Betrayed Heiress: Married To The Devil

Seraphina POV

An hour later, the suffocating air of the estate was replaced by the gritty reality of the neutral zone. I sat in the back of a bulletproof Rolls-Royce parked across from The Serpent's Kiss, an underground club hidden behind a dilapidated butcher shop.

I handed Ruby an antique gold coin bearing the secondary crest of the Moretti family, along with a folded note. My 18th birthday. Marino Estate. If you want a piece of New York, be there.

"Find Damien Falcone," I instructed, my voice steady. "Give this only to him."

Ruby swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she took the items, but she nodded and slipped out of the car. The wait was agonizing, but when she finally returned, she was breathless, her eyes wide with residual fear.

"He cleared the room the moment he saw the coin," Ruby panted, settling into the leather seat. "He looked dangerous, Miss Sera. But he smiled and said, 'Tell your princess I love a good party. I'll be there.'"

A cold satisfaction settled in my chest. The Devil had taken the bait.

On our way back to the estate, the driver took Fifth Avenue. The car slowed to a crawl in the afternoon traffic outside the luxury boutiques. Through the tinted, bulletproof glass, I spotted several Valenti Associates lingering on the corner. They pointed at my car, their faces twisted in mocking sneers. I could easily read their lips: Used goods.

Near them, a group of society wives whispered behind their gloved hands, their eyes gleaming with malicious delight.

Ruby’s fists clenched in her lap, her face flushing with indignation. "They're calling you damaged goods, Miss Sera. They're saying Carissa is the angel the Valentis deserve. I should go out there and—"

"No," I said, my voice devoid of emotion, stopping her from reaching for the door handle. "Let them talk. The dead don't need a reputation."

The humiliation didn't break me; it only fed the inferno burning in my veins. Tomorrow, I would silence them all.

Hours later, midnight draped my suite in heavy shadows. The estate was dead quiet. I stood by the window, staring out at the moonlit grounds, when a soft tap sounded against the balcony glass.

Before I could react, the door slid open. A tall, broad-shouldered shadow slipped into my room, bringing with him the chill of the night air and the sharp, intoxicating scent of aged whiskey and gunpowder.

Damien Falcone moved with the lethal grace of a predator. In a heartbeat, he crossed the room and pinned me against the wall, his large hand resting dangerously close to my throat. His dark eyes searched mine, stripping away my defenses.

"Are you playing games, little bird, or do you really want to dance with the Devil?" his voice was a low, gravelly threat that sent a shiver down my spine.

I didn't flinch. I looked straight into the abyss of his eyes. "I want to burn our enemies to the ground. I need your fire."

A slow, wicked smirk curved his lips. He reached into his tailored jacket and pulled out a polished 9mm bullet. He pressed the cold metal into my palm, his fingers lingering over mine.

"This is my promise," Damien whispered, his breath brushing my ear. "Tomorrow, I'm coming for you."

He released me and vanished over the balcony as silently as he had arrived. I clutched the bullet, the metal warming against my skin.

Suddenly, the suite doors burst open.

Jasmine marched in, flanked by Bridget, the head maid, and another girl. Jasmine’s eyes darted around the room, landing on the open balcony doors. "I heard a man's voice!" she sneered, dropping all pretense of respect. "Sophia was right. You are nothing but a puttana(whore) sneaking men into your room!"

I slowly slipped the bullet into my pocket and turned to face them. "Ruby," I commanded, my voice echoing in the tense silence. "Slap her."

Ruby didn't hesitate this time. She stepped forward and struck Jasmine across the face with a resounding crack. Jasmine shrieked, stumbling backward.

"Miss Seraphina!" Bridget gasped, stepping forward. "Have you lost your mind? For the sake of your reputation, you must—"

I grabbed the heavy crystal vase from the console table and hurled it to the floor. It shattered into a thousand glittering pieces, the violent crash making all three maids flinch.

"Fetch the butler," I ordered Ruby, my eyes locked on Bridget's pale face.

When the elderly butler arrived, taking in the shattered glass and the trembling maids, I delivered my first decree as the true heir of my bloodline.

"Jasmine is to be sold to the lowest brothel in New Orleans," I said, my tone absolute. "Break the legs of Bridget and the other one, and throw them out of the estate. I never want to see them in New York again."

The butler blanched, but the sheer authority in my gaze left no room for argument. He bowed deeply. The purge had begun.