The evening air carried a damp chill as Serena hurried up the stone steps to her apartment building, her heels clicking in an uneven rhythm. For most people, court was simply work, a duty. For Serena, the courtroom was a battlefield—and she had won today. But the victory came with an aftertaste of fear.
Santorutto's voice still echoed in her mind: "You'll die just like your father. You and your mother are next."
She shook her head, clutching her briefcase tighter. Logic told her that his threats were the last desperate attempts of a man who had lost everything. Yet… logic wasn't enough to quiet the shiver that chased down her spine.
Inside her apartment, she locked the door, double-checked the bolt, then leaned against it for a moment. The silence wrapped around her, thick and oppressive. She set her case down on the table and let out a slow breath.
Her phone buzzed.
Jade.
Serena smiled faintly and answered. "Hey. Shouldn't you be resting?"
"I am resting. Just… horizontally eating ice cream," Jade replied, her voice light. "But I saw the news clip. You looked like a total goddess in that courtroom."
Serena chuckled, sinking onto the couch. "I don't feel like one. I feel like a target."
"Don't let that bastard get in your head. He's behind bars now. He can't touch you."
Serena bit her lip, staring at the darkened window. "Maybe. But it felt like he knew something… personal."
Jade was silent for a moment. "About your dad?"
The words stung. "Yeah. He said… he said my father didn't just die. That someone made it happen."
"Serena…" Jade's tone softened. "Maybe it's time you stopped burying those questions."
Serena closed her eyes. "Maybe."
The sound of a car engine made her sit up straight. She stood, walking slowly to the window, careful not to let her silhouette be seen. Down on the street, a black sedan idled near the curb. Its headlights cut through the night, steady and unblinking.
Her chest tightened.
"Serena?" Jade's voice crackled through the phone.
"I'll call you back." Serena hung up, heart pounding. She stepped closer to the window, peering through the sheer curtain.
The car hadn't moved.
Minutes crawled by. Finally, the sedan rolled away, melting into the night traffic. Serena pressed a hand to her chest. Paranoia, she told herself. Just paranoia.
But she didn't sleep well.
Across the city, in a private suite at the Moretti Hotel, Dante stood before a wall of monitors. The feed flickered between angles—courthouse steps, city streets, Serena's apartment building.
"She noticed the sedan," Andrés said, leaning against the console.
"She was supposed to," Dante replied, his voice low, smooth. His eyes tracked Serena's tense figure pacing her apartment. "Fear sharpens the senses. Keeps her alive."
Andrés frowned. "She's a civilian. You sure you don't want to tell her what's going on?"
Dante's gaze hardened. "Not yet. The less she knows, the safer she is. If Santorutto still has men on the outside, they'll want her silenced. She's under my protection whether she likes it or not."
Andrés smirked. "And if she finds out you've been stalking her?"
Dante's jaw tightened, but his lips curved in the faintest ghost of a smile. "Then I'll just have to convince her it was fate."
The next morning, Serena's friends gathered at their usual café. Chloe sipped her cappuccino with theatrical flair, while Maya scrolled through her phone, reading headlines about the trial. Jade, glowing even in her oversized sweater, rested a protective hand on her rounded belly.
"You look tired," Maya said, giving Serena a sharp once-over.
"Because she is tired," Chloe answered for her. "Our girl put a mafia boss behind bars yesterday. I'd be shocked if she wasn't exhausted."
Serena stirred her coffee slowly. "It's not just exhaustion. It's… I feel like someone's watching me."
Chloe raised an eyebrow. "That's called fame, darling. Comes with the territory of putting criminals away."
"No, it's different," Serena insisted. "There was a car outside my place last night. Just sitting there. Waiting."
Jade leaned forward, concern softening her eyes. "Maybe you should tell the police."
Serena gave a bitter laugh. "The police? Half of them were on Santorutto's payroll. No, thanks."
The conversation shifted, but Serena's unease lingered. When she finally left the café, she couldn't shake the feeling of eyes on her.
And she was right.
From across the street, one of Dante's men tailed her discreetly, keeping distance, blending into the flow of pedestrians. He never let her slip out of sight.
That night, Serena returned home with the weight of invisible eyes pressing on her. As she fumbled with her keys, the hair on the back of her neck prickled.
She turned.
At the far end of the street, half-shrouded in shadow, a figure stood. Watching.
Her breath caught.
The figure didn't move. Didn't speak. Just… stood there.
Serena's pulse thundered in her ears. She bolted inside, slammed the door shut, and locked it tight.
This time, she didn't check again to see if the figure was still there.
Because deep down, she knew. Whoever—or whatever—it was… it wouldn't be the last time.
Dante watched from the balcony of his penthouse, glass of scotch in hand. The city stretched beneath him, glittering with false serenity.
"Everything is in motion," he murmured.
Andrés gave him a questioning look. "So when do you plan to make your move?"
Dante's eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth tilted up. "Soon. Very soon".