Seraphina POV

"Sister," she breathed, her voice like spun sugar.

I stared at the pristine white cashmere of her coat, a stark contrast to the dark, blood-soaked reality of the world she was trying to claim. Linette stepped closer, her maids keeping a cautious distance. The sickeningly sweet, pitying smile on her flawless lips widened.

"I truly pity your family," she murmured, her tone dripping with a rehearsed, hypocritical sorrow. "A Don betraying The Commission... that kind of stain follows the bloodline forever." She leaned in slightly, her blue eyes gleaming with malicious triumph. "Your father and brother were disgraceful rats."

The chemical fog in my brain evaporated, incinerated by a sudden, blinding inferno of rage.

Before she could even blink, my hand cracked across her face. The sharp sound of the slap echoed like a gunshot in the freezing courtyard. Linette stumbled back with a gasp, but I didn't let her retreat. I lunged, my fingers wrapping around her delicate throat. I slammed her backward against a frozen stone cherub beside the path.

Her maids shrieked, but I ignored them. I squeezed her windpipe, leaning in until my face was inches from her terrified, wide eyes. The predator Julian had tried to drug out of me was fully awake.

"My father was a Don," I hissed, my voice a raw, lethal rasp. "My brother was his Underboss. They died for honor. If you ever taint their names with your filthy mouth again, I will cut out your tongue and feed it to the dogs."

I shoved her away in disgust. Linette collapsed onto the snow, coughing and clutching her throat, her angelic facade shattered by primal fear.

I turned my back on her and began walking toward my secluded side house. The adrenaline spike vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving my limbs feeling like lead. The sedatives dragged at my muscles, making every step a monumental effort.

I didn't hear her over the howling wind until it was too late.

A feral scream tore through the air. Hands slammed violently into my back. I stumbled forward, my boots slipping on the icy stone path. The unfenced edge of the ornamental lake rushed up to meet me. Instinct, honed by years of survival, took over. As gravity pulled me over the edge, I twisted and grabbed a fistful of her expensive white cashmere coat.

Linette shrieked as I dragged her down with me. We hit the thin, sick-gray ice together. It shattered instantly with a deafening crack, plunging us both into the freezing, black water.

The shock of the cold was a physical blow, driving the air from my lungs like a punch to the chest. I thrashed, my heavy, numb limbs fighting to break the surface. Above the water, the maids were screaming in absolute panic.

"Help! Somebody help! Miss Vance is in the water!"

Not a single voice called for me. In this gilded cage, my life was worth less than the snow on the ground.

I choked on the freezing water, my strength fading fast. Then, a blur of movement on the shore caught my eye. Julian. He sprinted to the edge, shedding his heavy coat, and dove into the freezing lake without a second of hesitation.

A pathetic, treacherous spark of hope flared in my chest. I reached out a trembling, numb hand toward him.

Julian broke the surface. His dark, unreadable eyes locked onto mine. For a fraction of a second, time stopped. I saw no panic in his gaze. No desperation. Only a cold, calculating absolute. He looked right through me, turned his back, and swam powerfully toward Linette, who was thrashing and crying louder. He grabbed her waist, hauling her toward the safety of the shore.

He left me.

The betrayal was colder than the ice water filling my lungs. As I watched him carry his precious childhood sweetheart out of the lake, a chilling realization pierced through my fading consciousness. This wasn't just a tantrum from a jealous girl. Linette wanted the Marino ghost dead to secure her throne, and Julian's cold eyes were the silent execution order.

My heavy clothes dragged me under. The light from the shattered ice above grew dim. I stopped fighting the water, letting the dark abyss swallow me, but the fire in my veins refused to die. I would not let them win. The vow of *Vendetta* echoed in the silent depths of my mind as everything faded to black.

Seraphina POV

The water was a liquid tomb. My lungs burned, screaming for oxygen that wasn't there. Through the murky, sick-gray ice, the world above blurred into nothingness. Julian’s retreating form—carrying *her* to safety—faded into the shadows.

As the darkness clawed at the edges of my vision, the freezing lake dissolved into a different kind of cold. The Red Hook docks. The metallic stench of blood and gunpowder. I saw my father, Don Antonio Marino, his chest torn apart by bullets, falling with the heavy grace of a ruined king. Marco, my brother, collapsing beside him, his blood pooling on the concrete. *“Run, Sera!”* The desperate screams of Rose and Poppy, my loyal maids, echoed in my ears. Their blood splattered my face as they shoved me onto the escaping speedboat, using their own bodies as shields.

They died for my life. And now, Julian’s cold, indifferent eyes mirrored the very rats who had slaughtered my bloodline.

The betrayal ignited a dormant inferno in my freezing veins. I wasn't just a girl drowning in a gilded pond. I was a Marino. I thrashed, my numb limbs kicking upward toward the shattered ice. *Vendetta.* I would not die a victim. I would live to see them all burn.

I woke with a violent gasp, my lungs expanding painfully as if still expelling lake water. The heavy velvet curtains of my secluded bedroom were drawn, the fireplace roaring, but the chill was embedded in my marrow.

Fragmented memories surfaced through the haze: strong arms dragging me from the freezing darkness, a servant’s panicked voice shouting for a doctor. Julian was nowhere near the water when they pulled me out.

He had carried Linette to safety and left the rest to the household staff. Eleonora’s later claim that he was “frantic with worry” was a lie, a polished lie to mask his cruelty.

A shadow moved beside the bed. A hand reached toward my forehead.

Before my conscious mind could process the threat, the predator born in the blood of Red Hook took over. I lunged. My hand clamped around the throat of the figure, using my momentum to slam her onto the hardwood floor.

"Please!" a voice squeaked.

I blinked, the red haze clearing. A young maid stared up at me, her eyes wide with absolute terror. My chest heaved. I slowly released my grip, my fingers trembling not from weakness, but from the lethal adrenaline coursing through me. I was still in the cage, but the lion was awake.

The next morning, the heavy oak door swung open without a knock. Eleonora Moretti stepped in, her posture as rigid and flawless as her tailored suit. She looked at me—pale, bruised, but alive—with a mixture of disdain and calculated grace.

"You gave us quite a scare, Seraphina," she said, her tone devoid of any actual warmth. She didn't apologize for her son leaving me to die. "To put an end to the vicious rumors surrounding this... unfortunate accident, Julian has made a decision."

She paused, her dark eyes locking onto mine. "He is frantic with worry. To ensure your absolute protection, we are setting the date for your wedding immediately."

The words dropped like an anvil. *Frantic with worry.* A bitter, hysterical laugh threatened to tear from my throat. Julian hadn't saved me, but he was tightening the leash. This wasn't love; it was a sick, possessive need to own what he had almost destroyed. He wanted to break me, to mold me into a silent, obedient ghost of a wife to parade before The Commission.

Eleonora smoothed her skirt. "It is the only way to secure your place here and protect our family's reputation. You should be grateful."

She turned to leave, the click of her heels sealing my fate. I stared at the closed door, the gilded shackles of this forced marriage tightening around my neck. If Julian thought a wedding ring would tame me, he was gravely mistaken. I needed to break this cage, and to do that, I had to make the Moretti family realize exactly what kind of monster they were inviting to their altar.

Seraphina POV

The heavy oak door didn't stay closed for long. Barely an hour after Eleonora’s initial departure, the lock clicked again. She swept back into my gilded cage, this time trailed by a nervous, bird-like woman clutching measuring tapes and thick, velvet-bound catalogs.

Eleonora ignored my pale, bruised reflection in the vanity mirror. She gestured sharply, and the woman began spreading swatches of expensive silk and lace across my unmade bed. They looked like beautiful, suffocating shrouds.

"We do not have time to indulge your sulking, Seraphina," Eleonora said, her voice clipping through the stifling air. She picked up a catalog and tossed it onto the mattress. "The invitations are already being expedited. You will pick a silhouette today. Something modest, yet elegant enough to photograph well for The Commission."

I stared at the glossy pages, my silence only fueling her arrogance.

"You should consider yourself blessed," Eleonora continued, her dark eyes narrowing with undisguised contempt. "A ruined Marino girl, dragged from a frozen lake, still being given a stage this grand. Most families would have quietly disposed of such a liability. We are giving you respectability."

*Respectability.* The word echoed in my mind, hollow and sickening. She didn't see a bride; she saw a PR campaign to scrub Julian's near-fatal betrayal clean. She wanted a docile, grateful doll to smile for the cameras.

I looked down at my trembling hands. The lingering weakness from the icy water was real, but the fire igniting in my veins was hotter than ever. If they wanted a Marino, I would give them exactly what that meant.

The designer approached me hesitantly, tape measure in hand. "If you could just stand, Miss..."

I stood, allowing my knees to buckle slightly. I slumped against the vanity, my breathing ragged, playing the broken victim to perfection. The designer gasped, reaching out to steady me.

Then, the switch flipped.

I lunged past the designer and clamped my hand around Eleonora’s pristine, tailored forearm. My grip was bruising, fueled by pure adrenaline.

"A wedding!" I gasped, my eyes wide and unblinking as I stared into Eleonora’s suddenly shocked face. I let out a breathless, jagged laugh that scraped against the walls. "Yes! It’s brilliant. We need red, Eleonora. Not white. White is for the weak!"

"Let go of me, you insolent—" Eleonora tried to yank her arm away, but I dug my nails into her sleeve, leaning in so close she could feel my feverish breath.

"We will have a *Vendetta* wedding," I whispered, the word tasting like copper on my tongue. Then, my voice escalated into a manic, theatrical shriek. "We’ll paint the silk with the blood of the rats who slaughtered my father! Don Antonio Marino knew how to celebrate! Bullets and blades, Eleonora! We’ll string their intestines across the altar!"

The designer let out a muffled whimper, backing away toward the door.

Eleonora’s face drained of color. The polished matriarch was gone, replaced by a woman staring at a rabid dog. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Mind?" I tilted my head, letting a tear slip down my cheek while a wide, unhinged smile stretched across my face. "My mind is at the bottom of the lake. But my blood... my blood remembers. My father died a king in the dirt! And your men? Your spineless men hide behind briefcases and lawyers. They don't know the beauty of a slit throat. But I can show them. I’ll show all your guests!"

I released her arm so violently she stumbled backward, her heel catching on the edge of the rug.

"You are insane," Eleonora breathed, her chest heaving. The disgust in her eyes was now entirely eclipsed by genuine horror. She wasn't looking at a political pawn anymore; she was looking at a bomb threatening to detonate in the middle of her perfectly curated high society. A madwoman who would turn the Moretti name into a laughingstock.

"Gather your things," Eleonora snapped at the trembling designer, not daring to take her eyes off me. "We are leaving. Now."

They practically fled the room. The heavy door slammed shut, and the lock engaged with a definitive click.

I stood alone in the center of the room, the manic smile slowly fading from my lips. My chest ached, and my legs finally gave out, dropping me to the hardwood floor. I pulled my knees to my chest, surrounded by the scattered catalogs and discarded lace.

I had won the skirmish. Eleonora would never allow a lunatic to stand at the altar and ruin her family's flawless facade. But as the afternoon shadows began to stretch long and dark across the floorboards, the scent of her expensive perfume lingered in the air like a warning.

Eleonora was just the messenger. When Julian heard what I had done, he wouldn't run.