Chapter 4

Dante's POV

The ceremony was hours away.

I poured myself a scotch, tossing it back to burn away the venomous churn in my chest, before turning to change into my bespoke tuxedo.

As I studied the jacket’s razor-sharp tailored cut, my mind instantly flashed to Valentina. She had personally tailored the lining of this suit for me, pricking her fingers a dozen times just to seamlessly hide a Kevlar weave inside the fabric.

Isabella had insisted on having me fitted for a brand-new, cutting-edge tuxedo for the wedding. But this morning, as I dressed, a strange, phantom ache in my chest made me reach for Valentina's suit instead. I just couldn't stomach the thought of that stubborn girl's effort being tossed aside in some dark closet.

This wedding was exactly what we’d talked about in that safehouse, I thought.

I adjusted my tie in the mirror, hardening my jaw. Whatever. Let her cool off. As long as she swallowed her pride and apologized to Isabella, maybe I'd buy her a penthouse and set her up somewhere quiet.

But as the morning bled into noon and her absence became absolute, a prickling heat of cold sweat began to form on the back of my neck.

I left my suite and headed downstairs. Don Salvatore and Donna Rosa—Valentina's parents—were already holding court in the grand foyer, greeting Gotham City's most dangerous men. Waitstaff weaved through the lavish crowd with trays of imported caviar.

Standing near the staircase, I watched her father stop a waiter passing with a tray of sfogliatelle pastries.

"Tell the kitchen to box a dozen of these up," Salvatore ordered. "Have a driver take them down to the docks tonight. Val always had a sweet tooth."

Beside him, her mother sighed heavily, adjusting her heavy diamond necklace. "When the hell is that girl going to grow up?"

Salvatore wrapped a thick, protective arm around his wife. "We broke her down to build her back up. A few years in the cold was necessary. We're not actually going to leave our flesh and blood out there forever. We'll bring her back to the family table. If Isabella feels slighted when Val comes home, we’ll just give her a bigger cut of the casinos."

Rosa nodded, and together, they stepped out the front doors into a barrage of photographers' flashes.

Time blurred until I found myself standing at the floral altar. I watched blankly as Salvatore walked Isabella down the aisle.

Made men and politicians clapped respectfully. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, a private fireworks display was being set up along the lakeshore.

My gaze drifted out to the water. I remembered Valentina telling me, with that bright, wildly alive smile of hers, that when we finally ran this city together, she wanted fireworks over the skyline so everyone would know she was mine.

Then, a darker memory hijacked my brain: the surveillance photos my men had taken at the dog kennels. I remembered how her defiant, fiery spirit had slowly faded into a hollow, dead stare.

I'll drive down there tonight, I decided, a sudden, desperate urge gripping me. I'll bring her home. She was a colossal pain in my ass, but her sheer loyalty was what made me love her. Why else would I have nearly started a war over her once?

"Boss! We got a situation!"

The shout shattered the elegance of the room. The capo I’d assigned to the front gates tore through the double doors, sprinting across the marble floor. His voice cracked with raw panic.

Behind him, two dockworkers wheeled a steel gurney into the grand foyer. A black body bag was strapped to it.

A primal, suffocating dread slammed into my chest. The air left my lungs in a violent rush. My hand twitched toward my holster; I wanted to pull my gun and shoot the capo just to stop whatever words were about to leave his mouth.

I was a second too late.

"Boss! I swear to God—" The man choked on a sob. "It's Miss Valentina... she’s really gone!"