BECAUSE OF HIS SIZE, THE MAFIA BOSS WAS REJECTED BY FIVE FIANCÉES WHO CALLED HIM A MONSTER — UNTIL A CLUMSY AMERICAN BAKER AGREED TO BECOME HIS BRIDE AND UNCOVERED THE DEADLIEST SECRET IN MILAN!

When consciousness returned, it came with a pounding headache and the metallic taste of iron in my mouth.

I opened my eyes to find myself tied securely to a heavy wooden chair in the middle of a damp, derelict warehouse. The air smelled of stagnant canal water, motor oil, and dried lavender.

Through the cracked, grime-covered windows, I could see the rusted cranes of the old industrial shipping canal on the southern outskirts of Milan.

Standing ten feet in front of me, checking a silver snub-nosed revolver, was Dante Rossi.

Beside him stood four heavily armed mercenaries, including two rogue capos who had turned their backs on the Moretti bloodline.

"Ah, the sleeping beauty awakens," Dante sneered, stepping forward and tapping the cold barrel of the revolver against my jawline. "Did you enjoy your little waltz, Donna Moretti? You looked very regal playing the queen of Lombardy."

I didn't flinch. I spat the taste of chloroform onto the concrete floor, glaring up at him with cold, defiant eyes.

"You're an idiot, Dante," I said, my voice steady despite the dry burn in my throat. "Do you honestly think you can kidnap the wife of Luca Moretti and survive until morning?"

Dante laughed—a high, manic, unhinged sound that echoed off the metal rafters.

"Luca won't survive the hour, you stupid American brat! Do you know what time it is? It is eleven-thirty. In thirty minutes, the High Commission’s deadline expires. I have sent Luca an ultimatum: if he wants to see your pretty throat unslit, he must come to this warehouse alone, unarmed, and sign over the full executive authority of the Moretti conglomerate to me."

"He will come," I said, a dangerous smile spreading across my lips. "And when he walks through that door, he won't be bringing a pen. He will bring your funeral."

Dante’s face darkened with rage. He raised his hand to strike me across the face—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

A high-pitched electronic signal echoed from the canvas purse dumped on the folding table near the door.

Dante froze. He turned around, frowning. "What is that?"

One of his mercenaries walked over, unzipping my purse and dumping the contents onto the table.

Lying among my lipstick and hotel room key was the small, sleek satellite communicator Luca had given me on the mountain pass. The LED light was flashing bright, rhythmic green.

"It's a military-grade transponder," the mercenary gasped, his face draining of color. "It’s been broadcasting a live GPS beacon since she was taken from the gala!"

Dante lunged forward, smashing the transponder with the butt of his gun, but it was already too late.

From the dark industrial road outside the warehouse, the deep, thundering roar of a twin-turbo V8 engine tore through the night like a mechanical beast.