Mafia Heir’s Broken Vows (Rosewood Hall Broken Vows)

1. Serafina

SERAFINA

T he pretentious sounds of a string quartet echo through the Grand Ballroom of Rosewood Hall, dancing through the crowds of masked people. The clink of champagne flutes and the chatter of idle small talk seem to keep time with the music. I move through the guests with ease, my crimson gown sweeping the marble floor. The mask perched on my face is uncomfortable, but it gives me the freedom of anonymity. Hiding who I am, blending into the crowd that I don't fit in with at all. No one stops me to chat or introduce me to another rich benefactor. I'm almost invisible.

I shouldn't be here. Not with these people. Not in their world—the one I fought so hard to escape. And yet, here I am—working. I am just another pretty shiny mask in the crowd, glitter, lace, and gold covering my face. Camouflaged and unnoticed. Until I feel someone watching me. My skin crawls, and my hair stands on end.

A stare—burning, intense.

I hold my breath. Slowly, I turn, scanning the sea of glittering masks and shiny dresses. Men in tuxedos and bow ties, all trying to impress.

Then I see him.

Tall. Commanding. Draped in an expensive, custom-made black suit, his dark mask concealing everything but the icy fire in his eyes. Eyes I know. Eyes I've looked into before. The past has come back to haunt me on Valentine's Day.

I've spent years perfecting the art of staying invisible—blending into rooms like this one. Masks and glitter, fake smiles and polite lies—it's all a game I've mastered.

But Alessandro D'Angelo doesn't play games. He's here to ruin everything, just like he did before.

My stomach twists, the champagne I sipped earlier churning uneasily. My pulse thunders in my ears, drowning out everything else. His eyes lock onto mine, and suddenly, the careful facade I've built begins to crack.

My heart is a traitor, hammering in my chest. For a split second, I forget to hate him. A rush of heat floods me, cruel and familiar, reminding me of the fire he used to ignite.

But then the memories hit—jagged glass slicing through the haze of attraction. The lies. The heartbreak. The moment he left without a word, leaving me to pick up the shattered pieces.

I hate him for making me feel like the ground is slipping away beneath me, for dragging me back to a place I swore I'd never return to.

The mask hides his face, but I don't need to see it to know—it's him. My heart skips a beat, then races. He hasn't seen me yet. Not really. Not behind this mask. Maybe he doesn't know it's me. I should walk away, slip into the crowd, disappear like I've done so many times before.

But my feet stay planted.

And then?—

He walks. Effortlessly. His gaze locks onto mine, and in that instant, the years fall away, leaving raw, open wounds. I hate him—there is nothing but bitter loathing in my heart for that man.

He's here.

Why is he here? No one told me he had come home—prodigal son. I am sure his father is overjoyed. I, however, wish he had stayed gone.

Before I can decide whether to confront him or flee, he's standing right in front of me. Too close. The air between us thickens, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid, leaving me breathless and reeling. The noise of the surrounding conversation dulls, the music fades, and all I hear is the steady beat of my heart.

"Care to dance?" His voice is smooth, tainted with something darker. It's a challenge. One I don't intend to accept. Nothing good can come from dancing with the fucking devil himself.

I smile, and my hands tremble slightly. "Is that wise, D'Angelo?" I say his name, and it tastes like poison on my tongue. He's a dangerous man, a killer, and he is responsible for all of my pain.

A flicker of surprise in his eyes—recognition. "Serafina."

The sound of my name on his lips is a spark to dry tinder. I should walk away. No, I should run away—as fast as my legs can carry me. I don't want to be trapped in his web again. Once was enough.

Instead, I take his hand.

The orchestra swells as he pulls me onto the crowded dance floor, his grip firm, his movements effortless. Too close. Too familiar. Each step feels like a ghost from the past, haunting me with memories I swore I'd bury.

At the same time, it hurts—a scar being ripped open. I should stomp on his foot and get the hell out of here while I still can.

His hand at my waist burns, branding me with a touch I never wanted to feel again. My body betrays me, leaning into him despite every alarm blaring in my head. It's like my body remembers the way he fits against me, even if my mind refuses to.

My heart pounds, useless and weak, like it's forgotten the agony he left behind. The lies, the heartbreak—all the promises I made to myself to never let this happen again.

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stay in control, to keep my distance. But he's too close. His scent curls around me, dark and consuming, pulling me in like a drug I swore I'd quit.

Damn him for knowing exactly how to disarm me, even now.

His hand tightens at my waist, his voice low and taunting in my ear. "Did you miss me?"

The words slither under my skin, setting every nerve on edge. Goosebumps break out along my arms, and I hate that he still has this effect on me.

I tilt my head, my mask shielding the smirk on my face. "Like a knife to the ribs." I missed him—and then I didn't—and then I decided to hate him instead. He doesn't need to know that I was heartbroken over him; he only gets the hate.

His chuckle is low, but there's no humor in it. Only heat. Tension sizzles between us, electric and suffocating. He always stole my breath, made it hard to think when he was so close. I need to keep my wits about me. I'm not going to fall for his charming bullshit again.

I have other things to worry about, like why Marco wanted me to organize this event so badly, why he insisted I had to be here. I don't usually stay for the party—I do my job and leave. But he was very particular about me being here. The money he offered seemed worth it—until now.

Somewhere in the shadows, I feel eyes on us. Someone is watching. Marco's men, perhaps? My skin prickles. Not in the good way it did when Alessandro was watching me—this is like someone just walked over my grave.

He dips me low and spins my body like I am just a toy, making sure I crash into him and that he can pull me flush against his hard body. All I see are his eyes through the mask, but that is enough to know what he's thinking. The possessive way he holds me, and the betrayal I feel when my body warms beneath that touch, I am in deep trouble.

The music finally changes, and the dance ends. I break away from him, breathless and seething. Lust, rage, and revenge all cross my mind. Alessandro's gaze follows me as I bolt through the crowd, needing distance, needing air. I slip through the grand archways and out onto the terrace, the winter air biting at my skin. Cooling the hot flush that he caused.

Fairy lights dangle above me, making the icy stone glow like it's on fire. Beyond the terrace, the lake reflects the moon, serene and still—a stark contrast to the war of emotions inside me. I don't want to go back inside—or to see him again. Maybe I should leave now. No one will notice I've gone. Everything is running as it should.

"Running away already?" Fuck.

I whirl around. Alessandro leans against the stone railing, casual as if he owns the place.

"I don't run," I snap. Although I was thinking about it until one second ago. "That's you."

He smirks. "No, you don't. You disappear."

The words slice like knives through soft flesh.

"What do you want, Alessandro?" I cross my arms, the cold biting through the thin fabric of my dress making my nipples misbehave.

His eyes darken. "To understand why you're here. With these people."

"I could ask you the same," I retort. He must be on the guest list—he belongs here far more than I ever will. "I'm working. This is not a social event for me. It's my job."

He steps closer, invading my space. "You're hiding something. What is it, Serafina?"

A flicker of unease runs through me. I can't let him find out about Leo. He can't know. Not now. Not after everything. He's not wrong—I am hiding many things, none of which I am willing to reveal to him. "I'm not hiding anything. I am trying not to get fired." I snap.

Before I can say more, a shadowy figure moves near the terrace entrance. Alessandro's attention is stolen away, and he subtly positions himself between me and the shadow we can't see. Someone is watching us a little too closely.

"Let's take a walk," he murmurs, offering his arm. I shouldn't take a walk with him—I don't want to, but that shadow has rattled my nerves. If I stomp off now, they'll wonder what the fuck I was doing out here with him.

Reluctantly, I take his arm, and we slip back into the castle's dim corridors, away from prying eyes.

The corridor stretches out before us, long and dimly lit, like a tunnel leading back into the past. With every step, I feel it—every mistake, every heartbreak, every betrayal waiting at the end.

Alessandro walks beside me, silent but unyielding, his presence impossible to ignore. His hand brushes mine, a fleeting touch that sets my nerves on edge.

I'm about to snap at him when a shadow flickers ahead, freezing me mid-step. A man steps into the light, his dark suit crisp, his gaze sharp. The weight of his stare hits me like a physical blow. My stomach clenches, a cold dread spreading through my chest.

Alessandro moves in front of me, his stance casual but brimming with tension, like a predator ready to pounce. "She's with me," he says, his voice low and steady, but there's a warning in his tone.

The man doesn't move, his smirk slow and deliberate. "Marco likes to keep tabs on his investments," he says, his voice smooth as silk and twice as cutting. His eyes drift to me, lingering like he's committing every inch of my face to memory.

My heart slams against my ribcage. His interests? That's what I am to Marco—a pawn he can monitor and control? My mind spins, conjuring worst-case scenarios. Does he suspect something? Has he found out about Leo?

Alessandro's jaw tightens, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Then tell Marco to back off."

The man's smirk deepens, his gaze briefly flicking to Alessandro. "You know he doesn't like to share."

He steps back into the shadows, but I still feel his eyes on me. A shiver ripples down my spine. I release a shaky breath, every muscle in my body tense as though I've been holding myself together with sheer force of will.

"This is why you shouldn't be here," Alessandro says, his tone sharper now as if scolding a child.

I glare at him, anger bubbling to the surface to drown my unease. "Is that what this is? You saving me?"

He stops abruptly, turning to face me, his eyes blazing behind the mask. "It's exactly what this is, Serafina. You might not want my help, but you damn well need it."

My breath catches, the truth of his words sinking in like a stone. He doesn't wait for my reply, turning on his heel and leading me further into the shadows. I follow, every step heavier than the last.

The Rose Garden is deserted, the impressive glass dome shimmering with the flicker of fairy lights. Roses bloom in defiance of the cold, their subtle fragrance mingling with the night air. Alessandro stops, turning to face me. We're alone, and suddenly I am afraid.

The cold air bites at my skin, but the heat of his gaze makes it impossible to feel anything but him.

He steps closer, and I instinctively back away, my heels catching on the uneven stone. His hand shoots out, gripping my elbow to steady me. The touch burns, igniting a dangerous warmth that spreads through my veins.

"Careful," he murmurs, his voice low and laced with a warning. "I wouldn't want you to fall."

I yank my arm away, but his presence is suffocating, heavy as a storm cloud hanging over me. Every breath feels harder, heavier, under the weight of him.

"Why are you really here, Alessandro?" My voice is sharper than I intended, but I don't care. "What do you want from me?"

His eyes darken, the answer lingering on his lips but unspoken. "The truth," he says at last, though his gaze says otherwise.

"Tell me the truth," he demands, his voice low but edged with steel. I will never tell him the fucking truth. He doesn't deserve it. "Why are you here?"

"There's nothing to tell," I lie smoothly. His posture changes. I have made him angry in my defiance. "I am working."

His jaw tightens. "Marco's men are here. Watching you. Why?"

I cross my arms, defiant. "You think I'm involved with Marco? You are funny, aren't you? He hired my company to organize the event; it is his year to host this shitshow." It's not a lie; that's the reason I'm here.

His eyes narrow. "Then explain why they're following you around." He needs to back off.

A beat of silence stretches between us. Electricity charges the air as we stare at one another, nothing has changed. I still hate him. He comes closer, stepping into my personal space, trying to disarm me with his fucking sex appeal and that god-damned scent he wears.

"Stay away from me, Alessandro," I whisper, but it sounds weak, even to me.

He steps closer. "I can't. And neither can you." I wish that was a lie—that I could force my body to hate him like my head and heart do. But I'm already dripping wet just being near him. A single innocent touch like holding his arm has my entire body tingling with desire. The way he can disarm me of my common sense is dangerous.

The air sparks between us, but the sound of footsteps shatters the moment. We both turn. I am relieved by the welcome interruption. I know where that interaction was heading, down a slippery-fucking-sexy-slope.

"We need to leave. Now," Alessandro says. I hesitate, not willing to just do as he tells me, but a shiver runs up my spine. He senses danger, and my body is telling me the same thing.

And despite everything—the past, the pain, the mistrust—I blindly follow him further into the shadows.