The Mafia Boss Kidnapped the Wrong Bride — But Refused to Give Her Back When He Saw Her Scars

The peaceful bubble burst on a cold Tuesday morning.

Dominic—Dante’s chief of security, a broad-shouldered man with a scarred jaw—entered the study without knocking.

Dante was sitting at his desk, reviewing financial reports. He looked up, instantly sensing the tension in Dominic’s posture.

“What is it?” Dante asked.

“Arthur Ashworth called the main line,” Dominic reported, setting a secure satellite phone on the desk. “He wants a sit-down. Tomorrow afternoon at neutral territory—the old glass factory near the river.”

Dante leaned back, his eyes narrowing. “What is he offering?”

“The Brooklyn waterfront,” Dominic said. “The full deeds, signed and notarized. He’s surrendering his entire claim to the shipping terminals.”

Dante let out a low, skeptical hum. “Arthur Ashworth doesn't surrender multi-million-dollar waterfront properties out of generosity. What does he want in exchange?”

“He wants Elena,” Dominic answered quietly. “He claims he wants his daughter back to settle family matters quietly. He promised a total cease-fire if you deliver her unharmed.”

Dante stood up slowly. A wave of pure, suffocating darkness rolled off him, filling the study with a lethal pressure.

“He called her his daughter?” Dante sneered softly. “After letting his future son-in-law beat her within an inch of her life?”

“It’s a trap, boss,” Dominic warned. “Ashworth’s security chief has been gathering mercenaries from the East Coast. If you take her to that meeting, they will ambush the perimeter.”

“I know it’s a trap,” Dante said, his voice dropping into a register so dark it sent a shiver down Dominic’s spine. “Arthur Ashworth thinks I’m a businessman who can be bought with docks and land deeds. He thinks Elena is a bargaining chip.”

Dante walked to the window, looking out into the garden where Elena was sitting on a stone bench, reading a book in the pale morning sunlight.

“He doesn't realize,” Dante whispered, “that I would burn all of Manhattan to the ground before I ever let him touch her again.”

“What are your orders, boss?” Dominic asked.

Dante turned around, his icy eyes flashing with terrifying resolve.

“Tell Arthur Ashworth I accept the meeting,” Dante commanded. “Mobilize all three strike teams. We aren't going to negotiate a trade tomorrow, Dominic.”