Seraphina POV

The ballroom smelled of cloying lilies and fear.

It was the annual Gala, the one night where the blood was washed off the hands of our syndicate and hidden under pristine silk gloves. I stood by Dante's side, playing the part of the perfect Donna.

He had his hand on the small of my back, a proprietary claim that used to make me feel safe. Once, his touch had been a shield; now, it felt like a brand seared into my flesh.

"You look beautiful tonight, Tesoro," he murmured against my ear.

His voice was low, rough-the sound of velvet dragged over gravel. It was the same voice he used to order executions.

"Thank you, Dante," I said.

I didn't look at him. If I looked at him, I knew I would retch right there on the polished marble.

And then there was Valeria.

Of course she was there. She was wearing red. A bold, screaming red that clashed violently with the subtle creams and blacks the wives were expected to wear. She stood near the bar, holding court with a few of the younger soldiers, her laughter too loud, her eyes constantly darting toward us.

She wasn't just an assistant tonight. She was marking her territory.

I excused myself to go to the ladies' room. I needed to breathe. I needed to scrub the feeling of Dante's hand off my skin before it burned a hole through me.

As I washed my hands, the door opened.

Valeria walked in. She didn't use the stalls. Instead, she leaned against the marble counter, crossing her arms with a smirk that didn't reach her eyes.

"He hates that dress on you," she said. She didn't even pretend to be polite.

I dried my hands slowly, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Is that what he told you while he was inside you an hour ago?" I asked, turning to face her. "Or did you have to beg for that compliment too?"

Valeria's face twisted. The mask of the professional slipped, revealing the ambitious, clawing creature beneath.

"He's going to leave you," she spat, stepping closer. "You're cold. You're boring. You're just a contract to him. A merger. I'm the one he wants. I'm the one who knows what he needs."

"You are a hole to fill, Valeria," I said, my voice deadly steady. "I am his wife. I am the mother of his future children. You are a distraction."

She moved faster than I expected.

She stepped forward and slapped me.

The sound echoed off the tiled walls like a gunshot. It wasn't a hard slap, but the insult burned hotter than the pain. A mistress striking a Donna. In our world, people died for less.

I didn't think. I reacted.

Decades of Vitiello training kicked in instinctively. I grabbed her by the hair with a fist full of extensions and slammed her face into the mirror.

The glass cracked. She screamed.

I spun her around and shoved her to the floor. I stood over her, breathing hard, my hand raised to strike again, my blood singing with the need for violence.

"Seraphina!"

Dante's voice was a thunderclap.

He stood in the doorway, filling the frame with his imposing darkness. His eyes went from me to Valeria, who was sobbing on the floor, clutching her bleeding nose.

"Dante, she attacked me!" Valeria wailed, playing the victim perfectly. "She's crazy!"

Dante looked at me.

His eyes were cold, empty. There was no concern for his wife. There was only annoyance that I had caused a scene at his event.

"Get up, Valeria," he said, his tone dismissive. "Go to the car."

He didn't help her up, but he didn't punish her. He didn't pull his gun. He didn't demand retribution for the insult to his wife.

He looked at me, his gaze sweeping over my disheveled state with disdain.

"Fix your hair, Seraphina. You look a mess."

He turned and walked away.

That was the moment the last ember of love in my chest turned to ash. He hadn't just cheated on me. He had stripped me of my honor. He had let a whore strike a queen and walked away.

Seraphina POV

The drive home was silent.

The partition was up, separating us from the driver, but the distance between us on the leather seat felt like an ocean.

Dante scrolled through his phone, utterly unbothered. He radiated a calm arrogance, the confidence of a man who believed he owned the world and everything in it-including me.

"She provoked me," I said.

I broke the silence because the pressure in my chest was going to kill me if I didn't let some of it out.

"You made a scene," Dante said without looking up. "You are the Donna. You are supposed to be above that."

"She slapped me, Dante."

He finally looked at me. His eyes were dark pools, devoid of light.

"And you slammed her face into a mirror. I think you got your pound of flesh, Seraphina. Let it go."

"Let it go?" I laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. "She is your mistress. Everyone saw her. Everyone knows. Do you have any respect for me at all?"

Dante sighed, rubbing his temples. He looked annoyed, like I was a child complaining about a broken toy.

"Valeria is useful," he said coldly. "She understands the business. She relieves stress. It doesn't mean anything. You are my wife. You carry my name. That should be enough for you."

"It's not enough," I whispered.

"Then make it enough," he snapped.

His hand shot out, grabbing my chin, forcing my gaze to meet his. His grip was hard, bruising.

"You are mine, Seraphina. You exist because I allow it. You live in luxury because I provide it. Don't confuse your position. You are here to look pretty and give me heirs. Do not question how I run my life."

He let go of my face and turned back to the window.

I touched the spot where his fingers had dug in. My skin felt hot.

He didn't see a partner. He didn't see a person. He saw property.

When we got to the penthouse, he went straight to his study. He didn't apologize. He didn't try to comfort me. He simply poured himself a scotch and closed the door.

I retreated to the guest room. I couldn't sleep in our bed. The sheets would smell like him, and tonight, he smelled like her.

I sat on the edge of the bed in the dark. My phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number.

He loves me. He's only with you for the politics. Give up, Princess.

Attached was a photo. It was taken inside this penthouse. In my kitchen. Valeria was wearing one of Dante's shirts.

I stared at the image. The time stamp was from two days ago.

While I was visiting my mother's grave, she was in my house, wearing my husband's clothes, drinking from my mugs.

I didn't cry. I was done crying.

I walked to the window and looked out at the city lights. It was a beautiful view. A view worth killing for.

I needed a plan. Matteo was right. I couldn't just run. If I ran, I was prey.

I needed to stop being the prey. I needed to become the hunter.

Seraphina POV

I woke the next morning to the acrid taste of bile rising in my throat.

I barely made it to the bathroom before I emptied my stomach, heaving until there was nothing left but dry, painful spasms.

I sat on the cold tile floor, trembling as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

It wasn't the stress. Deep down, I recognized this sensation. My mother had described this specific misery to me often enough.

Dread settled in my chest, heavier than the nausea.

I got dressed and drove myself to a clinic three towns over. I didn't take the main car; I took the old sedan. I paid in cash. I used a fake name.

The doctor was a kind, older woman with gentle hands who didn't ask why I kept my sunglasses on indoors. She ran the tests efficiently.

Ten minutes later, she came back with a warm smile.

"Congratulations," she said, beaming as if she were delivering a gift. "You're six weeks along."

The room spun. The white walls seemed to close in on me.

I was pregnant.

I was carrying the Vitiello-Moretti heir. The Crown Prince. The living treaty that would cement the alliance between our warring families in blood forever.

A month ago, this would have been the happiest news of my life. I would have rushed home to tell Dante. He would have spun me around, kissed my stomach, and treated me like a goddess bearing his legacy.

Now, the thought of his blood mixing with mine made the bile rise again.

I couldn't bring a child into this darkness. I couldn't raise a son to be a monster like his father, or a daughter to be a pawn like her mother.

I walked out of the clinic in a daze. I sat in my car for an hour, my hands gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.

My phone jarred me from the trance. Dante.

"Where are you?" he asked. No hello. No apology for last night.

"Running errands," I managed to say, my voice sounding hollow to my own ears.

"Be ready in an hour," he commanded. "We are going to the Lake Estate. I have business to attend to there, and I want you with me. It looks better if we are seen together after last night's... incident."

The Lake Estate. It was isolated. Private. Miles away from the city, surrounded by deep woods and dark water. A perfect place to hide a secret. Or a body.

"Okay," I whispered.

I drove back to the city, my mind racing. I stopped at a pharmacy, but I didn't buy vitamins. I bought a burner phone and a prepaid card.

When I got back to the penthouse, silence greeted me-until I heard voices drifting from the study. The door was cracked open.

"I'm telling you, Dante, I can't keep doing this," Valeria's voice whined, high and grating. "She's going to ruin everything."

"She is nothing, Valeria," Dante replied, his tone dismissive. "Stop worrying about her. Focus on what matters."

"What matters? Us? Or the brat she's eventually going to pop out?"

"There is no brat yet," Dante said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "And even if there is, it's just an heir. You, Valeria, are my pleasure."

I stood frozen in the hallway, the air leaving my lungs.

He didn't know I was pregnant. He was already dismissing our child-our flesh and blood-as "just an heir." A tool. A thing.

I touched my flat stomach, my protective instinct flaring hot and fierce.

I made a promise to the tiny cluster of cells inside me.

I will not let him have you.

I went to our bedroom and pulled out a travel bag. I didn't pack for a weekend trip.

I packed my jewelry-the pieces that were mine, not gifts from him. I packed the cash I had sewn into the lining of my winter coats. I packed the burner phone.

I wasn't going to the Lake Estate to play the happy, obedient wife.

I was going there to end this.