his Glock barking in the rhythm of a heartbeat. *Pop. Pop. Pop.* He moved with a predatory grace, clearing the path to the balcony. He grabbed Sienna's hand, his grip so tight it would surely leave bruises.
"Move! Now!"
They leaped from the first-story balcony, landing hard in the manicured rose bushes. Dante didn't stop. He hauled her up, practically carrying her as they sprinted toward the treeline where the darkness of the estate's forest began.
Once they were deep enough into the shadows to catch their breath, Dante shoved her against a thick oak tree. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, his hand still clutching the red ledger.
"You okay?" he panted, his eyes scanning her body again.
"He was going to kill me," she whispered, the reality finally setting in. "My own father... he told them to kill me."
Dante stepped into her, pinning her against the rough bark. He dropped the ledger and used both hands to cup her face. "Forget him. He's a ghost. I'm the only man you need to worry about now."
"You're so obsessed with owning me," she said, her voice a mix of fear and a strange, dark thrill. "Even now, when we're being hunted."
"Because you're the only thing that makes this blood worth it," Dante growled. He leaned down, his lips brushing hers. "I don't just want your loyalty, Sienna. I want your soul. I want every thought in your head to be about me. I want you to crave my touch even when you hate my guts."
"I already do," she confessed, her hands sliding up his chest to grip his hair. "I fucking hate you for making me feel this way."
"Good," he muttered, his mouth finding hers again. "Hate me. Fight me. But you'll never leave me."
In the distance, dogs were barking and flashlights were sweeping the gardens. They were far from safe, but as Dante pressed his body against hers in the dark woods, Sienna realized the terror of the hunt was nothing compared to the terrifying depth of his possession.
He didn't just take her from her father. He had consumed her. And as the sirens began to wail in the city below, she knew there was no going back to the girl she used to be. She was a Moretti trophy, a Moretti queen, and she was exactly where she wanted to be.
"We have to go," Dante said, pulling away just enough to look at her. "Marco is a mile out. We get to the boat, we get to the safehouse, and then I'm going to spend the rest of the night reminding you exactly who you belong to."
"Take me away, Dante," she whispered. "Take me anywhere, as long as it's away from him."
"I've got you," he promised, picking up the ledger and pulling her back into the dark. "I've always got you."