He Killed Love, She Killed His Empire

Seraphina POV

The silence in the house wasn't simply empty; it was heavy, holding its breath, waiting for the scream.

I descended the floating staircase, the white silk of my dress whispering against my skin like a ghost trying to warn me. The living room was dim, lit only by the dying embers in the fireplace and the moonlight reflecting off the black lake outside.

There were no Russos. There was no dinner party.

Dante stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a tumbler of scotch in his hand. He wasn't looking at the view. He was staring at his own reflection in the glass, or perhaps looking right through it to the darkness beyond.

The man from the driveway-the one with the predator's gait-lounged on my velvet sofa, casually cleaning a fingernail with the tip of a switchblade.

"Where are the guests?" I asked. My voice was steady, a flat line on a heart monitor.

Dante turned. For a second, something flickered in his dark eyes. Regret? No. Sharks don't feel regret before they bite. They just roll their eyes back and strike.

"Plans changed," Dante said, his voice devoid of warmth. He downed his drink in one swallow. "Luca here brought me some disturbing intelligence. About you, Seraphina."

Luca. The Jackal. I knew the name, of course. He was a freelance cleaner, a myth made of blood and bone, the man who handled the jobs even the Vitiellos wouldn't touch.

"Intelligence?" I stepped off the last stair, my chin high. "Does this intelligence explain why your mistress is currently parking her car in our garage?"

Dante's jaw tightened, a muscle feathering in his cheek. "Valeria is here to assist."

"Assist with what? My execution?"

Luca chuckled, a dry, friction-filled sound like dead leaves scraping against concrete. "Not an execution, Mrs. Moretti. An extraction. We have proof you've been selling routes to the Irish."

I stared at him, the absurdity of the lie almost laughing in my throat. Then I looked at Dante.

The betrayal didn't sting anymore; it just rotted, turning black and necrotic in my chest. "And you believe him? You believe I would betray the Family?"

"I believe you are unhappy," Dante said, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. "I believe unhappy women do desperate things. And I believe Valeria found the wire transfers in your name."

"Valeria found them because she planted them," I countered, my voice rising. It was so obvious, so clumsy.

But Dante wasn't listening to logic. He was listening to the poison Valeria had been dripping into his ear for months. He wanted a reason to discard me. He wanted a justification to sever the Vitiello alliance without igniting a war.

A traitorous wife was the perfect casus belli.

The side door opened.

Valeria swept in. She wasn't wearing her signature red tonight. She was wearing black. Mourning clothes. She was already dressed for my funeral.

"It's all set up, Dante," she said, not even deigning to look at me. "The boat is ready. We can make it look like she tried to flee across the lake and capsized in the storm."

My hand went instinctively to my stomach. To the secret life growing there.

They weren't just going to kill me. They were going to erase me.

I glanced at the grandfather clock. 11:45 PM.

My contact-the cleaner I had arranged as a contingency-had said midnight.

Fifteen minutes. I had to stay alive for fifteen minutes.

"You're pathetic," I spat at Dante. "You're the Capo dei Capi, and you're letting a glorified secretary play you like a fiddle."

Dante crossed the room in two long strides. He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging bruisingly into the soft flesh.

"Watch your mouth, Seraphina. I am trying to give you a dignified exit."

"Dignified?" I laughed, and it sounded hysterical even to my own ears. "Drowning in a freezing lake is dignified?"

"It's better than what happens to traitors in the basement," he hissed, leaning close.

He pulled me toward the door. I dug my heels into the hardwood. I needed time.

"Dante, wait," I gasped, struggling against his grip. "There's something you don't know."

"I know enough."

"No!" I screamed. I twisted violently in his hold. "I'm pregnant!"

The words hung in the air, instantly freezing the room.

Dante stopped dead. His grip loosened, just a fraction. He looked down at my stomach, then up to my face. His eyes widened, the hard, impassive mask finally cracking.

"What?" he whispered.

Valeria let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "Oh, please. She's lying, Dante. It's a desperate stall tactic. She's barren, remember? That's what the doctors said."

"I'm not lying," I said, my voice shaking but my eyes locking with his. "Six weeks. I went to the clinic today."

Dante looked back at me, a war raging behind his eyes-hope battling against suspicion.

"A child?"

"A lie!" Valeria shrieked. She rushed forward, grabbing Dante's free arm, her nails digging into his suit jacket. "She's manipulating you! She's stalling until her Irish contacts get here! Luca, tell him!"

Luca stood up, snapping the switchblade shut. "We're on a schedule, Boss. If we don't move now, the window closes."

Dante looked at me, then at Valeria. He was wavering. The Shark was hesitating.

And then Valeria did the one thing that sealed our fates.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a gun.

"If you won't do it, I will," she spat, aiming the barrel at my chest. "I'm not losing everything because of a phantom brat."