“I Bought You So You’d Beg”—The Billionaire Crime King Paid $50 Million for the Wrong Daughter

By midnight, the tide of the battle had turned entirely.

Dante’s secondary strike team—over a hundred heavily armed Bellamy enforcers led by his top lieutenants—arrived at the Long Island estate, surrounding Marcus Vance’s tactical forces from behind.

Caught in a deadly crossfire between the reinforced basement defenses and the incoming Bellamy armadas, Marcus was forced to retreat to his helicopters, flying back toward his private yacht anchored in international waters off the coast of New York.

The mansion was left in ruined grandeur, smoke drifting through the broken stained-glass windows into the cold night air.

Inside the command bunker beneath the estate, Dante sat at a massive digital strategy table with Evelyn standing right beside him.

For the first time, she wasn't treated as a captive; she was sitting at the head of the table, looking at global financial maps, shipping route ledgers, and tactical intelligence files.

“Marcus Vance retreated to his superyacht, the Sovereign,” Marcus reported, pointing to a flashing red tracking dot five miles off the coast of Montauk. “He has two hundred mercenaries aboard, heavy digital security, and anti-aircraft defenses. He’s preparing to sail back to international waters at dawn.”

“If he reaches international waters, we can't touch him without starting a global war with the European syndicate families,” Dante said, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“He won't sail,” Evelyn spoke up suddenly, her clear voice drawing the attention of every hardened lieutenant in the room.

Dante turned to look at her. “Why do you say that, Evelyn?”

Evelyn leaned over the digital map, her green eyes sharp and intelligent. “When I worked in your study, I organized the Vance financial archives. Marcus Vance doesn't operate on military power alone; he operates on pride and debt. He spent twenty-four years hiding me as a secret asset to secure a marriage alliance with the Italian Syndicate in Rome.”

She pointed to a secondary file on the screen.

“If he leaves New York empty-handed without me, his Italian partners will realize he lost control of his own bloodline,” Evelyn continued confidently. “His stock in the European banking sector will plummet by morning. He needs to capture me tonight before the sun rises, or his entire political credibility collapses.”

Dante looked at her, a look of profound, soaring pride illuminating his dark eyes.

“She’s right,” Dante declared, a cold, ruthless smile spreading across his face. “Marcus won't leave. He’s waiting for us to make a defensive move so he can ambush us.”

Dante stood up, laying his hands flat on the table. “So we aren't going to defend. We are going to attack.”