Chapter 1

For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo's unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne.

But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: "Married this morning. She's safe now."

My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials 'D.I.' didn't stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella-his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love.

He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter.

They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella's fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party."

Chapter 1

Seraphina POV:

The burner phone in my hand felt colder than the engagement ring on my finger, and it held a truth the diamond couldn't hide: my seven-year love story was a lie, and the man I was supposed to marry tomorrow was already married.

For seven years, I had been the shadow behind Dante Gallo's throne. He wasn't just the Don of the Gallo Famiglia; he was a specter haunting the city's underworld, a man whose name was whispered with equal parts violence and power. His empire, built on blood and laundered through the legitimate front of Gallo Imports, was as much my creation as his. I was the architect of his legitimate success, the strategist behind his every move, the unofficial Consigliere who knew his mind better than he knew it himself.

We were partners in everything but name. A name he finally offered me last month. The proposal was sudden, less a proposal than an afterthought, with a ceremony planned for the Feast of the Assumption-a sacred day. I'd mistaken it for a testament to our future. I was a fool.

The encrypted message wasn't meant for me. It was a mistake, a slip of the thumb from a man who'd grown careless enough to forget his tracks. But it landed in my inbox, a digital bomb detonating the life I had so carefully built.

Married this morning. She's safe now. No one can touch her.

Attached was a photo. A man's hand, unmistakably Dante's, wearing a platinum wedding band with a single diamond set flush against the metal. Engraved on the inside, I could just make out the initials: D.I.

My gaze dropped to my own hand, to the engagement ring he'd slid onto my finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The same platinum, the same diamond, the same engraving.

D.I.

Not Dante and I.

Dante and Isabella.

Isabella Falcone. His childhood sweetheart, the one he never spoke of but whose ghost always lingered between us. The truth slammed into me, a physical blow that stole the air from my lungs. He hadn't proposed out of love. He'd proposed because Isabella was being forced into an arranged marriage with another family-and marrying me was his twisted way of keeping some long-dead vow to her. My entire future was nothing but a shield for his pathetic, lingering obsession.

A laugh escaped my lips. It was a cold, brittle sound that shattered the silence of the penthouse.

The door opened, and Dante walked in, shrugging off his coat. He saw me standing in the dark, my face illuminated only by the phone's screen.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with the impatience of a man who didn't have time for moods.

I looked up, my eyes meeting his. The love I thought I saw there just this morning was gone, replaced by a chilling clarity. "We're finished."

A scoff tore from his lips, the sound of a man dismissing a petty argument. "Don't be dramatic, Sera." He moved towards me, reaching for the phone. "What is that?"

I sidestepped his grasp with a fluid precision he himself had taught me. I held the phone up, pushing the screen with its damning screenshot into his face.

His arrogant expression froze. The blood drained from his face as he recognized the message, the ring. Then, just as quickly, the mask of cold indifference snapped back into place. "It's nothing."

"I will not marry you," I said, my voice flat, devoid of the emotion that was churning like poison in my gut.

His jaw tightened. The indifference vanished, replaced by a dark anger. He finally understood this wasn't a game. We stared at each other, the seven years we'd shared stretching between us like a chasm.

"Have it your way," he snarled, turning on his heel. The door slammed behind him, the sound an echo of my decision. Final.

I stood there for a long moment, the silence pressing in. Then I walked to the kitchen, my movements steady. I pulled out the steak and vegetables I had been preparing for our anniversary dinner.

The steak hit the hot pan with a loud sizzle, the rich aroma filling the air. I would not cry. I would not break.

Tonight, I would celebrate my freedom with a good meal.