CHAPTER FIVE
Serafina
If I had a choice… maybe I would have worn red.
Bold. Defiant. Hate.
Retribution.
Or maybe black.
Death. Rage. Fear.
Vengeance.
But the dress was white. Blindingly, achingly white… like a sacrificial offering.
I didn’t recognize the woman gazing back at me in the mirror. She was me, but different. A molded puppet for men’s desires, a quiet pawn for family’s games, and a perfect hostage to my own self-loathing. What a pity.
The off-the-shoulder white satin clung to my curves before cascading to the floor in elegant waves, reflecting light with a soft, liquid sheen. The fabric was flawless, everything about the dress was flawless. Expensive and refined.
I felt both powerful and exposed.
A fraud.
God, what am I doing?
Lucia secured the final pin in my hair, arranging the dark tresses in a delicate updo, an effortless bun that left a few tendrils framing my hair. “Absolutely perfect,” she whispered, stepping back to admire her handy work. She truly did amazing tonight.
Tonight…
Was my official engagement ball.
The formal announcement to both families and their associates that Serafina Morelli and Matteo Salvatore would be wed in four weeks’ time.
“How many people have been invited tonight?”
“I’m not too sure, but it’s about a hundred. More or less.”
More or less. Yeah, as if that was going to be easy.
It was only my second appearance to the public in my whole lifetime.
First the funeral. And now this engagement party. Next… my wedding.
All within six weeks’ timeframe.
It was a nightmare I wanted to wake up from but somehow I was trapped under the water, dark, cold and struggling. Sinking deeper and deeper into the unknown abyss, dragging me deeper into the hollow cave of nothingness.
My fingers trembled as I reached for the mask resting on the vanity. The delicate silver creation was adorned with crystals and tiny pearls that caught the light with every moment.
A masquerade ball—how fitting. Another layer to hide behind, another facade to present to the world.
To show them we were merely the elite… people of high society.
But the truth was darker. Our reality was far bloodier.
We were everything corrupted and dark. We danced with reckless debauchery and lived the life of complete depravity. Ugly. Illegal. Destructive.
The masquerade mask was truly the prettiest little thing I had ever laid my eyes on. I never thought I’d ever attend a masquerade ball. It all seemed whimsical when I used to think about it. Romantic and fairytale like.
“They’re waiting for you downstairs,” Lucia said softly, squeezing my shoulder. “Your father asked me to remind you that your entrance should be precisely at nine o’clock.”
Nine o’clock. The spectacle hour in my own personal fairytale… except there would be no magical transformation at midnight, no escape from my pretty gilded cage, no glass slipper left behind. Just the inexorable march toward my cruel fate as Salvatore's gifted bride.
“I understand.” This time, there would be no tardiness. Not even by a second. Perfection was expected. No, it was demanded.
I secured the mask over the upper half of my face, and it turned out to be the perfect, beautiful armor that I didn’t realize I needed.
A barrier between my true self—the one I hid deep inside the crevice of my soul, and the role I had to play tonight.
And maybe for a very long time, until I accomplished what I had set out to do.
Weeks… months… years… I didn’t know.
I stood up and pushed the chair away to give myself enough room so I could take it all in. The white dress, the silver mask, the makeup, my hair… everything was perfect.
Regal. Elegant. Poised. Untouchable.
After one final glance at the mirror, I walked out of the room. The white satin of my gown whispered against the marble steps as I walked down the wide corridor that led to the ballroom.
Everything was unfamiliar.
The walls, the floor, the tapestries.
It was as if I was walking in the darkness of the complete unknown. The shadows followed me closely, threatening to swallow me whole, to put me into their never-ending abyss.
I had tried to ask my father if we could have the engagement at our private estate in Chicago. But he refused before I could even finish my sentence.
He said we needed to make a grand statement. My wedding was a once in a lifetime spectacle, after all. So, I was put on our private jet with Lucia and flown to the Biltmore Estate this morning. My father and brother flew separately, of course. Safety measures, my father claimed.
The Biltmore Estate was a literal chateau-styled mansion. I had never seen such beauty and magnificence before at such a level and if I hadn’t been filled with so much shuddering dread all day… I would have truthfully appreciated the architecture and the grandness of this place.
But I couldn’t bring myself to be excited about anything.
How could I? When I was walking right into the jaws of my own impending demise.
My fingers trembled slightly against the banister as I watched the ballroom from above. The weight of my diamond necklace felt like a spiked collar around my neck.
From above, the ballroom resembled a black and red chessboard. Expensive black suits and lavish burgundy gowns—pieces moving in deliberate patterns. Each with their own agenda, carefully hidden behind their masquerade masks.
Crystal chandeliers spilled golden lights across the polished marble floors, catching on the expensive jewels and champagne flutes.
I couldn’t swallow past the heavy lump in my throat.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The orchestra’s melody wound through the air, but the thundering of my pulse was louder in my ears.
And then the clock chimed. Precisely at nine o’clock.
Once. Thud.
Twice. Thud. Thud.
Thrice. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Conversation died mid-sentence. The orchestra paused.
It was pure mocking silence for a mere second before hundreds of eyes turned toward the grand staircase, their attention diverting to me like the gaze of a hawk.
Calculating. Assessing. Admiring.
I took my first step down the stairs. There was a single breath between the taunting silence and the first note of the cello from the orchestra.
I made my way down, with utmost care and elegance as the cello’s fury bounced off the walls of the ballroom. The tempo intensified, each beat rippling through my body like a wave. Frenzied and with utter madness.
My heart slammed into my rib cage like a thundering storm.
I can’t breathe…
My steps faltered momentarily when a large figure in a tailored black tuxedo walked up the stairs. I knew it was Matteo, even with the mask hiding half of his face. It was planned this way. My father told me so. Matteo would meet me up at the stairs and we would walk down together. As one.
Oh God…
The dress felt tight around my chest, the fabric pinching into my skin, almost like it was tearing into my flesh with a personal vengeance.
He put his hand out, waiting for me to take it.
I… can’t… breathe…
I couldn’t faint. Not now. I simply couldn’t. No.
My father wouldn’t accept such a mistake.
Enzo Salvatore would think me weak… too fragile to marry his heir.
And Matteo? I knew he would be the most disappointed.
I had to be… perfect.
Tonight, there was no room for error.
So, I placed my hand in my betrothed’s and he guided me down the rest of the stairs.
Even as I suffocated inside. The feeling of absolute dread and misery filling my bones, poisoning my veins and saturating my lungs.
The rest of the orchestra had joined the cello, but it all sounded distant, muted. My blood roared between my ears as we walked off the last step of the stairs.
The orchestra slowed to a crescendo and then came to an abrupt end before the sound of applause echoed through the ballroom.
Every clap reverberated through my body, echoing into my heart like a loud clashing thud.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
“Are you okay?” Matteo asked, his voice gravelly and low, only for my ears.
“I’m fine,” I responded. Almost too quickly. Liars were always too quick to deny.
“You’re trembling.” The ringing in my ears was too loud; I couldn’t tell if he was admonishing me or if that was the sound of caring in his voice.
“I’m a little nervous… I mean, I haven’t done this before, you know? It’s my first time getting engaged,” I said lightly. Foolish pride filled me when my voice didn’t tremble. I actually sounded composed and poised.
And well… utterly fake. But no one knew that.
“Don’t be nervous. You look breathtaking,” Matteo said, this time loud enough for those nearby to hear the appreciative tone, the appropriate admiration a man should show his future bride.
“Why, thank you. You look quite dashing yourself,” I responded coyly.
My eyes swept over the crowd, taking in everything I could. A sea of Chicago’s and New York’s elite gathered here today to celebrate the engagement that would cement the peace between their two worlds.
My father moved forward and came to stand by my side. “Ladies and gentlemen.” His voice resonated through the ballroom. “Tonight, it brings me great pleasure to introduce my daughter, Serafina Morelli.”
Another round of applause rippled through the crowd.
“Serafina and Matteo couldn’t be a more perfect pair. They complement each other in the best way possible.” My father raised his flute, smiling as if he won the greatest jackpot.
Of course. My sacrifice, even if it was unwilling, saved his precious life. Otherwise Enzo Salvatore would have longed to put a bullet between his eyes.
“And I know, my daughter will be everything that Matteo needs to complete his life and Matteo will be the best future for Serafina.”
Thud.
I would be everything that Matteo needed… Oh yes, I had to be.
His perfect wife. The perfect breeder. The perfect mother to his children.