Chapter 2

Serena POV The fluorescent lights of the secure triage area emitted a low, incessant hum overhead. Rosa looked up from wiping down a stainless steel medical tray. She was my best friend and my lead surgical nurse. "Why are you back inside?" she asked, her gaze falling to the heavy duffel bag I was pulling out of my locker. I pulled the zipper taut, the sound a sharp, metallic rip in the quiet. "Sofia was in the front passenger seat," I said, the words tasting of rust in my mouth. Rosa let the blood-stained rag slip from her fingers to the linoleum floor, her mouth slackening in disbelief. "A future mafia queen does not bend the knee to an associate," I added, hoisting the heavy bag over my shoulder. Before Rosa could form a reply, the heavy steel doors of the clinic burst open. Dante stormed into the triage area, the sterile air seeming to curdle around his fury. Sofia was trailing right behind him. She was still lost in the voluminous folds of his cashmere coat. Dante pointed a finger at my face, the gesture a crude violation of the room's sterile protocol. "Stop causing a scene and get back in the car, Serena." "You are embarrassing both of us." Sofia stepped forward, a theatrical shimmer of tears gathering in her wide eyes. "I am so sorry, Dante," she whispered, a practiced tremor in her tone. "I will just sit in the trunk if it makes her happy." "I do not want to ruin your night." Dante instantly stepped in front of her, using his body to shield her from my gaze as if I were the threat. He glared at me, not as the woman he was to marry, but as an adversary to be subdued. "She is a traumatized kid, Serena," he said, his voice a low snarl. "Your jealousy is out of line." A strange, cold clarity washed over me, chilling the skin on my arms. I looked directly into Dante's dark eyes, my focus so narrow that the girl cowering behind him became a mere peripheral blur. "She is in my seat," I stated, my voice devoid of inflection. "She is wearing my fiancé's coat." "And she is drinking from the flask I bought for you." Dante made a guttural sound of frustration in the back of his throat. "It is just a flask." "You are acting insane over a piece of metal." I reached for my left hand, my thumb and forefinger closing over the heavy facets of the diamond. "Just a betrothal," I murmured. "Just a syndicate alliance." "Just five years of my loyalty." My gaze remained locked on his as I slid the massive Moretti family diamond off my finger. I held it for a moment over a stainless steel biohazard bin, a container filled with gauze soaked in antiseptic and dark, clotted blood, and then I opened my hand. The stone made a dull splash, the diamond vanishing beneath the foul, crimson-tinged liquid. "The alliance is severed." Dante stared at the biohazard bin as if I had just thrown a living thing into it. The anger in his face did not fade, but was abruptly hollowed out from within, leaving the skin taut over his cheekbones. His jaw slackened, and his throat worked once against the stiff collar of his shirt. "You cannot break a blood oath over a panic attack," he breathed, the arrogance leached from his voice. I stepped around him, the duffel bag a solid, comforting weight against my hip. "Take her to a hospital for her panic attacks, instead of your front seat." As I passed, Dante reached out to grab my arm. "Do not touch me." My voice was low, each word honed to a cutting edge. He froze, his hand arrested in the cold, sterile air. I did not give him a backward glance as I walked out of the clinic and stepped into the rain-washed darkness of the streets.