Chapter 6

Seraphina POV:

To save my parents, I force myself toward Isabella's VIP suite. The door is slightly ajar.

Through the gap, my gaze falls on Lorenzo. He is kneeling on the floor, his large, powerful hands gently massaging Isabella's ankle as she reclines on a plush chaise lounge. The sight is so tender, so intimate, the air in my lungs curdles into poison.

I push the door open. Lorenzo looks up, his expression hardening when he sees me.

"Be smart, Seraphina," he says, his voice a low, cold threat. "It will lessen their suffering."

I force my leaden feet forward until I'm standing over her. The cloying sweetness of her expensive perfume invades my nostrils.

I bow my head, my eyes fixed on the pristine white floor tiles.

"I'm sorry, Isabella," I say. The words feel like ash in my mouth. I bite my lip so hard I taste the coppery tang of my own blood.

"I accept your apology," she says, her voice dripping with false graciousness.

Lorenzo rises to his feet. "Don't let it happen again," he warns me, his eyes promising a hell I already know too well.

I turn, dragging what feels like a broken body out of that room. I will leave this place. I will escape this hell forever. It is no longer a wish; it is a vow.

The vow is a shard of steel in my chest, the only thing holding me together on the long walk back to my parents' room. When I arrive, they are finally receiving treatment. They are bruised and weak, but their first concern is for me. My mother holds my hand, her touch frail. "It's not your fault, my sweet girl," she whispers.

Tears I didn't know I had left to cry begin to fall.

The next day, I make a call. Using a burner phone and a name that isn't my own, I arrange for their transfer to a private, secure facility. From there, they will be flown out of the country, far from Lorenzo's reach.

Back at the estate, I move like a ghost through the rooms that were once my life. I gather every photograph, every gift, every letter from the past thirteen years. I carry them to the fireplace in the library and feed them to the flames. I watch the fire consume the smiling face of the boy who took ninety-nine lashes for me, and I feel nothing.

Lorenzo's Consigliere, a man named Antonio who has known me since I was a teenager, arrives that evening. He doesn't meet my eyes. He holds out a garment bag.

"The Don requires your attendance at an underworld charity auction tonight," he says, his voice flat.

In the back of the Rolls-Royce, the air is thick with a silence more suffocating than any argument. Isabella is here, of course, and the first thing I notice are the diamond earrings she's wearing. I recognize them instantly. They belonged to Lorenzo's mother, an heirloom passed down to the Don's wife. They were meant to be my earrings.

"Do you mind if I come along, Sera?" Isabella asks, her voice sickly sweet.

Before I can answer, Lorenzo speaks, his eyes on the road ahead. "Of course she doesn't."

The auction is a glittering affair, a gathering of the most powerful and dangerous families on the East Coast. Lorenzo plays his part perfectly. In front of everyone, he clasps a priceless sapphire necklace around my neck, his touch cool and proprietary. We are the perfect couple, a public portrait of power and unity.

An hour into the auction, Isabella makes her move. She glides to the stage, whispers to the auctioneer, and removes the diamond earrings.

"A last-minute addition," the auctioneer announces. "A pair of Bianchi family heirloom earrings, donated by the lovely Miss Rossi!"

A collective gasp ripples through the room; everyone here knows what those earrings represent. The whispers start immediately, a venomous tide. I can almost hear the words: The Don's legendary love for his wife is a sham. The mistress is the true queen.

I remain perfectly still, my expression a blank mask. I wait.

Just as the bidding is about to start, a man in a severe black suit steps forward. He is an officer from the Bianchi Family Trust.

He walks onto the stage, takes the earrings from the stunned auctioneer, and speaks into the microphone, his voice clear and unwavering.

"These earrings are the property of the Bianchi family. Only the legal Mrs. Bianchi has the authority to dispose of them."