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his every move. I was Dante Gallo's unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but na
onated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding ba
engraved initials 'D.I.' didn't stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella-his childh
unting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the cap
la's fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the
pte
phin
er, and it held a truth the diamond couldn't hide: my seven-year love story
hose name was whispered with equal parts violence and power. His empire, built on blood and laundered through the legitimate front of Gallo Imports, was as much my creati
sal was sudden, less a proposal than an afterthought, with a ceremony planned for the Feast
humb from a man who'd grown careless enough to forget his tracks. But it lan
g. She's safe now.
platinum wedding band with a single diamond set flush against the me
slid onto my finger. It was the identical band, just small
.
ante
and Is
that stole the air from my lungs. He hadn't proposed out of love. He'd proposed because Isabella was being forced into an arranged marriage with another fami
a cold, brittle sound that shatt
off his coat. He saw me standing in the dark,
e laced with the impatience of a m
ought I saw there just this morning was gone, r
ing a petty argument. "Don't be dramatic, Sera." He mo
imself had taught me. I held the phone up, pushing
he recognized the message, the ring. Then, just as quickly, the
oice flat, devoid of the emotion tha
ger. He finally understood this wasn't a game. We stared at each ot
on his heel. The door slammed behind him
walked to the kitchen, my movements steady. I pulled out the stea
sizzle, the rich aroma filling the a
elebrate my freedo

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