The Lord's Plaything

I followed Dante's car across the bridge into the old district.

He parked outside the converted apartment building. I parked a block away, hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed on the entrance.

She came out wearing a white dress.

Of course she did.

Elena Abate was exactly what I'd expected from the photographs—delicate, wide-eyed, the kind of girl men wanted to protect. Dark curls spilled over her shoulders. Her smile when she saw Dante was incandescent.

He caught her at the bottom of the steps.

His hands went around her waist. His mouth moved against her hair. He lifted her like she weighed nothing and carried her up the stairs.

I sat in the dark car and watched.

Something calcified in my chest.

-

I drove to my father's estate in the hills. Security let me through without question—they still thought I was the favored daughter, the princess, the heir apparent.

They didn't know I'd just signed myself into exile.

The mansion was lit up like a wedding cake. I pushed through the front doors and found them in the parlor—my father, my stepmother Chiara, and a girl in a pale blue dress.

Elena Abate.

She looked different than she had an hour ago in the cathedral district. Sweeter, somehow. More deliberate.

"Serafina," my father said, rising. "I didn't expect you tonight."

"Clearly."

Chiara's smile was razor-thin. "Darling, this is Elena. My daughter. She's just returned."

Elena rose gracefully and extended her hand. "It's so wonderful to finally meet you. Mother has told me everything about you."

I looked at her hand. I didn't take it.

"Everything?" I said. "Then you know I'm not in the mood for introductions."

"Serafina." My father's voice carried warning.

I turned to him. "The emancipation papers. I want them signed tonight."

"Now? It's nearly midnight."

"Now."

Chiara placed a gentle hand on my father's arm. "Perhaps this is for the best, caro. If Serafina is determined to go through with the Agosti arrangement, legal separation protects the family from any. complications."

Protects the family.

She meant protects her. Protects Elena. Ensures that when I was shipped off to play nurse to a dying man, there would be no messy inheritance disputes.

"Fine," my father snapped. "But you'll keep your end. You marry Emilio Agosti by the end of the month."

"The end of the month," I agreed.

I signed the papers on his desk. My name, over and over. Serafina Leone, renouncing all claims. Serafina Leone, severing blood from blood.

When I straightened, Elena was in the doorway.

"Was that Dante Moretti's car you arrived in?" she asked softly.

My blood stopped.

"I saw it from my window," she continued, innocent as a blade. "You know him?"

"No."

"Strange. He's an old friend." She tilted her head. "I thought perhaps he'd mentioned me."

I walked past her without answering.

In the car, I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles went white.

She knew. She'd known exactly who I was. She'd known I'd been following him.

And she'd wanted me to see.

-

Dante texted at 3 AM.

Where are you?

I stared at the message for a long time. Then I typed: Home. Where are you?

Working. Come over tomorrow.

Can't. Busy.

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

What's going on with you?

I didn't answer.

I spent the next week preparing. I sold my jewelry. I emptied my private accounts. I bought a wedding dress so expensive it made the saleswoman's hands shake—not because I cared about the marriage, but because I wanted my father's creditors to choke when they saw the bill on his soon-to-be-frozen accounts.

The five hundred million from the Agosti family would go directly into an account under my sole control. Not my father's. Not the family's.

Mine.

My mother had trusted my father with everything—her inheritance, her heart, her life. He'd rewarded her by moving his mistress into their home while she was still warm in her grave.

I would not repeat her mistakes.

On the eighth day, I ran out of hotel rooms to hide in.

I was standing on the curb, suitcase in hand, when the black Escalade pulled up.

The window rolled down.

Dante's gray eyes met mine.

"Get in the car, Serafina."

"No."

"I wasn't asking."

A man appeared at my elbow—Marco, one of Dante's enforcers. He took my suitcase with exaggerated gentleness.

"The hard way, then," Dante said. "Fine. I've always preferred it."