Sera's POV
I stare at the photo on my phone—my mother, my father, a gun—and my hands won't stop shaking.
"Sera? What's wrong?" Dante moves closer, trying to see my screen.
I pull the phone against my chest. The message said come alone. That my life depends on it. But can I trust a mysterious stranger more than I trust these four boys who just confessed to torturing me on purpose?
"Nothing," I lie, shoving my phone in my pocket. "Just more comments from Victoria's video."
Killian's eyes narrow. He doesn't believe me. But before he can say anything, I stand up fast.
"You said you'd help me get revenge, right?" My voice comes out stronger than I feel. "Then stop talking and start teaching me."
The boys exchange glances. Some silent conversation happens between them that I can't read.
"You're serious about this?" Dante asks. "About becoming someone they'll fear?"
"You want to make it right?" I say, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounds. "Then help me burn them all down."
The silence in the room feels electric. Dangerous.
Then Dante smiles—a real smile, not his usual cruel mask. It transforms his whole face, making him look younger. Almost human.
"You want revenge?" Killian asks, and there's excitement in his voice now.
"We'll teach you everything we know," Ezra adds, leaning forward.
Phoenix grins wildly. "Let's make them all pay, angel."
They all extend their hands toward me at once. Not like a handshake. Like a promise. Like a pact made in blood and bad decisions.
I stack my hand on top of theirs. Their skin is warm against mine. "Deal."
"Good," Dante says. "Because your first lesson starts right now."
"Now?" I check my phone. Fifteen minutes until I'm supposed to meet the mysterious messenger at the old chapel. "Can't it wait until—"
"No." Dante's voice goes hard. "Rule one of revenge: never wait. Strike while your enemy thinks they've won. Victoria posted that video three hours ago. By now, the whole school has seen it. She thinks she destroyed you again."
"She did destroy me again," I mutter.
"No." Killian grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. His green eyes are intense. "She gave you ammunition. There's a difference."
"I don't understand."
"The video shows you with us," Ezra explains. "Everyone's assuming we're playing some cruel game with you. That you're our new victim."
"Aren't I?"
"Not anymore," Phoenix says. "Now you're our partner. Our equal. But nobody knows that yet."
Dante pulls out his phone and starts typing fast. "We're going to use their assumptions against them. Make them think exactly what Victoria wants them to think. And then—" He looks up at me, eyes gleaming. "We flip the script."
My phone buzzes. The group chat for the entire school just got a new post. From Dante's account.
It's a photo of me sleeping in his bed this morning, looking peaceful. The caption reads: "She survived the night. Impressive. Let's see how long this one lasts. NewToy DarkAngels"
My stomach drops. "What are you doing? This makes it worse!"
"Trust me," Dante says.
Then Killian posts a photo of his gym, captioning it: "Training starts today. Think she'll cry in the first five minutes? Taking bets. WeakPrey"
Ezra posts next: "Poor thing actually thinks we're going to help her. This is going to be fun to watch. BrokenDoll"
Phoenix's post is a video of me from last night on the roof, before they saved me. He's edited it to make it look like they're laughing. Caption: "Best entertainment we've had in years. SuicidalAndStupid"
Each post is more horrible than the last. Comments flood in immediately—people agreeing, laughing, placing bets on how long until I break completely.
"Stop it!" I grab for Dante's phone, but he holds it away. "You're making everything worse! Everyone's going to think—"
"Exactly what we want them to think," Dante interrupts. "That we're still the villains. That you're still the victim. That nothing's changed."
"But why?"
"Because," Ezra says softly, "the best predators are the ones nobody sees coming. If they think you're still broken, still weak, they won't protect themselves when you strike."
Understanding hits me like ice water. "You're making me invisible again. On purpose."
"We're making you underestimated," Killian corrects. "There's power in that."
"When Victoria sees these posts, what will she think?" Phoenix asks.
I think about it. "That you're still torturing me. That her video didn't change anything. That she can keep attacking me without consequences."
"Exactly," Dante says. "She'll get comfortable. Careless. And that's when we destroy her."
It's smart. Cruel and twisted, but smart. "What about me? Everyone's going to think I'm pathetic. That I'm still your victim."
"Let them think it," Ezra says. "For now. But soon, very soon, you're going to show them the truth. And when you do, it'll be so much more shocking. So much more devastating."
My phone buzzes again. Ten minutes until the meeting at the chapel. I need to go, but I can't tell them about the message. Not yet. Not until I know what it means.
"Fine," I say. "I'll play the victim. But I need something from you first."
"Name it," Dante says.
"Space. I need fifteen minutes alone to process all of this. Everything you told me about my father, about why you targeted me, about—" My voice cracks. "I just need a minute to breathe."
They exchange looks again. Worried looks.
"You're not going to do something stupid, right?" Phoenix asks quietly. "Like try to hurt yourself again?"
The concern in his voice makes my throat tight. "No. I promise. I just need air."
"Take twenty minutes," Dante says. "But stay on campus. And Sera?" His eyes lock with mine. "Don't do anything without us. We're a team now."
I nod and grab my jacket. As I head for the door, Killian calls out.
"Where are you going?"
"The chapel," I say, going with partial truth. "I need to pray or think or something."
"Want company?" Ezra offers.
"No. Please. I need to be alone."
They let me go, but I feel their eyes on my back the whole way down the hall.
The old chapel sits at the edge of campus. Nobody uses it anymore since they built the new one. It's abandoned, full of broken pews and dusty prayer books.
I push open the heavy wooden door. It creaks like something from a horror movie.
"Hello?" My voice echoes in the empty space.
"Close the door."
I spin around. A woman steps out from behind a stone pillar. She's maybe forty, with dark hair and sad eyes that look familiar somehow.
"Who are you?" I demand.
"My name is Elena Moretti," she says. "I'm Dante's aunt. His mother was my sister."
My breath catches. Dante's mother—the one who was murdered.
"What do you want with me?"
Elena's hands shake as she pulls out a thick envelope. "Your mother and I were best friends. Before she died. Before everything went wrong." She steps closer. "Your mother didn't die in a car accident, Sera. She was murdered. And I can prove your father did it."
The world tilts sideways. "I don't—how do you—"
"There's more." Elena's voice drops to a whisper. "Your mother was murdered because she discovered something. A secret that connects your father to Dante's father. To all of their fathers—Marcus Ashford, Vincent Moretti, Richard Savage, Charles Blackwell, and Jonathan Vale."
The Dark Angels' fathers. All of them.
"What secret?" I whisper.
Elena opens the envelope and pulls out photographs. Old ones, yellowed with age. They show five men in a basement room. Young versions of all the fathers. And they're surrounding someone tied to a chair.
Someone who's clearly dying.
"Twenty years ago, your father and Dante's father and all the others killed someone," Elena says. "A witness to their illegal business deals. They murdered him together so they'd all be guilty. So none of them could betray the others without destroying themselves."
My head spins. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because your mother found out. She was going to go to the police. So they killed her too—all five of them together. And they've been covering it up for eight years, making it look like an accident."
"That's why my father sold me to them," I realize, horror washing over me. "It wasn't just about money. It was about keeping me close. Keeping control over me so I'd never discover what they did."
"Yes," Elena says. "And here's the worst part." She pulls out one more photo. "Dante knows."
The photo shows a teenage Dante, maybe fifteen, sitting in his father's office. On the desk in front of him: files about my mother's murder.
"He's known for three years," Elena whispers. "Since the beginning. The whole reason he agreed to torture you was to keep you broken and distracted so you'd never start asking questions about your mother's death."
No. No, that can't be true. Dante just confessed everything. He told me why they targeted me. He cried about his mother's death.
But he never mentioned knowing about mine.
"You're lying," I say, but my voice shakes.
"Am I?" Elena hands me the envelope. "It's all in here. Proof. Photos. Documents. Everything you need to destroy all of them—your father and every single one of the Dark Angels' fathers. And Dante himself."
I clutch the envelope, my hands shaking. "Why give this to me?"
"Because they murdered my sister," Elena says, and tears stream down her face. "And I've been too scared to do anything about it for twenty years. But you?" She grabs my shoulders. "You're already fighting back. You're already becoming dangerous. I'm giving you the weapon to destroy them all."
She pulls back and walks toward a side exit. "There's a USB drive in there too. Recorded confessions I've collected over the years. Use it wisely, Sera. Trust no one. Especially not the boys who claim they want to help you. They're protecting their fathers' secrets."
She disappears through the door, leaving me alone with the envelope that could destroy everything.
My phone buzzes. A text from Dante: "Twenty minutes are up. Where are you?"
I look down at the envelope. At the proof that the boys who just promised to help me might be using me. That Dante knew about my mother's murder all along.
That everything—every confession, every tear, every promise—might be another lie.
Another game.
Another trap.
I walk out of the chapel with the envelope hidden inside my jacket. Back toward Dante's suite where four boys wait for me, expecting trust.
But now I have a choice to make: Do I confront them with what I know and risk them destroying the evidence? Do I pretend I never saw it and let them keep lying to me? Or do I play their game better than they can, using them while they think they're using me?
I open the door to the suite. All four boys look up.
"You okay?" Killian asks.
I smile. The same smile I've seen on Dante's face a hundred times. Cold. Calculated. Fake.
"I'm perfect," I lie. "So when does my training really begin?"
And as they gather around me, excited to teach me their dark skills, I think about the envelope burning against my ribs.
They want to make me dangerous?
They have no idea what they've just created.