Claimed By The Enemy

**DANTE**

"You're sure it's them?"

Marco's voice cut through the smoke in his office. I stared at the photographs spread across his desk. Vittorio Santoro. Nico Santoro. And a younger one I didn't recognize.

"The Santoros requested the meeting themselves. Sofia's casino, two hours." I kept my voice steady even though my hands wanted to shake. Five years I'd waited for this. Five years of learning, planning, becoming someone my family wouldn't recognize.

"And you're going to sit there and talk peace with the men who killed your family?" Marco lit a cigar, watching me carefully. He'd found me half-dead from grief and stupidity five years ago, turned me into something useful. I owed him everything, but that didn't mean he owned my choices.

"I'm going to gather information. See what they want."

"Information." He said it like he didn't believe me. "Dante, I took you in because you were smart. Don't make me regret that by doing something stupid tonight."

I met his eyes. "My father was working toward peace when they burned him alive. Seventeen people, Marco. My mother, my sisters, everyone. You want me to just forget that?"

"I want you to be strategic. Revenge without planning is just suicide." He stood up, adjusting his suit jacket. "Tommy goes with you. And you follow Sofia's rules. No weapons in the negotiation room, no violence on her floor."

"I know the rules."

"Knowing them and following them are different things." He moved toward the door, then stopped. "The Santoros have been weakening. Vittorio's getting old, his operations are slowing. We're close to making our move, but we're not there yet. Don't ruin years of work because you can't control yourself for one night."

After he left, I picked up a photograph of the younger Santoro. Alessandro, according to our intelligence. Twenty-six, rarely seen at family operations. There were notes about art galleries and exhibitions. An artist in a crime family. It would've been funny if his last name wasn't Santoro.

I tucked my sister's rosary into my pocket. She'd been fourteen. Still believed in guardian angels and happy endings. The fire had taken that innocence and burned it into ash along with everything else.

Tommy drove us to the casino in silence. He knew better than to make jokes tonight. We'd been friends since Marco brought me in, and he'd seen me at my worst. Knew what this meeting meant.

Sofia's casino glittered effortlessly. Neutral ground where the rules actually meant something because Sofia Ricci didn't tolerate disrespect. She'd built her empire on being the only person both sides could trust, and she protected that reputation viciously.

She met us at the private elevator, dressed in black that probably cost more than most people made in a month. "Dante. Tommy. The Santoros are already upstairs. You understand my rules?"

"No weapons in the room. No violence on your floor." I recited it back to her.

"Good. Because whatever you're thinking about doing, don't. This peace talk benefits everyone,