The Unwanted Fiancée Is A Legend

Seraphina Vitiello POV

The meeting was scheduled for the Sapphire Club.

Ideally, it was neutral territory—a high-end lounge where business was conducted in hushed tones over crystal tumblers.

I arrived at eight o'clock sharp, the velvet pouch heavy in my clutch.

I expected a private room.

I expected Dante, perhaps accompanied by his Consigliere, to formally accept the return of the crest with solemn dignity.

I swept past the bouncer, ignoring the look of pity I wanted to slap right off his face.

The heavy oak doors swung open.

A wall of sound slammed into me—a thumping bass that rattled my teeth and vibrated in my chest.

It wasn't a meeting.

It was a party.

The main room was packed with Dante’s soldiers, low-level associates, and women who looked like carbon copies of Roxy.

Smoke hung heavy in the air, a toxic haze mixing with the smell of expensive scotch and cheap, cloying perfume.

I froze in the doorway.

Dante held court in the center booth, looking like a king on a tawdry throne, with Roxy perched on his lap.

He saw me.

The music didn't stop.

He raised his glass, a cruel, stretching smile distorting his face.

"Look who decided to show up!" he bellowed over the noise. "The grieving ex."

The room erupted in laughter.

These were men I had cooked for. Men whose jagged wounds I had stitched and bandaged when doctors were too far away or too afraid to come. Now, they laughed at me.

I gripped my clutch tighter, my knuckles white.

This was an ambush.

He wanted to humiliate me one last time in front of his crew.

I walked forward.

I didn't rush.

I moved with the steady, predatory grace I summoned when walking the starting grid before a race—tunnel vision, absolute focus.

The crowd parted, not out of respect, but out of morbid curiosity.

I stopped in front of the booth.

Dante didn't stand up.

He kept his hand possessively on Roxy’s thigh.

"I’m here to return your property, Dante." My voice was calm, a blade cutting through the heavy bass.

Roxy giggled, blowing a puff of smoke directly in my face.

"Aww, look at her," she cooed to the room. "She thinks this is a business transaction."

"It is," I said, my eyes locked on Dante.

I took the velvet pouch and placed it on the table.

It sat there like a small, dark stain on the pristine white tablecloth.

Dante picked it up.

He opened it and dumped the contents out.

The silver hairpin and the diamond ring clattered onto the glass surface.

He picked up the ring, tossing it in the air and catching it with a casual flick of his wrist.

"You kept it clean," he sneered. "Good girl. Always a good servant."

The soldiers laughed again.

I felt the heat rising in my neck, but I forced my face to remain a blank mask.

"Our business is concluded," I said.

I turned to leave.

"Not so fast," Dante called out.

Two of his soldiers stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

I turned back to him.

"What do you want, Dante?"

He leaned back, spreading his arms wide.

"You came to my party, Seraphina. You should stay. Have a drink. Watch how a real woman entertains a man."

Roxy preened, running her manicured fingers through Dante’s hair.

I looked at the soldiers blocking the exit.

I calculated the distance to the door.

I estimated the precise torque needed to snap the nose of the man on the left.

But I stood still.

I would not give him a show.

"I’ll stand," I said.

Dante laughed.

"Suit yourself. But don't expect a tip."