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 ballroom instantly erupted into screams and the chaotic crashing of broken crystal.

In the pitch black, Khloe felt a violent jolt of primal terror seize her throat. But before she could cry out, a massive arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her off her feet and pinning her back against a solid marble pillar.

“Down,” Dante’s voice commanded in her ear, steady, calm, and lethal.

A deafening CRACK echoed through the hall—a suppressed gunshot that shattered the chandelier directly above where they had been standing seconds prior. Crystal shards rained down like razor-sharp hail.

Khloe curled into Dante’s chest, her fingers clutching his lapels. She could smell the crisp gunpowder in the air mixed with his cedar cologne. Dante drew a sleek, matte-black handgun from beneath his jacket with a fluid, practiced motion.

Emergency backup generators groaned to life, casting the vast ballroom in an eerie, blood-red emergency light.

Three masked men in tactical gear were moving rapidly through the side exits, spraying suppressive fire into the ceiling to create mass panic among the elite patrons. Across the room, Paulie and two Varga enforcers were already returning fire with surgical precision, dropping one shooter instantly against the velvet drapes.

“Paulie! Secure the south perimeter!” Dante shouted, his voice cutting through the shrieks of the crowd.

“On it, boss! The garage exit is compromised!” Paulie roared back.

Dante looked down at Khloe. His eyes were blazing with a cold, terrifying fire, but his hands on her waist were completely steady. “Are you hit?”

Khloe shook her head frantically, brushing crystal dust from her bare shoulders. “No! I’m fine! Who are they?”

“Falcone’s cleanup crew,” Dante gritted out. “He didn't come to talk tonight. He came to execute a coup.”

He grabbed her hand, interlocking his scarred fingers with hers, and led her swiftly down a private service hallway behind the catering stations. Blood stained the hardwood floor where one of Falcone's infiltrators had already been neutralized. Khloe forced herself not to look down, keeping her eyes fixed on the broad, immovable wall of Dante’s back.

They burst through a set of heavy steel double doors leading to the building’s rear courtyard. The freezing Seattle snow immediately lashed against Khloe’s bare shoulders, but she barely felt the cold over the adrenaline surging through her blood.

Waiting by the iron service gate was a customized black armored SUV, its engine idling with a low, predatory rumble.

Suddenly, a voice snarled from the shadows beside the trash compactors.

“Khloe!”

Khloe froze. Her blood turned to liquid ice.

Stepping out from behind a concrete pillar was Jared. He was leaning heavily on a pair of metallic crutches, his face bruised and pale, his eyes wide with a crazed, manic frenzy. Behind him stood two of Falcone’s heavily armed mercenaries, their assault rifles pointed directly at Dante’s chest.

“Look at you,” Jared spat, a sick, victorious grin spreading across his split lips. “Dressed up like a high-class whore for the big boss. You thought you could run from me, bitch? You thought this mobster could save you?”

Khloe took a step back, the ghost of two years of domestic torture gripping her throat like a physical hand.

“Jared... please,” she whispered, hating herself for the tremble in her voice.

“Shut up!” Jared screamed, his crutch slipping slightly on the fresh snow. “Mr. Falcone promised me fifty grand and a one-way ticket to Mexico with you in the trunk once we put a bullet through Varga’s skull! Drop the gun, Varga, or my guys turn your pretty new bride into Swiss cheese!”

Dante did not drop the gun.

He didn't even flinch. He slowly stepped in front of Khloe, completely obscuring her from their sightline with his massive frame.

“Jared,” Dante said, his tone deceptively conversational. “I gave you a simple instruction yesterday evening. I told you that if I ever saw your face south of the canal again, Paulie would take your other knee.”

Jared laughed hysterically. “You don't have Paulie right now, you arrogant bastard! Look around! We have you outgunned three to one!”

“You are a very stupid boy,” Dante replied smoothly.

Before Jared could comprehend the words, a laser sight painted a bright red dot directly between the eyes of the mercenary to his left.

Pfft.

A single high-caliber round took the mercenary down instantly into the snow. A split second later, a second suppressed shot dropped the second guard before he could even raise his rifle.

From the roof of the adjacent brick garage, a Varga sniper stood silhouetted against the stormy night sky.

Jared’s hysterical laugh died instantly in his throat. He dropped one of his crutches, falling to his good knee in the freezing slush, his hands shaking violently as he looked from the two dead mercenaries up to Dante Varga.

Dante stepped forward, the snow crunching rhythmically beneath his polished shoes. He stood over the weeping, pathetic man, raising his matte-black pistol until the cold barrel pressed directly against Jared’s forehead.

“No... please! Dante! Mr. Varga! It was Falcone! He forced me! He threatened my family!” Jared sobbed, wetting himself in the snow.

Khloe watched from behind Dante. For two years, she had believed this man was an unstoppable monster who held her life in his hands. Now, seeing him crawling in the slush, begging for his miserable existence, the final chains around her soul shattered into dust.

“Khloe,” Dante called out quietly, without taking his eyes off Jared. “Do you want him dead?”

The question hung in the freezing night air like a guillotine blade.

Jared looked at her with wild, weeping eyes. “Khloe! Please! Tell him! We were going to get married! Remember the good times? Please!”

Khloe walked forward until she was standing beside Dante. She looked down at Jared without a single shred of fear, pity, or hesitation.

“There were never any good times, Jared,” she said, her voice like cut glass. “You are nothing to me.”

She looked up at Dante. “Don't dirty your hands with him. Let him crawl back to his uncle with the knowledge that he will never, ever touch me again.”

Dante studied her face for a long moment. Then, he lowered the weapon and delivered a brutal, crushing kick with his steel-toed oxford directly into Jared’s remaining good knee.