"They're no longer a problem," Dante said flatly. "Three professionals, eliminated before they could report your location. Lorenzo thinks they're still tracking you. Buying us time."
I nodded slowly, processing. Another threat neutralized before I even knew it existed. Another example of Dante's reach.
"Good," I said. "What else?"
"We feed misinformation to three different sources," I continued, thinking it through. "Tell them the wedding's at the Basilica downtown. Tell another group it's happening at the Regent Hotel. By the time Lorenzo figures out which story is real, we're already married and the security protocols are locked down."
Vince exchanged a glance with Marcos.
"She's right," Marcos said grudgingly. "Keeps him scattered."
"It also keeps his people running in circles," I added. "If he sends teams to all three locations, he depletes resources. Gives us intelligence on how many people he actually has positioned in the city."
Dante stood and moved to the window, his silhouette framed against the glass. When he turned back, he was smiling—that dangerous expression that made my stomach tighten.
"Adjust the timeline," he instructed Marcos. "Implement her misinformation strategy. Vince, coordinate with security. I want multiple exits prepared and escape routes mapped for every contingency."
"Done," Vince said.
"And Julietta gets a full briefing on the security protocols," Dante added. "She needs to know every exit, every team position, every contingency. That was part of the deal."
I felt something shift in my chest at those words. He was honoring it. Actually honoring it, in front of his men.
Vince shifted uncomfortably, but he didn't argue.
The ring felt strange as I dressed for the wedding.
I stood in Dante's penthouse bedroom, facing a mirror that reflected a woman I barely recognized. The dress was white silk—elegant, understated, achingly simple. It fit perfectly because apparently Dante had a team of people whose entire job was knowing my measurements.
My hands were shaking.
This was fake. Temporary. A legal document designed to protect me from my father's reach. Nothing more.
And yet when I looked at my hand, at the diamond catching the late-afternoon light, my heart was racing like I was actually doing this.
Like I actually wanted to.
A knock at the door pulled me from the spiral.
"Come in."
Dante stepped through, and I forgot how to breathe.
He wore a charcoal suit that fit him like it was painted onto his body, crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, dark tie knotted with precision. He looked like something dangerous wearing expensive tailoring. Which I suppose he was.
"You're ready," he said. Not a question.
"No." I turned back to the mirror, smoothing my hands down the silk. "But apparently we're doing this anyway."
He moved behind me, his reflection appearing in the mirror. His hands found my shoulders, and I felt every nerve ending light up at the contact.
"You want to back out?"
"No." The word came out steadier than I felt. "I want to know why you picked this dress."
"Because you look like yourself in it. Not like a pawn. Not like property." His hands slid down my arms, and I watched goosebumps rise on my skin in response. "Like someone making a choice."
I turned to face him, my heart doing something complicated in my chest.
