I Hid Under a Cold-Hearted Mafia Boss's Table to Escape My Abusive Ex—Then He Stood Up, Broke His Bones, and Made Me His Fake Bride with a Million-Dollar Bounty on My Head

The peace of Orcas Island lasted for forty-eight hours.

On the third night, a thick, impenetrable fog rolled in from the Pacific, cloaking the cliffs and pine forests in a shroud of white mist.

Khloe was in the kitchen preparing dinner when the estate’s perimeter alarms suddenly flashed silent red on the wall-mounted tactical monitors.

Dante appeared in the hallway within two seconds, fully clad in tactical armor, an automatic rifle slung across his chest. His face was pure stone.

“Stay low,” Dante commanded, racking the bolt of his rifle. “They’re here.”

“Falcone?” Khloe asked, her heart leaping into her throat as she grabbed the small semi-automatic pistol Dante had taught her to handle the previous afternoon.

“Two tactical speedboats just breached the southern cove under the radar shadow,” Dante explained, checking the surveillance feeds on his wrist terminal. “At least twelve heavily armed mercenaries. Falcone must have spent his entire war chest to hire elite foreign contractors.”

A sudden explosion rocked the south gatehouse, sending shockwaves through the stone foundation of the main lodge. Glass rattled violently in the steel frames.

“Paulie and the perimeter team are holding the cliff trail,” Dante said, his voice completely calm despite the chaos. “We are moving to the subterranean bunker beneath the boathouse.”

He grabbed Khloe’s hand, leading her down the concealed spiral staircase behind the wine cellar.

The sound of automatic gunfire echoed from above—the sharp, distinct crackle of assault rifles echoing through the foggy night. Dante moved with the terrifying, lethal precision of a seasoned combat veteran, clearing every corridor and corner before pulling Khloe forward.

They reached the boathouse at the base of the granite cliff. Inside, an armored offshore speed vessel bobbed in the dark, churning waters of the private sea cave.

Suddenly, the heavy reinforced steel door of the boathouse was blasted inward with a deafening roar of plastic explosives.

Three mercenaries in night-vision goggles burst through the smoke, their rifles raised.

Dante didn't hesitate. He stepped in front of Khloe, opening fire with devastating accuracy. Three controlled bursts dropped the first two shooters instantly into the freezing water. The third mercenary managed to fire a wild spray of bullets as he fell.

One of the rounds caught Dante high in the left shoulder.

Dante grunted, his body jolting from the kinetic impact, but he didn't fall. He fired a final round into the third assailant, neutralizing the threat.

“Dante!” Khloe screamed, dropping to her knees beside him as dark crimson blood began to soak through his tactical sweater.

“I’m fine,” Dante gritted out through clenched teeth, leaning heavily against the boathouse control console. “Kevlar took the bulk of the impact... bullet passed through the flesh.”

He looked up at the sea cave entrance. The fog outside was illuminated by the searchlights of two incoming enemy patrol boats.

“They’ve blocked the sea exit,” Dante said, his breathing ragged. “Khloe, listen to me. There is a private emergency tunnel behind the boat lift that leads up to the old lighthouse trail. Take the satellite phone and go. Paulie will rendezvous with you at the north ridge.”

“No!” Khloe cried, her hazel eyes blazing with fierce, defiant tears as she tore a strip of cloth from her shirt and pressed it firmly against his bleeding shoulder. “I told you I’m not leaving you! We fight together or we die together!”

Dante looked at her, pain and profound love warring in his dark eyes. “You stubborn, beautiful woman...”

Before he could finish, a smoke grenade bounced across the concrete floor from the blown-out doorway, hissing thick, blinding white gas into the enclosed room.

Through the fog and smoke, a familiar, sickening voice echoed through the boathouse.