Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Matteo sat beside her, conversing with Damon. The calm, untroubled groom.
What a fucking joke.
Everything had consequences and I had to remind my dear brother that.
The thought sent a surge of dark satisfaction through my veins. My brother had been watching her for years—I’d seen the photographs in his private study. Three years of surveillance, six years of waiting. He thought he knew her. Thought he deserved her.
But in reality, he didn’t know a fucking thing about her.
I’d seen the fire in her eyes when she thought no one was looking. I’d felt the heat of her body against mine. I’d tasted her desire, her shame, her hunger.
Serafina wasn’t the perfect mafia princess he thought she was. She was something wilder, something darker.
She hadn’t run from the monster in The Pit.
No… she wanted him.
She had been terrified yet she also desired the monster, dripping wetness between her legs.
Serafina’s eyes darted nervously between the assembled families, looking a little lost, a little panicky. Oh the poor jittery bride. She needed something to help her with those nerves, something stronger, something to take the edge off.
“So, Matteo,” Cecilia, Giovanni’s wife, leaned forward with that sickeningly sweet smile that made my teeth ache. “Where are you planning to take our Serafina for your honeymoon? Somewhere exotic, I hope?”
Giovanni was Morelli’s Capo and Serafina’s second cousin. Though I saw no familiarity between them. They could have been strangers. And Cecilia… Well, she was trying too hard to make it look like they were the perfect, loving family.
My brother’s lips curled into that practiced smile of his, the one he used when he wanted to appear charming but had no real interest in the conversation. “I’ve been considering several options. Perhaps Santorini.”
How fucking predictable.
Cecilia clapped her hands together. “How perfect for newlyweds.”
“And you, Serafina?” Matteo turned to her with that same empty smile. “Is there somewhere you’ve always dreamed of visiting?”
Her shoulders tensed slightly, the way she always did when put on the spot. “Italy would be lovely,” she said softly. Her fingers tightened around her wine glass. She was wearing that mask again, the one that made her look like the perfect, demure mafia bride. The one that hid everything I’d seen beneath. “Anywhere with beautiful architecture and history would be perfect.”
I couldn’t help the scoff that escaped my lips, rolling my eyes at her modest, diplomatic answer. How utterly predictable. How completely fucking boring.
Always the good girl, saying exactly what she thought was expected of her.
Giulia’s hand came down hard on my thigh, her nails digging in warning. “Your expression is betraying you. Be nice,” she hissed under her breath. “At least for tonight. The poor girl’s nervous enough without you terrorizing her at the dinner table.”
I gave her a sidelong glance. “I’m not terrorizing anyone,” I murmured back quietly. “I’m simply enjoying the show.”
“Adrian,” she warned, her voice dropping lower. “Not tonight. Not when she’s getting married tomorrow.”
The truth was, I’d been silent all evening, content to observe from my corner of the table as the two families pretended their bloody history didn’t exist.
And I was simply enjoying watching the future Salvatore bride.
Before I could respond, Giulia reached for her wine glass, her elbow catching the tall candle decorating the table. It happened in slow motion… the candle toppling, the flame catching on the lace of her sleeve, the sudden flare of orange light against the dark wood.
“Oh, no!” she gasped, shooting to her feet in panic and trying to shake the flames away.
Damon was on his feet in an instant, grabbing a water pitcher and tugging Guilia toward him at the same time before dousing her arm. The fire sputtered out, leaving her sleeve charred but her skin looking a little red, although thankfully unharmed.
Everyone at the table surged forward, voices overlapping in concern. My father’s deep voice cut through the chaos, calling for medical attention though it clearly wasn’t needed. Beatrice was already at Giulia’s side, examining the damage.
But while the entire room focused on my sweet sister, I remained seated, my eyes fixed on Serafina.
She hadn’t moved.
Her body had gone rigid, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the table. The others were too busy fussing over Giulia to notice, but I saw it all—her hazel eyes widening, pupils dilating with a fear that seemed disproportionate to the minor incident. Her breathing had become shallow, rapid, her chest barely rising.
This wasn’t just surprise or concern. It was terror—raw, primal terror that had nothing to do with Giulia’s well-being.
Fire. She was terrified of fire.
I leaned back in my chair, intrigued. The perfect Serafina Morelli had a weakness, and it wasn’t just me. There was something about flames that turned her into a frightened child.
How very interesting…
How many more secrets did she have hidden beneath that perfect exterior? How many more vulnerabilities would reveal themselves before I was done with her?