Claimed By The Enemy

**DANTE**

"You're sure it's them?"

Marco's voice cut through the smoke in his office. I stared at the photographs spread across his desk. Vittorio Santoro. Nico Santoro. And a younger one I didn't recognize.

"The Santoros requested the meeting themselves. Sofia's casino, two hours." I kept my voice steady even though my hands wanted to shake. Five years I'd waited for this. Five years of learning, planning, becoming someone my family wouldn't recognize.

"And you're going to sit there and talk peace with the men who killed your family?" Marco lit a cigar, watching me carefully. He'd found me half-dead from grief and stupidity five years ago, turned me into something useful. I owed him everything, but that didn't mean he owned my choices.

"I'm going to gather information. See what they want."

"Information." He said it like he didn't believe me. "Dante, I took you in because you were smart. Don't make me regret that by doing something stupid tonight."

I met his eyes. "My father was working toward peace when they burned him alive. Seventeen people, Marco. My mother, my sisters, everyone. You want me to just forget that?"

"I want you to be strategic. Revenge without planning is just suicide." He stood up, adjusting his suit jacket. "Tommy goes with you. And you follow Sofia's rules. No weapons in the negotiation room, no violence on her floor."

"I know the rules."

"Knowing them and following them are different things." He moved toward the door, then stopped. "The Santoros have been weakening. Vittorio's getting old, his operations are slowing. We're close to making our move, but we're not there yet. Don't ruin years of work because you can't control yourself for one night."

After he left, I picked up a photograph of the younger Santoro. Alessandro, according to our intelligence. Twenty-six, rarely seen at family operations. There were notes about art galleries and exhibitions. An artist in a crime family. It would've been funny if his last name wasn't Santoro.

I tucked my sister's rosary into my pocket. She'd been fourteen. Still believed in guardian angels and happy endings. The fire had taken that innocence and burned it into ash along with everything else.

Tommy drove us to the casino in silence. He knew better than to make jokes tonight. We'd been friends since Marco brought me in, and he'd seen me at my worst. Knew what this meeting meant.

Sofia's casino glittered effortlessly. Neutral ground where the rules actually meant something because Sofia Ricci didn't tolerate disrespect. She'd built her empire on being the only person both sides could trust, and she protected that reputation viciously.

She met us at the private elevator, dressed in black that probably cost more than most people made in a month. "Dante. Tommy. The Santoros are already upstairs. You understand my rules?"

"No weapons in the room. No violence on your floor." I recited it back to her.

"Good. Because whatever you're thinking about doing, don't. This peace talk benefits everyone, including Marco." She pressed the elevator button. "I'm not losing my neutrality because you can't handle your grief."

The elevator rose smoothly. Tommy shifted beside me. "Are you really going to keep it together in there?"

"I have to."

"That's not an answer."

The doors opened before I could respond.

The room was set up like an old gentleman's club, all dark wood and leather chairs. Vittorio Santoro sat at the head of the table like he owned it. Maybe he thought he did. Gray streaked his dark hair but he still looked solid and dangerous. His oldest son Nico stood behind him with arms crossed, the kind of man who enjoyed violence for its own sake.

And then the younger one, Alessandro, sat at his father's right. He looked completely wrong for this setting. Paint stained his fingers, actual paint in blues and reds that he hadn't bothered to wash off. His face was too open, like he hadn't learned yet how to hide what he felt. When he looked up at us entering, something flickered in his dark eyes that I couldn't read.

"Marco sends his regards," I said, taking the seat across from Vittorio. Tommy positioned himself by the door. "He's listening to your proposal."

"Straight to business. Good." Vittorio smiled without warmth. "The territorial disputes are expensive for both our families. The police are actually being pressured to do their jobs. Bad for everyone's profits."

"So you want peace. After starting a war five years ago."

"A war your father started when he hijacked our shipment," Vittorio said easily, like the lie was truth just because he said it.

My father had been moving toward alliance talks when he died. I knew that. But sitting across from the man who'd given the order to burn my family alive, hearing him lie about it so casually, made violence sing in my veins.

"My father's dead. Can't ask him now." I gritted my teeth. "What exactly are you proposing?"

"A formal alliance. Shared territories, shared profits. An end to the bleeding on both sides."

"And what makes you think Marco would trust a Santoro after everything?"

Vittorio leaned back in his chair. "Because I'm dying. Cancer. Six months if I'm lucky. I don't want my legacy to be endless war. I want my sons to inherit something stable, something that'll last."

Alessandro's face went pale. He stared at his father like this was the first he'd heard about the cancer. Nico's expression didn't change at all. Either he already knew or he didn't care.

"We'd need guarantees," I said, playing the part Marco expected. "Security measures, financial audits, ways to verify both sides are holding up their end."

"Of course. Sofia's offered to mediate the details." Vittorio gestured broadly. "This is about building something better than what we inherited."

I almost laughed at that. He'd inherited a criminal empire and expanded it by murdering anyone in his way, including innocent people. My sisters had inherited nothing but early graves.

Alessandro reached for his water glass, and that's when I saw it. The ring on his hand caught the light. Gold with the Santoro family crest in detailed enamel. The same crest that had been on shell casings found in the ashes of my home. The same symbol that haunted every nightmare I'd had for five years.

Something snapped inside me.

I was moving before thought caught up to action. My chair crashed backward as I lunged across the table. Alessandro's eyes went wide but he didn't fight back, didn't even try to defend himself as I grabbed him and slammed him against the wall. My hand found his throat.

"Dante!" Tommy shouted.

Nico was pulling his weapon despite Sofia's rules. Vittorio was on his feet. But all I could see was that crest, that symbol, pressed against the throat of a Santoro who looked at me with exhausted, accepting eyes like he'd been waiting for this.

"You think you can just sit there?" I snarled in his face. "Wear that ring like it doesn't mean anything? Like it's not soaked in my family's blood?"

"Dante, let him go!" Tommy had his hands on my shoulders, trying to pull me back.

Alessandro didn't struggle. Didn't speak. Just looked at me with something that might've been understanding, and that made me angrier.

Sofia's voice cut through the chaos, cold and sharp. "Everyone stop right now or I'll have you all shot where you stand."

Marco appeared in the doorway, and the disappointment in his face made me finally loosen my grip. Alessandro slumped against the wall, gasping.

"Meeting's over," Sofia announced. "Get out of my casino. All of you."

I let Tommy pull me toward the door, but I couldn't stop looking back at Alessandro. At the red marks on his throat from my hands. At the way he touched them gently, like he'd expected worse.

Vittorio's voice followed us into the hallway. "Tell Marco I'll be in touch with a different proposal. One that might interest him more."

We were in the elevator when Tommy finally spoke. "You just ruined everything."

"I know."

"Marco's going to kill you."

"I know."

My phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number. I opened it and froze.

"There's another way to end this war. Interested? - SR"

Sofia. She had another play already.

"What is it?" Tommy asked.

I stared at the message, at the possibility it represented, and wondered what I'd just set in motion.

"I think," I said slowly, "things are about to get much worse."

**ALESSANDRO**

The bruises on my throat were already forming when I got home. I could see them in the bathroom mirror, dark fingerprints that would be impossible to hide tomorrow. Dante Moretti had strong hands. Strong enough to kill me if he'd wanted to. The strange thing was, I'd almost wanted him to.

"Let me see." Dr. Elena appeared in the doorway without knocking. She never knocked. After five years of patching up my family's violence, she'd earned that right.

I tilted my head back so she could examine the damage. Her fingers were clinical, professional. "You're lucky he didn't crush your windpipe."

"I don't feel lucky."

"No, I imagine you don't." She pulled out her stethoscope. "Breathe."

I obeyed while she listened, then checked my pupils, my ribs, the old scars on my back that never quite faded. She'd seen all of it before. Every time Nico decided I needed a lesson in family loyalty. Every time my father's disappointment turned physical.

"You didn't fight back," she said finally. "Why?"

"Would it have mattered?"

"That's not an answer, Alessandro."

I looked at her tired face. Elena had been doctoring for the families since before I was born. She'd delivered me, actually. Patched up my scraped knees as a kid. And now she cleaned up after my family's murders like it was just another Tuesday.

"He lost seventeen people in that fire. His whole family. I didn't fight back because maybe he deserved to hurt me."

"That's guilt talking, not logic." She packed up her bag. "The pills I gave you last month, are you taking them?"

"When I remember."

"Start remembering. Your panic attacks are getting worse." She headed for the door, then paused. "Your father wants to see you in his office."

Of course he did. I pulled on a shirt that covered most of the bruises and headed downstairs. The Santoro estate was more museum than home, filled with expensive things my mother had collected before she died. Before my father had turned into something cold and calculating. Sometimes I wondered if he'd always been that way and she'd just hidden it from us.

Nico was already in the office when I arrived, drinking my father's expensive scotch like he owned it. Like he'd own everything soon enough.

"The artist finally shows up," he said. "Nice neck. Very fashionable."

"Shut up, Nico."

"Make me, little brother."

"Both of you, enough." My father sat behind his massive desk, looking every bit the don he was. Dying or not, he commanded a room. "Sit down, Alessandro."

I sat. Nico stayed standing, looming like the threat he was.

"That disaster tonight changes things," my father said. "Marco called an hour ago. He apologized for his man's behavior, but the message was clear. The Morettis won't accept a standard alliance. Not after tonight."

"Good," Nico said. "We don't need them anyway. Let the old man die and I'll handle Marco my way."

My father ignored him. "Sofia Ricci has proposed an alternative. One that would legally bind our families in a way that makes war impossible."

Something cold settled in my stomach. "What kind of alternative?"

"A marriage alliance. Between you and Dante Moretti."

The room went silent. Even Nico looked shocked.

"You can't be serious," I said.

"Completely serious. It's brilliant, actually. A legal marriage means shared assets, shared liability. If either family attacks the other, they attack themselves. It forces cooperation."

"It forces me into a marriage with someone who wants me dead." I stood up, anger finally breaking through the numbness. "Did you see what he did tonight? He tried to kill me in the middle of Sofia's casino."

"And yet you're alive." My father's eyes were sharp. "You didn't fight back. Why?"

"Because I'm not suicidal."

"No, because you feel guilty. You've always been soft, Alessandro. Too much of your mother in you." He said it like it was a disease. "This marriage happens. It's good for the family."

"I won't do it."

Nico moved fast, grabbing my shirt and slamming me against the wall. Pain exploded through my back where the old scars were. "You'll do what you're told. Or did you forget what happens when you disobey?"

"Let him go," my father said calmly. "He'll agree. Won't you, Alessandro?"

I looked at my father, at the cancer eating him from the inside, at the empire he'd built on other people's blood. At Nico, who'd beaten me unconscious five years ago for trying to leave. Who'd do it again right now if our father gave the word.

"Do I have a choice?"

"No," my father said. "But I'm asking anyway."

That was almost funny. Almost. "Fine. I'll marry him."

"Good. The ceremony is in three months. You'll move into the compound tomorrow so the families can see unity." My father pulled out papers, already prepared. "Sofia's handling the legal details. Marco's man will sign tomorrow."

"Does Dante even know about this yet?"

"He will soon enough." My father smiled. "Marco says he'll agree. Apparently the boy is smart enough to see the strategic value."

Strategic value. That's what I was now. A chess piece in their game.

Nico released me and went back to his scotch. "This is ridiculous. We should be preparing for war, not playing house with the Morettis."

"When I'm dead, you can run things however you want," my father said coldly. "Until then, you follow my orders. Both of you."

I left before anyone could see how badly my hands were shaking. Made it to my studio before the panic attack hit. The walls closed in. My chest tightened. I slid down to the floor and tried to remember Dr. Elena's breathing exercises.

In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight.

It didn't help. Nothing helped when the weight of everything came crashing down.

I was going to marry Dante Moretti. The man whose family my father had murdered. The man who'd looked at me tonight with pure hatred burning in his dark eyes. The man who'd wrapped his hands around my throat and made me feel something other than guilt for the first time in five years."

My phone buzzed. Unknown number.

"This wasn't my idea. But I'll make it work. Three months. Then you're mine. - DM"

Dante. Somehow he already knew. Already planning, calculating, figuring out how to use this marriage for whatever revenge he had in mind.

I should've been terrified. Instead, I felt something almost like relief. At least with Dante, I knew where I stood. He hated me. Wanted to destroy me. It was honest in a way nothing else in my life had been for years.

I typed back before I could think better of it.

"I won't fight you."

The reply came immediately.

"I know. I felt it tonight when my hands were on your throat. You wanted me to finish it. That's going to be a problem."

"Why?"

"Because I need you alive for this to work. Which means I need you to start acting like you want to survive. Can you do that, or are you too busy playing martyr?"

I could almost see him, confident and sharp and so certain of himself. So different from me.

"I'll survive. I always do.*

"Good. Because if anyone's going to destroy you, it's going to be me. On my terms. Understand?"

I stared at the message. At the casual cruelty of it. The absolute certainty that he owned this situation, owned me already.

"Yes."

"Tomorrow morning, 9 AM. Sofia's office. We're signing papers. Wear something that covers those bruises. I don't need everyone knowing I can't control my temper."

The arrogance was breathtaking. Like the bruises were an inconvenience for him, not evidence of assault.

"Anything else?"

"Yeah. Start packing. You're moving into the compound tomorrow afternoon. The sooner we start this charade, the sooner I can figure out how to use you."

Use me. Not work with me. Not even tolerate me. Use me like the tool I'd become.

I should've been angry. Should've thrown the phone across the room. Instead, I just felt tired.

"I'll be there."

His final message appeared.

"And Alessandro? Don't make me regret not finishing what I started tonight."

**DANTE**

Marco was waiting in my apartment when I got back from Sofia's casino. He sat in my chair, drinking my whiskey, looking like he was deciding whether to kill me or just break a few bones.

"You put your hands on a Santoro at a peace talk." He said it quietly. That's how I knew he was furious. Marco only got quiet when he was ready to do violence.

"I saw the ring."

"I don't care if you saw God himself. You don't sabotage years of planning because you can't control yourself." He stood up. "I should cut you loose right now."

"Then do it."

"Don't test me, Dante."

We stared at each other. Finally, Marco sat back down. "Sofia called with a proposal. A marriage alliance between you and Alessandro Santoro."

I laughed. "That's insane."

"It's brilliant. A legal marriage means shared assets, shared interests. Neither family can move against the other without destroying themselves."

"I'm not marrying a Santoro."

"Yes, you are. Because I'm ordering you to. And because it's the perfect position to destroy them from the inside." Marco leaned forward. "You marry the boy. Learn everything about their operation, their weaknesses, their secrets. Vittorio's dying. When he's gone, the family will fracture. You'll be perfectly positioned to make sure it falls our way."

"By marrying Alessandro."

"By making them trust you. Making him trust you." Marco smiled. "The kid didn't fight back when you attacked him. He's weak, guilty, perfect for manipulation. You play the long game, make him dependent on you, and when the time comes, you take everything."

I thought about Alessandro's exhaustion. The way he'd just let me hurt him.

"He'll never trust me."

"He doesn't have to trust you. He just needs you." Marco poured more whiskey. "You've been playing parts for five years. This is just another one. Sign the papers tomorrow. Move into the compound. And when Vittorio dies, we make our move."

After he left, I texted Alessandro. Told him what to expect, where to be, how this would work. I kept my messages short and commanding because that's what he'd respond to. Weak people needed someone to tell them what to do.

His replies were exactly what I expected. Compliant. Resigned. No fight at all.

Three months until the wedding. Three months to get inside the Santoro operation. Three months to position myself perfectly.

Then I'd destroy them all.

*******************

Sofia sat behind her desk, Alessandro on one side of the room, me on the other. Tommy stood by the door.

"You're both here to sign the preliminary marriage contract. Three months from today, you'll have the ceremony. In the meantime, Alessandro moves into the DeLuca compound."

"My compound," I corrected. "Marco's giving me the east wing. Alessandro lives there, under my supervision."

Alessandro looked up, surprise flickering across his face.

"Under your supervision," Sofia repeated.

"He's marrying into my family. He follows my rules." I looked directly at Alessandro. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"No." His voice was quiet.

"Speak up. I can't hear you."

"I said no. It won't be a problem." He met my eyes this time, and I saw something flash there. Anger, maybe.

"Good. Then we understand each other."

Sofia slid papers across the desk. "Standard alliance contract with marriage clauses. You'll share financial assets after the ceremony. Any violence between you violates the agreement. Essentially, you're bound to each other."

Alessandro signed without reading. Just picked up the pen and signed his name in neat letters. An artist's handwriting. It annoyed me.

I signed after him, making sure my signature was bolder, bigger.

"Congratulations," Sofia said. "You're now officially engaged. Alessandro, I suggest you pack light. Dante doesn't seem like the patient type."

"I'll have my things sent over this afternoon," Alessandro said quietly.

"No." I stood up. "You pack one bag. Essentials only. You're not moving your whole life in."

"The marriage is permanent," Sofia pointed out.

"The marriage is strategic. He doesn't need to get comfortable." I headed for the door. "Alessandro, you have two hours. Be ready when I pick you up."

"I can drive myself."

"No, you can't. You don't go anywhere without me knowing about it now. That's the deal." I smiled without warmth. "Two hours. Don't be late."

Tommy followed me out. "You're really going to do this? Marry a Santoro?"

"I'm going to use a Santoro. There's a difference."

"He seems broken already."

"That's what makes it easy. Broken people are predictable. He'll do what I tell him because he doesn't know how to do anything else."

"And when Marco makes his move?"

"Then Alessandro Santoro will learn what it feels like to lose everything, just like I did. Except he'll be alive to feel it."

**************

The Santoro estate was massive and cold. I didn't bother knocking, just walked through the front door like I owned it.

Alessandro was in his studio, packing art supplies. Paintings covered the walls. The same burning building over and over, rendered in different lights, different angles. My family's estate. He'd been painting my family's death for years.

"What the hell is this?"

He turned, startled. "You're early."

"I asked you a question."

"They're paintings. Obviously."

I walked closer, examining each canvas. The detail was disturbing. He'd researched the fire, knew exactly how the flames had looked.

"Why?"

"Because I can't forget it. I tried. Painted other things. But this is all that comes out."

"You paint my family's murder like it's art."

"I paint my guilt. There's a difference." He met my eyes. "You're not the only one who can't move on."

I grabbed his jaw, forcing him to keep looking at me. "Don't compare us. You feel guilty. I lost everything. They're not the same."

"I know." He didn't pull away. "I never thought they were."

I released him. "You have five minutes to finish packing. Leave the paintings."

"They're mine."

"I don't care. You're not decorating my space with your guilt trip. Five minutes, Alessandro. Then we're leaving whether you're ready or not."

He appeared exactly five minutes later with one bag and a box of art supplies.

"Ready?" I asked.

"No. But I don't think that matters."

"It doesn't." I took his bag. "Let's go. You've got a lot to learn about how this is going to work."

We walked out together. I saw the servants watching. Saw Nico at the top of the stairs with a smile that promised violence. Saw the fear in Alessandro's shoulders.

When we pulled up to the compound, Marco was waiting.

"Alessandro Santoro, welcome to the family."

Alessandro shook his hand. "Thank you for having me."

"Dante will show you to your rooms. We're all friends here now. Aren't we, Dante?"

"Best friends," I said.

I led Alessandro inside to the east wing. Two bedrooms with a shared sitting room. His space was smaller.

"This is you. My room is across the hall. You don't leave this wing without telling me. You don't meet with anyone without my approval. And you don't contact your family without clearing it with me first."

"Am I a prisoner?"

"You're my fiancé. Act like it." I stepped closer. "Here's how this works. You do what I say, when I say it, and maybe we get through this without anyone else dying. You fight me, and I'll make sure your compliance becomes permanent. Understand?"

He looked at me with those dark, tired eyes. "Perfectly."

"Good." I turned to leave. "Dinner is at seven. Don't be late."

"Or what?"

I smiled. "Find out if you want. I'm curious how much pushing you can actually take before you break completely."

His face went pale, and I felt satisfaction curl in my chest.

Three months. I could play nice for three months.

Then Alessandro Santoro would learn exactly what kind of man he'd married.