Chapter 3 Three

SERA'S POV

I read the message six times before I believed it.

Enjoy him while he lasts.

The photograph lay on my bed, and I stood over it with my arms wrapped around myself, staring at Noah's face. He was smiling in the picture, completely unaware that someone had been watching us. That someone had followed him. That someone had decided our happiness was a threat.

My phone vibrated.

I nearly threw it across the room.

Unknown Number: Friday. Don't make us repeat ourselves.

My fingers went numb.

Friday was the wedding date on the calendar my father had shown me. Two weeks from now, I would belong to a man whose eyes had followed me through a car window, whose family name could silence an entire city.

I wasn't sure which terrified me more: marrying Dante Valenti or what he might do if I refused.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Sera?"

I shoved the photograph beneath my pillow. "What?"

"Your father wants you downstairs."

Of course he did.

I wiped my palms on my trousers and opened the door. One of my father's men stood in the hallway, dressed in the same black suit I'd seen at the estate. His expression didn't change when he looked at me.

"Mr. Rossi says you need to get ready. We're leaving in an hour."

"Leaving for where?"

"The Valenti estate."

My stomach tightened.

"Why?"

"Dinner."

He said it as though he were inviting me to a birthday party instead of delivering me to the man who had threatened the person I loved.

I shut the door in his face.

Then I slid down against it, pressed both hands over my mouth, and tried not to scream.

---

The dress my father had chosen was waiting on my bed.

Navy blue. Plain. Long sleeves, a modest neckline, and a hem that fell just below my knees. There was nothing wrong with it. That somehow made it worse.

I wasn't being dressed for a wedding or a funeral. I was being dressed for dinner with my future husband, as though this were an ordinary arrangement between two ordinary families.

I pulled it over my head and stood before the mirror.

My face looked pale. My eyes looked tired. I pinched my cheeks until they regained some colour, then lifted my chin.

If Dante Valenti expected me to arrive shaking, he could be disappointed.

My phone buzzed on the bed.

Mia: Are you going to the mansion tonight?

I stared at the screen before typing.

Me: Apparently. It's a dinner invitation.

Mia: That's not an invitation. That's a kidnapping with better clothes.

Despite everything, a small laugh escaped me.

Another message arrived immediately.

Mia: Say the word and I'll call the police.

My smile vanished.

I typed the words, deleted them, and typed them again.

Me: They own the police.

For several seconds, Mia didn't reply.

Then my screen lit up.

Mia: Then we find someone they don't own.

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to grab my passport, find Noah, and drive until the city disappeared behind us.

But every road out of this nightmare seemed to lead straight back to Noah.

I locked my phone and slipped it into my purse.

There was no point pretending I could run when the people chasing me already knew who I loved.

---

The Valenti mansion stood behind towering iron gates, surrounded by high walls and trees that hid most of the grounds from the road. Two guards checked our vehicle before the gates swung open. Beyond them, a long driveway curved toward a sprawling stone building with tall windows and a black roof.

The place was beautiful in the way expensive things often were. Perfect from a distance. Cold when you got close.

I watched the mansion grow larger through the window, my hands clasped tightly in my lap.

"Remember to be respectful," the man beside me said.

I turned to him. "Will they shoot me if I'm not?"

He didn't answer.

That was answer enough.

The car stopped beneath the entrance canopy. A man in a dark suit opened my door, and I stepped out without waiting for assistance.

My heels clicked against the stone as I followed him inside.

The entrance hall smelled of polished wood and something faintly smoky. A massive chandelier hung overhead, scattering light across the marble floor. Men stood near the walls, speaking quietly into their phones. Every one of them watched me pass.

I kept my eyes forward.

A woman in a fitted black dress approached and led me through a pair of double doors.

The dining room was enormous.

A long table stretched beneath golden lights, set with silver cutlery, crystal glasses, and candles that flickered in the still air. Several men occupied the chairs along either side. Their conversations slowed when I entered.

And at the head of the table sat Dante Valenti.

He wore a black shirt with the sleeves buttoned at his wrists. His dark hair was neatly styled, and one hand rested around a crystal glass of amber liquid. He wasn't looking at me when I walked in.

He was listening to the man beside him.

He didn't stand.

He didn't even bother pretending my arrival mattered.

Something hot and stubborn stirred beneath my ribs.

If he wanted a frightened little bride, he had chosen the wrong girl.

"You're late," he said.

His eyes finally lifted to mine.

Dark. Steady. Unreadable.

I stopped beside the empty chair opposite him.

"I wasn't invited to be on time. I was ordered."

A man halfway down the table coughed into his fist.

Someone else suddenly became very interested in his wine.

Dante's gaze held mine for another second. The corner of his mouth moved, almost forming a smile, before his expression settled back into its usual coldness.

"Sit."

"Please?"

His fingers stopped against the glass.

The room went quiet.

For a moment, I thought I'd pushed too far. Then Dante leaned back in his chair, studying me as if I were an unfamiliar object he'd just discovered in his house.

"Sit down, Sera."

At least he knew my name.

I pulled out the chair and sat.

A waiter appeared almost immediately, placing a plate in front of me. I glanced at the food but couldn't have identified a single thing on it. My stomach had knotted itself into something too tight to hold even a sip of water.

The man seated to Dante's right leaned forward.

He was older than Dante, with silver beginning to show at his temples. His expensive suit fit perfectly, but his smile was ugly enough to ruin it.

"So this is the baker girl," he said. "I expected someone a little more-"

"Marco."

Dante didn't raise his voice.

He didn't need to.

Marco Vitale's smile disappeared. His fingers tightened around his fork, and a muscle jumped in his cheek.

"Of course," he muttered, leaning back.

I glanced at Dante.

He hadn't even looked at Marco. He was cutting into his food as though the interruption had been no more significant than a fly landing on the table.

That was when I understood something.

Dante didn't have to shout to make people obey him.

He only had to speak.

"Eat," he said to me.

"I'm not hungry."

"That wasn't a question."

I picked up my fork.

I would eat every bite on that plate before I gave him the satisfaction of seeing me tremble.

For the next several minutes, the men discussed business. A shipment had been delayed. Someone in the south had missed a payment. Another man needed permission to handle a problem in one of the city's clubs.

Nobody explained anything to me, but I caught enough to understand that this dinner had very little to do with food.

These men were discussing lives as casually as other people discussed the weather.

And Dante sat at the centre of it all.

Finally, he set down his fork.

"Our wedding will take place in two weeks."

My hand stopped halfway to my mouth.

I looked up. "Two weeks?"

"Yes."

"You make it sound like you've ordered new curtains."

One of the men shifted uncomfortably.

Dante's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Do you have a problem with the date?"

"I have a problem with the wedding."

"That makes two of us, then."

I blinked.

For the first time that evening, he sounded almost human.

Then he lifted his glass, and whatever I'd thought I'd heard disappeared.

I set down my fork. "And if I say no?"

Dante placed his glass on the table with deliberate care.

"Your father loses his hands."

The words landed between us.

He continued as if he were explaining a simple business arrangement.

"Your family loses everything they own. Their protection, their money, their place in this city. Anyone who has benefited from the Rossi name will learn what happens when a Rossi breaks a deal with me."

My throat tightened.

"And me?"

His gaze settled on my face.

"You lose nothing, Sera."

A bitter laugh threatened to escape me.

"Nothing?"

"Because you'll still be mine."

My breath caught.

The room seemed to shrink around me. I could hear the clock ticking somewhere behind my chair, the soft scrape of a knife against a plate, the faint clink of ice inside someone's glass.

Mine.

He spoke as though the matter had already been settled. As though my opinion were a minor inconvenience that would disappear once he stopped acknowledging it.

I lowered my eyes to my plate.

My fork trembled against the china, producing a tiny metallic sound.

I hated that he noticed.

I hated even more that he didn't look particularly pleased by it.

"Is there anyone I should know about?" he asked.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Noah's face flashed through my mind. His crooked paper flower. His arms around me at the bakery. The photograph beneath my pillow.

Dante watched me without moving.

I forced myself to meet his gaze.

"No."

The lie tasted like blood.

He held my eyes for so long that I wondered whether he could hear my heartbeat. Then he nodded once.

"Good."

The dinner continued, but I barely heard another word.

By the time Dante dismissed me, my shoulders ached from holding myself so rigidly. I rose from my chair, smoothed my dress, and turned toward the door.

I was almost there when someone stepped into my path.

Marco Vitale.

He moved aside to let me pass, wearing that same unpleasant smile. As I drew level with him, he leaned close enough that his breath brushed my ear.

"You're a terrible liar, sweetheart."

I stopped.

His smile widened.

"He already knows about the boy."

The blood drained from my face.

I turned sharply, but Marco had already stepped away. He picked up his glass and took a leisurely sip, pretending he'd said nothing at all.

Across the room, Dante was speaking to another man.

He didn't look at me.

He didn't have to.

I walked out of the dining room with my chin raised and my hands clenched inside my dress pockets. I didn't allow myself to run until I reached the entrance hall.

The moment the front doors closed behind me, I pulled out my phone.

Noah's name glowed on the screen.

My thumb hovered over it.

He knows about you.

I wanted to call. I wanted to tell Noah everything, beg him to stay away, beg him to forgive me for the things I hadn't even done yet.

Instead, I locked my phone.

Because if Dante Valenti already knew about Noah, then the question wasn't whether my lie had fooled him.

The question was how much time Noah had left.