Siena POV
I was still shivering on the nursery floor amidst the shattered perfume bottles when the heavy doors swung open. It wasn't Dante. It was Greta, Elder Adeline’s high-ranking maid, flanked by two muscular female Associates.
"The Elder has suffered a severe heart episode," Greta announced, her tone leaving no room for refusal. "She requests the Queen's presence immediately."
My mind was too fractured from the phantom feeling of the garrote wire to fight back. Rosa tried to intervene, but the Associates practically dragged my numb, pale body out of the room and down the corridor to the East Wing Suite.
The air inside Adeline's quarters was thick with the suffocating scent of expensive herbs and old perfume. Adeline lay in her massive four-poster bed, clutching her chest in a theatrical display of agony.
"You send your lowly maid, Gia, to the courtyard to mock my ancient bloodline," Adeline gasped out, her eyes sharp with calculated malice. "Is this how the commoner Queen repays the Castillo family? By instructing your servants to humiliate us?"
Before I could even formulate a response through my dissociation, the heavy suite doors crashed open.
Dante strode in. The sharp, metallic scent of gunpowder and fresh blood clung to his tailored suit—he had just returned from a high-level Commission meeting. His dark eyes swept the room, instantly assessing my trembling frame before locking onto the Elder.
"Aunt," Dante’s gravelly voice was a lethal purr as he approached the bed. "Are you suspecting I instructed my wife to insult your bloodline?"
The absolute, suffocating authority of the Dark Don instantly crushed the air out of the room. Adeline paled, her fake illness suddenly feeling terrifyingly real. Dante didn't wait for her answer. He picked up the glass of water and her heart pills from the nightstand, leaning over her. He pressed the pills to her lips with a forceful, undeniable dominance—a silent death warning.
"Drink. You need your strength," he commanded softly. Adeline swallowed, her hands shaking.
Dante turned his cold gaze to his Capo, Luca, who stood by the door. "Take the maid, Gia, to the Underground Interrogation Room. Twenty lashes with a garrote wire. Then throw her in the cells."
I flinched at the word *wire*, the phantom pain in my throat flaring, but Adeline looked visibly relieved by the brutal concession. Desperate to regain her footing, she pushed a beautiful young woman forward from the shadows.
"Dante, my granddaughter Ami is of pure blood," Adeline urged nervously. "She can assist you with estate matters while Siena is... unwell."
Luca stepped closer to Dante, completely ignoring Ami. "Boss," he whispered, "the Queen is shaking."
Dante didn't even glance at Ami. He crossed the room in two long strides, scooped me up bridal style against his hard, gun-metal-scented chest, and walked out, leaving Adeline seething in her bed.
Back in the absolute safety of the Master Suite, the estate doctor administered a mild sedative. I drifted into a feverish nightmare. Chiara’s face twisted in a grotesque sneer as the wire cut into my windpipe. Leo’s cold, dead eyes watched me choke on my own blood.
I jolted awake, gasping for air, my hands clawing at my throat.
"Siena."
Dante was sitting on the edge of the bed, his rough thumb gently stroking my pale cheek. I lunged upward, burying my face into the crook of his neck. My fingers dug desperately into his broad shoulders, clinging to him like a drowning woman to a raft.
"Shh, you are safe," Dante murmured, his massive arms wrapping around me, locking me in his embrace. He thought Adeline's ambush had terrified me. "Leo is secure in the nursery, and Chiara has been settled in the outer district. No one will touch your family."
Those names were pure acid in my veins. A violent sob tore from my throat. I clutched his shirt, my voice cracking with raw, hysterical desperation.
"I don't want them!" I cried out, trembling violently against his chest. "I don't want Leo, and I don't want Chiara! Dante, I only want you. Please, only look at me. Only protect me. Please!"
Dante froze. To him, a mother abandoning her flesh and blood and a sister forsaking her sibling was sheer madness. But as I pressed my tear-soaked face against his neck, begging for his singular devotion, I felt the dangerous, predatory shift in his muscles. Beneath his shock, the Dark Don’s twisted, possessive soul was deeply, darkly satisfied by my absolute submission.
