From Mob Princess to Mugshot Photographer novel Chapter 35

**Chapter 8**

Fake.

Every single goddamn thing was a facade.

Sienna’s tears, her helpless little-girl act—it was all a performance, a carefully crafted charade.

The PTSD that had twisted him into a pretzel for her, the excuse he wielded for every despicable thing he had done—it was all a lie, too.

Even Vesper’s death—just another thread in the tangled web of deceit they had woven together.

These hands, stained with the weight of lives extinguished, had made the call on who would live and who would perish. He had prided himself on his cunning, convinced he could see every angle, every possible outcome.

But now he realized he had been played like a fool by some conniving bitch.

What stung worse was the truth that he had been the one to shatter Vesper. The woman who had bled alongside him for a decade, who understood him better than anyone else ever could.

He had turned against her, tortured her with his betrayal, pushed her away until she was nothing but a distant memory.

Rage and regret collided violently within his chest, a tempest brewing that threatened to consume him whole.

The killing intent radiated from him, a palpable heat rising off him like the oppressive warmth from asphalt under the sun.

BANG.

With a single, ferocious kick, he sent the door flying off its hinges, stepping through the threshold with an air that could only be likened to that of the Reaper himself.

The room fell into a suffocating silence, a hush so profound it felt like the world had stopped turning.

Sienna’s triumphant grin morphed into a mask of stone, then crumbled into sheer terror. Her face drained of color, turning as pale as a ghost.

Lana, caught off guard, fumbled the ornate jewelry box Sienna had just handed her. The box hit the floor with a resounding thud, and diamonds and pearls scattered like fallen stars across the carpet.

Without a second thought, Lana bolted, scrambling over herself to escape through the door, leaving Sienna to face the storm alone.

Sienna slumped back against the couch, desperately trying to regain her composure. She forced her lips into what might have passed for a smile—if it had been on a corpse. She began to rise, her voice trembling. “Dante, sweetheart, please just listen—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

In three swift strides, he closed the distance, his hand clamping around her throat with a vice-like grip, slamming her into the wall with such force that the drywall cracked under the impact.

The breath was knocked from her lungs, darkness creeping in at the edges of her vision. Her body screamed for air, but all she could muster was a desperate gasp.

**Chapter 8**

Dante loomed over her, his eyes ablaze with fury, a wild, shattered intensity flickering behind them.

“The PTSD was a lie, wasn’t it?

“Vesper’s death? Just another fabrication of your twisted mind?

“Everything from the very beginning—every tear, every setup—you orchestrated it all, didn’t you?”

Each word sliced through the air like a razor, sharp and unforgiving.

Sienna went slack in his grip, the murderous fire in his gaze melting her insides into a puddle of fear.

Her teeth chattered, her mind racing but unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a response.

Her pulse thudded violently against his thumb, each beat threatening to burst under the pressure.

She had never felt so close to death before.

In the crimson depths of his eyes, she saw herself—small, warped, and utterly disposable.

Something inside her fractured.

Words spilled forth in a jagged, frantic rush.

She confessed how she had infiltrated the Red Spider Lily, how she had recognized his power within the first week.

She recounted how she had rehearsed the orphan tale until it became indistinguishable from her own memories.

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