Chapter 4 No.4

Seraphina POV

Marco's fingers dug brutally into my flesh as he dragged me out of the shadowed alcove and back into the blinding light of the Grand Foyer. The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut behind us, drawing the immediate, suffocating attention of the Stark family core.

Marco shoved me forward slightly, putting on a sickeningly perfect mask of sorrow. He looked at his grandfather. "Don Silas, Arabella is unwell. The trauma of the lake... her mind is completely fractured. For the sake of the Stark reputation, she has agreed to be transferred to a sanitarium in Switzerland. She will be cared for, but she must relinquish her title."

I let out a cold, echoing laugh that sliced through the heavy silence.

"So, Marco," I projected my voice, ensuring every syllable bounced off the black-and-white marble walls, "your love for my 'resurrection' is just asking me to make room for you and your mistress, and then disposing of me like trash?"

Marco turned ashen, his jaw working soundlessly. Don Silas's face darkened like a thundercloud, the sheer disrespect of Marco's transparent cowardice offending his ruthless sensibilities.

Isabella sneered. Shoving Marco's pathetic frame aside with absolute disgust, she marched right up to the head of the family.

"A Stark bride does not share her home with a ghost," she spat, her chin raised in arrogant defiance. "You choose, Don Silas. The Moretti alliance, or this... thing."

The air in the foyer turned to ice. It was a blatant, unforgivable challenge to a Don's authority.

Before Silas could unleash his wrath, Aunt Francesca glided across the room. She stepped into Isabella's personal space, leaning in close. I strained to hear the matriarch's venomous whisper.

"The doctors in our family are very discreet, but not deaf. A baby conceived before the wedding... what a scandal that would be for the proud Moretti family."

The blood instantly drained from Isabella's face. The arrogant mafia princess deflated, trapped by her own reckless sin. Trembling with suppressed rage, she pivoted and stalked toward me.

"I don't know what game you're playing," Isabella hissed, her voice a lethal thread meant only for my ears, "but I know how to make people disappear for good. Leave, or you'll end up back at the bottom of the lake."

There it was. The confession.

I looked at her twisted, hateful face, and leaned in, my voice a soft, venomous caress. "You had to murder an innocent people to get this far, and you still ended up as a replacement bride, carrying another man's bastard in your belly."

Isabella's sanity snapped.

"Arabella is dead! She deserved to die!" she shrieked, her voice tearing through the foyer like shattered glass. She pointed a trembling finger at me, commanding her personal bodyguard. "Shut her mouth! Permanently!"

The hulking man lunged at me. I didn't freeze. Years of surviving in the shadows, of bleeding for every ounce of my strength, took over. I pivoted, dodging his meaty hands, grabbed his wrist, and twisted sharply. With my free hand, I slipped the heavy dagger from his belt. I kicked the back of his knee, sending him crashing to the marble floor with a sickening thud.

I stood over him, twirling the stolen blade effortlessly. In the periphery, I saw Damien step out of the shadows, his dark eyes flaring with a dangerous, consuming intrigue. He wasn't looking at a broken wife anymore; he was looking at a weapon.

I didn't stop. I marched toward the grand fireplace. With one vicious swipe of the dagger, I slashed the massive, oil-painted engagement portrait of Marco and Isabella. The canvas tore with a satisfying rip.

Isabella screamed. I closed the distance between us, grabbing the heavy diamond necklace-the Stark bridal gift-around her throat. I yanked. The clasp snapped, and dozens of diamonds rained down on the cold marble like frozen tears. I shoved her hard by the shoulders, sending her sprawling into the mess of her ruined dress and scattered jewels.

"Enough!"

Don Silas's roar shook the crystal chandelier. Two Stark Soldiers materialized instantly, grabbing my arms and forcing me to my knees. The cold marble bit into my skin. Don Silas towered over me, his eyes devoid of mercy.

"She is no longer a Stark. For dishonoring this family, for her madness, she is cast out. Take her away."

Take her away. The universal mafia code for execution. Marco exhaled in relief. Isabella smiled a bloody, triumphant smile from the floor.

The Soldiers hauled me up, their grips like iron. But before they could drag me toward the basement, the heavy double doors of the foyer burst open.

The estate's butler stood there, breathless and pale, his eyes wide with unprecedented terror.

"Don Silas! A messenger from New York! He says he's from the Chairman of The Commission!"