The following evening, the Morelli estate glimmered as it always did—lights spilling across manicured lawns, armed guards stationed just far enough to look decorative.
On the surface, life remained unchanged. But Seraphina knew better.
Because now she'd seen what Alessandro was willing to do.
She pressed a hand against the cold balcony railing, staring down at the gardens, restless. Every word he'd said last night echoed still. He touched her. She's mine.
Her skin crawled with the memory.
"You're distracted."
Her cousin Isabella's voice came from the French doors behind her. Seraphina didn't turn.
"I'm exhausted."
"Exhausted, or haunted?" Isabella stepped beside her, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. "Word is, Valenti doesn't leave you alone."
Seraphina's jaw clenched. "Word travels too fast in this city."
"Not as fast as blood."
Before Seraphina could ask what she meant, movement flickered below. Dark cars pulling up the drive. Not Morelli vehicles.
Her pulse spiked. "Who the hell—"
Headlights cut across the garden. Men in black spilled from the cars, weapons flashing under their coats. The guards at the gates shouted, scrambled.
The first shots cracked through the night.
Seraphina froze.
Isabella grabbed her arm, yanking her back inside. "Down!"
Glass shattered as bullets ripped into the upper windows. Screams erupted in the halls. The pristine order of the Morelli estate dissolved into chaos in seconds.
---
The Attack
Seraphina stumbled after Isabella, skirts catching on marble floors as they ran down the corridor. Shouts, gunfire, the distant crash of furniture—each sound sharpened her panic.
"This doesn't happen here," she gasped. "Not in our house—"
"It does now!" Isabella hissed, dragging her toward a side stairwell. "Move!"
A man rounded the corner. Not one of theirs. Masked. Armed.
He raised his gun.
Time slowed.
Seraphina's scream stuck in her throat.
But the shot never came.
Because Alessandro was suddenly there.
He slammed the man against the wall, disarming him with brutal precision. The weapon clattered across the floor, blood blooming on polished marble. Alessandro didn't hesitate—he snapped the man's neck, and the body dropped.
Seraphina's chest heaved, horror and relief colliding.
Alessandro turned, eyes black fire. "Go."
She stumbled back. "What—what the hell is happening?"
"War," he said flatly.
Another gunman appeared. Alessandro fired without blinking, the spray of crimson hitting silk wallpaper.
Seraphina's stomach lurched. The air reeked of cordite, of blood, of everything she'd been sheltered from her entire life.
She had wanted truth. Now it was choking her.
---
Cornered
They reached the library, doors slammed shut behind them. Isabella was shaking, but Seraphina couldn't stop staring at Alessandro.
His shirt was half undone, flecked with blood, gun steady in his grip. He looked feral, lethal, exactly what she had overheard him to be.
Her voice cracked. "You killed him."
He looked at her like she'd said something foolish. "I saved you."
"You could've just—"
"Just what? Let him shoot you?" His voice was razor-sharp. "This isn't a fucking debutante ball, Seraphina. It's war. And in war, hesitation gets you dead."
Her throat closed. The image of the dead man's eyes, glassy and empty, burned into her mind.
"You think you can keep pretending you don't belong to this world," Alessandro continued, stepping closer. "But tonight? Tonight it claimed you."
"I didn't ask for this!" she snapped, shoving his chest. "I didn't ask for you, or your war, or—"
His hand caught hers mid-swing, grip unyielding. "You didn't have to."
---
The Threat Arrives
A gunshot blasted through the locked doors. Wood splintered. Shouts echoed down the hall.
"They're breaching," Alessandro muttered, pulling her against him. "Stay behind me."
The doors burst open. Three masked men stormed in.
Alessandro fired twice—two dropped. The third rushed, blade flashing.
Seraphina's scream ripped free as the man lunged.
Instinctively, she grabbed the heavy glass decanter from the library table and smashed it against his head. He crumpled at Alessandro's feet, blood and whiskey pooling beneath him.
Her hand shook violently, shards still clutched in her fist.
Alessandro glanced at the broken glass, then at her. Something dark and proud flickered in his eyes.
"Welcome to the family, princess."
---
Aftermath
The gunfire finally quieted. Guards swarmed, dragging bodies, cleaning blood from marble as if it were spilled wine. The Morelli estate would shine again tomorrow, polished and perfect. But Seraphina knew she'd never see it the same way.
She stood in the library, silk torn, hands trembling. Alessandro stood in front of her, shirt ruined, eyes still burning.
She whispered, "Who did this?"
"Romano," he answered.
Her blood iced. "Victor?"
Alessandro's jaw tightened. "His family. His men. His move."
Seraphina's knees nearly buckled. Victor—the smooth, polished rival with a smile sharper than glass—had sent killers into her home. Into her room.
This wasn't just obsession anymore. This was war.
Alessandro stepped closer, brushing glass from her palm, voice low. "Do you understand now, Seraphina? Why you can't stand in the middle? Why you need me?"
Her heart pounded, fury and fear tangled. She lifted her chin, forcing steel into her trem
bling voice. "Need isn't the word. Hate is."
Alessandro's smile curved, dark and certain. "Hate me all you want. It'll keep you alive."
---