From Mob Princess to Mugshot Photographer novel Chapter 34

**TITLE: Storm Behind Sleeps by George Orwell 34**
**Chapter 7**

As dawn crept in, Dante stirred awake, his head throbbing like a drum. A soft, rhythmic breathing against his chest pulled him from the depths of sleep.

With a jolt, he opened his eyes wide. There, tangled amidst the sheets, was Sienna—completely bare, lost in a deep slumber.

The bed resembled a battlefield, sheets askew, remnants of the previous night scattered like fallen soldiers. The air was thick with the scent of sex, mingled with the sickly-sweet perfume that seemed to cling to Sienna’s skin like a second layer.

His mind felt like a blank canvas, devoid of any coherent thought. The last memory that flickered in his mind was of that damned soup she had brought him, a gesture that seemed innocent at the time.

Suddenly, the shrill buzz of his comm sliced through the haze, vibrating wildly on the nightstand. The screen lit up, a chaotic display of notifications.

“Mr. Corsaro, are you in there? Answer me!”

Before he could fully process the urgency, the door beeped loudly, an emergency override code.

It was his lieutenant, panic lacing his voice.

“Dante!” The door swung open with a force that sent a rush of air into the room. Protocol allowed them this intrusion if they suspected he was in danger.

Three of his men followed closely behind the lieutenant, their eyes widening in shock as they took in the scene before them.

Sienna stirred, awakening abruptly to the sight of an audience. A gasp escaped her lips as she instinctively clutched the sheet, pulling it around her body. She pressed herself against Dante’s back, a frightened rabbit cornered by the unexpected.

Yet in her eyes, there was a glimmer of something else—victory.

A chill swept through Dante, icy tendrils wrapping around his heart. He struggled to breathe, the weight of the situation crashing down on him.

Then, like a storm rolling in, the Boss stepped into the room.

His gaze swept over the chaos. The surprise on his face morphed into cold, unyielding disappointment in mere seconds.

“Your comm went haywire. Emergency signal. We’ve been trying to reach you for six hours straight. Thought you might be bleeding out somewhere.”

His voice remained eerily calm, amplifying the tension in the room. “Guess you were just busy getting your dick wet instead.”

Dante’s mouth opened, but no words emerged.

“Family doesn’t get involved in who you choose to sleep with.” The Boss’s eyes were like shards of ice, unrelenting and unforgiving.

“But you made your bed—literally. Vesper asked me to keep an eye on this girl before she vanished. So congratulations—Sienna is officially your problem now. She reports to you. You’re responsible for her. Every. Single. Thing.”

Dante felt as though he had been submerged underwater, gasping for air. He yearned to explain, to articulate that he had no recollection of any of this.

But when his gaze locked with the Boss—the man who had forged this family from bloodshed and loyalty—every thought crumbled to dust.

The crew surrounding him appeared frozen, caught between laughter and the urge to flee.

Lana, quick to seize the moment, interjected with a grin that was all too wide.

“Hey, this calls for a celebration! Why wait? Let’s do it right—family style. We should get these two hitched by the weekend!”

Dante squeezed his eyes shut, releasing a long, heavy breath. When he opened them again, the weight of defeat settled over him like a shroud.

The following day, they forcibly escorted him to the makeshift chapel in the east wing. He was shoved into a rental tuxedo that felt restrictive, the fabric pulling uncomfortably at his shoulders.

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