Sienna's Perspective
With agonizing slowness, Dante slid the napkin from my trembling fingers.
His handsome face remained an impenetrable mask.
"I would never snoop through your personal correspondence," Dante said, handing the crumpled linen back to me.
I smiled at him.
A cold smile, one that never reached my eyes.
Without hesitation, I invited him to a private dinner that night at our penthouse.
My final plan was simple: get him drunk enough to lower his guard, make him blindly sign the divorce papers.
Dante hesitated, fabricating an urgent meeting with the Russians.
"Are you sure you can't stay with me tonight?" I tilted my head, feigning innocence.
"I promise I'll make it up to you tomorrow," Dante said, leaning down to press a false kiss to my forehead.
Despite his refusal, I meticulously set the table in our penthouse that night, knowing his guilty conscience would force him to stop by before his supposed meeting.
I deliberately placed a bottle of high-proof vodka between our two plates.
Sure enough, he came.
When he finally arrived, I challenged him to a drink, a toast to our future family.
Dante smiled slightly, raising the crystal glass to his lips.
Before the liquid touched his tongue, frantic knocking erupted at the door.
"Boss! There's a problem at the safe house!" the consigliere yelled.
I moved instantly, blocking his path to the door.
"Stay with me," I said. A final, desperate test of his loyalty to us.
Dante gently but firmly moved me aside, pressed a hasty kiss to my cheek, and disappeared into the corridor.
I stood there, watching him vanish.
I turned to the maids and ordered them to pack up every gift he'd ever given me.
