He Betrayed Me, Now He Begs

Serafina's POV: The scene inside was sickeningly decadent. Dante was sprawled on the living room sofa, his face sallow and drawn from the hangover. Isabella stood by the window in a flimsy silk robe, nursing a glass of red wine. When she saw me, a smug smile spread across her face. "Look what the cat dragged in," she cooed softly. Her smile died instantly when Rocco stepped out from behind me, his massive frame practically filling the doorway. I held up my phone, the camera aimed dead at them. "Come on," I said with forced cheerfulness. "Smile. Consider it a souvenir of your grand love story." Isabella turned ghost-white. She instinctively tried to cover herself, her hands waving uselessly in the air. I didn't hesitate. I crossed the room in two strides and slapped her hard across the face. The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot. "Sera, what the hell are you doing?" Dante finally scrambled to his feet, glaring at me, his eyes blazing with fury. My response was another slap. I swung with everything I had, my palm connecting violently with his cheek. A sickening crack echoed as his head snapped to the side. He-a mafia boss who had never been struck a day in his life-stumbled backward, clutching his face in sheer shock and disbelief. I reached into my pocket, my fingers closing around the cold platinum of the engagement ring. I pulled it out and hurled it right at his face. The ring bounced off his cheek with a dull clink. "Trash," I spat. "Just like you." Rocco finally moved, stepping between me and Dante. His presence was like a silent, terrifying wall. He fixed Isabella with a dead-eyed stare and issued a single command: "Explain." Isabella began to tremble, the silk robe slipping off her shoulders to reveal her lingerie underneath. Tears streamed down her face as she babbled incoherently, spinning a desperate sob story that painted me as the villain. I sneered and walked right past Dante's frozen form. I drove my knee squarely into his stomach, the force of the blow doubling him over. He dropped to his knees with a choked gasp. Ignoring him, I marched straight toward Isabella. I grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back until her tear-streaked face was inches from mine. "This," I said, delivering another blistering slap, "is for seven years of my life." Another slap. "This is to make up for the gift card." A third slap. "And this is because you have no honor." She thrashed and screamed, but my grip held firm. I held her there until her screams dissolved into pathetic whimpers. Finally, with a look of pure disgust, I shoved her away, tearing the silk robe from her shoulders, stripping her of her last shred of dignity. She collapsed onto the wine-stained carpet, naked and sobbing uncontrollably. The room was filled only with her broken sobs and the heavy sound of Rocco's breathing. I dusted off my hands, as if brushing away filth. I turned to Rocco, whose face was set in a mask of cold fury. "Is this enough evidence?" I asked calmly. "Or should I throw in a few more kicks?" He slowly lowered his phone, his eyes meeting mine. His expression was complicated, but I read everything I needed to know in his gaze-gratitude, rage, and a flicker of deep respect. "Thank you," he said, his voice gravelly. I gave a curt nod. My job here was done. As I turned and walked out of the suite, the sounds of muffled, violent anger and shattering glass erupted behind me. "Act Two," I thought as I stepped into the elevator. "Time to go home and sleep."