I Married My Ex-Fiancé's Dangerous Uncle

Vivia Genovese POV

Silas paralyzed, his brain unable to process the sudden appearance of the monster he feared most.

Dante didn't let go of his wrist.

Instead, he twisted.

Silas screamed, his knees buckling under the pressure, forcing him to bow before us.

Dante shoved him away like he was a sack of garbage.

Silas scrambled back, clutching his shattered wrist, his face drained of blood.

With terrifying indifference, Dante turned his back on the threat.

He stepped into my space, his large body blocking out the world.

He reached out, his thumb brushing away a tear that was tracking down my cheek.

His touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the violence he had just displayed.

"Did he do this?" Dante asked, his voice quiet, dangerous.

I nodded, unable to speak.

Lola stepped forward, trying to salvage the situation.

"Oh, Don Moretti," she said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "It was just a misunderstanding. Vivia is just emotional because of the drink. We were trying to help her. As family. As sisters."

Dante's head snapped toward her.

His glare was physical. It struck her like a slap.

Lola flinched, taking a step back.

"Sister?" Dante repeated, the word dripping with disdain. "You are a parasite. Do not speak to my wife. Do not look at my wife. You are not worthy to breathe the same air."

He snapped his fingers.

Four soldiers materialized from the shadows of the garden.

"Take them to the Warehouse," Dante ordered, his tone bored. "Teach my nephew the cost of disrespecting the Don's wife. Family Law."

Silas's eyes widened in horror. "Uncle! No! It's me! Silas!"

"Fifty lashes," Dante said. "For every tear she shed."

The soldiers grabbed Silas and Lola.

Lola started screaming as they were dragged away into the darkness.

Silence returned to the garden.

Dante turned back to me.

He searched my face, taking in the way I was looking at him—with awe, and fear, and relief.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Tesoro," he whispered.

The endearment—Treasure—hit me in the chest.

I hit his chest.

It was a weak, pathetic hit.

"You left me," I sobbed, the alcohol amplifying my hurt. "You left me alone with them."

I hit him again.

He didn't flinch. He didn't catch my hands.

He took the blows, standing like a stone wall.

"I know," he said. "I had to secure the borders. There was a rebellion in the South. They thought the transition of power was a weakness."

He caught my fist gently in his hand.

He brought my knuckles to his lips.

His lips were warm.

"I burned their houses down," he said against my skin, his eyes locked on mine. "And every time I lit a match, I thought of you waiting for me."

He pulled me closer, until my body was pressed against the hard planes of his.

I could feel the gun in his holster. I could feel the rapid beat of his heart.

"I will never leave you unprotected again," he vowed. "You are mine, Vivia. And I protect what is mine."

I looked up at him.

The scary enforcer of my childhood was gone.

In his place was a man who looked at me like I was the only source of light in his dark, violent world.

My heart raced, not from fear, but from something entirely new.

"Take me home, Dante," I whispered.

He swept me up into his arms, carrying me bridal style toward the car.

"Gladly."