Chapter 4

Seraphina Vitiello POV

The air in the club felt suffocating, thick with the heat of bodies and the pounding rhythm of the bass.

I stood near a pillar, isolated in the shadows, watching the party rage around me.

Roxy had moved from Dante's lap to the center of the room, commanding attention with a microphone in hand.

She was recounting her days in Europe, playing to the crowd.

"I used to run with the pit crews in Monaco," she bragged, her voice slurring just enough to betray the alcohol. "I've seen real speed. Not like the gridlock here in Chicago."

The men cheered, raising their glasses in a toast to her vanity.

Dante looked at her with a gaze that bordered on adoration, though it was the look of a boy impressed by a shiny new toy rather than a man admiring an equal.

She thinks she knows cars just because she's slept with the mechanics, I thought bitterly.

Roxy's eyes scanned the crowd until they found me in the corner.

She smiled, a predatory glint sharpening her gaze.

"Hey, Seraphina!" she called out.

The room fell into a sudden, expectant hush.

"Dante tells me you drive a Honda Civic," she said, her laughter cutting through the silence. "Is that true?"

"It's a reliable car," I replied, keeping my voice even.

"Reliable," she mocked. "Just like you. Boring. Safe."

She sauntered over to me, swaying precariously in her heels.

"You know, there's a real race happening this weekend," she said, leaning in. "The Death Race. Underground. No rules."

I fought the urge to smirk.

I knew it.

I had won it last year.

She reached into Dante's jacket pocket, pulled out a ticket, and shoved it against my chest.

"You should come," she sneered. "Watch how the big boys play. Maybe you'll learn what it takes to handle a stick shift."

The soldiers roared with laughter.

Dante smirked, taking a slow sip of his drink. "She's a hothouse flower, Roxy," he drawled. "The smell of exhaust would make her faint."

I took the ticket.

I looked at it.

It was a VIP pass for the spectator box.

My fingers brushed the textured paper.

I didn't need a ticket.

I had an entry slot.

But they didn't know that.

I looked up at Roxy.

She was close now, deliberately invading my personal space.

That's when I saw it.

My breath hitched in my throat.

Around her neck, resting against her fake tan, was a pendant.

A piece of pale, antique jade carved into the delicate shape of a lotus.

My mother's pendant.

The one I kept in a locked jewelry box in my old room at the Moretti estate.

The one thing I hadn't packed because I thought it was safe.

The blood drained from my face, leaving me cold.

"Where did you get that?" I asked.

My voice was no longer calm.

It was low, dangerous, and vibrating with suppressed rage.

Roxy looked down at her chest, idly fingering the jade.

"Oh, this?" she asked innocently. "Dante gave it to me. He said it was just some old junk left behind in the guest room."

She looked back at Dante.

"Didn't you, baby?"

Dante shrugged, unbothered. "You left it, Seraphina. Finders keepers. Besides, it looks better on her."

The room started to spin.

That pendant was the only thing I had left of my mother.

It was the symbol of the Vitiello honor.

It was sacred.

"Give it back," I commanded.

I stepped forward.

Roxy laughed.

"Make me."