The silence that follows Dante’s threat is heavier than the storm outside. The two surviving Lucchesi soldiers stay on their knees, staring up at us with wide, terrified eyes, their breath hitching every time Dante’s silver pistol shifts by a millimeter.
"Leo," Dante calls out, never taking his eyes off the men. "Tie them up and dump them in the back of Marco’s truck. Send them back to the Lucchesi territory with the message."
"Consider it done, boss," Leo’s voice echoes from the rafters. The metallic clink of his submachine gun signals his descent from the catwalk.
Dante turns fully toward me, his massive frame blocking the flickering orange glow of the lantern. His amber eyes are dark, a swirling storm of adrenaline and something far more dangerous as he looks down at my face. He reaches out, his large, warm hand cupping my jaw, his thumb wiping a stray drop of river water from my cheek.
"You're shivering, Gianna," he murmurs, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly rasp that always makes my heart scramble against my ribs.
"It's freezing in here, Dante," I whisper, my hands buried deep inside the pockets of his massive tactical jacket. "And I've had a very long wedding day."
A ghost of a smile touches his lips, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. He slides his hand from my jaw down to my wrist, his grip firm and unyielding as he turns me away from the blood-stained loading platform.
"We're leaving," he says. "The docks are secure. The captains know who rules the city, and the rats know what happens when they cross my perimeter."
He leads me back through the labyrinth of tobacco crates toward the rear exit where the armored SUV is idling in the dark. The wind howls, throwing a sheet of freezing rain against us the moment Dante pushes the heavy steel door open, but he instantly uses his body to shield me from the worst of the gale, ushering me into the back seat of the vehicle before sliding in beside me.
The heavy bulletproof door slams shut with a solid, pressurized thud, cutting off the roar of the storm and plunging the cabin into a warm, leather-scented quiet.
Dante doesn't say a word as the driver hits the gas, the tires spinning on the wet gravel before gripping the asphalt and launching us away from the northern warehouse. He reaches down, grabbing the edge of the heavy wool blanket that has remained on the floor of the SUV, and drapes it over my lap, tucking it around my legs with a meticulous, heavy patience.
I lean my head back against the leather headrest, my eyes closing as the sheer, crushing exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours finally catches up to me.
"Where are we going?" I ask softly, not opening my eyes. "Back to the bunker?"
"No," Dante’s deep baritone vibrates through the seat next to me. I open my eyes to find him staring at me, the amber flecks in his gaze burning with a dark, simmering intensity that makes the breath catch in my throat. "The estate is already being cleared. The master suite is secure, and my men have replaced the glass."
He reaches across the space between us, his large, calloused hand settling over my knee through the thick wool blanket. His thumb strokes a slow, heavy rhythm against the fabric, a silent promise of possession that leaves no room for escape.
"We're going home, Gianna," he whispers, his jaw tightening until the muscle ticks under his tanned skin. "The war outside is handled. Tonight, I claim my wife.”