She Begged for a Husband by Morning, Never Knowing the Mafia Boss in the Shadows Had Already Chosen Her

The man who bumped into Dante didn't apologize. He was tall, with slicked-back blonde hair and a diamond pinky ring that caught the chandelier light. He sneered, his eyes dropping to Clara’s cleavage with intentional disrespect.

“Watch where you’re stepping, Cavallo,” the man slurred, holding a glass of champagne. “Or are you too distracted by the new pastry you bought?”

The entire ballroom seemed to hold its collective breath. The music continued, but the silence around them was deafening.

Dante’s grip on Clara’s waist tightened to the point of bruising, but his face remained a mask of icy calm. “Victor,” Dante said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “You are drunk. And you are disrespecting my wife. Walk away before I forget we are in polite company.”

Victor Russo. He was the head of a rival crime family that controlled the northern ports, a man Dante had been engaged in a cold war with for years.

Victor laughed, a wet, ugly sound. “Your wife? Please. Everyone knows she’s a charity case. A desperate little baker you picked up out of the gutter to clean up your image.” He took a step closer to Clara, reaching out to touch a strand of her hair. “She is pretty, though. A bit thick for my taste, but—”

Before Victor’s finger could graze her hair, Dante moved.

It happened so fast Clara barely registered it. Dante seized Victor’s wrist, twisting it violently until a loud snap echoed over the music. Victor screamed, dropping his champagne glass as he collapsed to his knees, clutching his broken arm.

“You touch what is mine,” Dante roared, his civilized veneer completely stripped away, revealing the absolute monster beneath, “and I will break every bone in your body. Get him out of my sight!”

Dante’s security detail swarmed the floor, dragging a sobbing Victor out of the ballroom.