Chapter Forty-four
Serena
“Where are we going?” I ask, laughing breathlessly as I try to walk in heels while blindfolded. “I need to get ready for the wedding.”
“We’re almost there, love,” he murmurs.
There’s something in his voice. Something steady. Certain. It makes my stomach flip.
And then I hear it. “Perfect Symphony” by Ed Sheeran and Andrea Bocelli.
The first note alone is enough to steal the air from my lungs.
That song. Florence. The rain soaking through my dress.
His hands on my waist. The moment he told me he loved me for the first time.
The moment I stopped fighting what I felt for him.
I will never forget that night.
The blindfold slips away.
I blink once.
Twice.
And then I’m crying.
We’re in a vast private library. Dark shelves climb toward the ceiling. Candles flicker against black walls, casting warm gold over everything.
And everywhere I look. . . I see us.
Projected across the walls. Frozen memories.
Us laughing. Us kissing. Him staring at me like I am the only woman who has ever existed. A picture of me asleep, and him leaning down to kiss my forehead with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.
It’s overwhelming. Intimate. Raw. It’s like stepping inside his heart. Tears stream down my face and I don’t even try to stop them.
In the center of the room stands a long table dressed in white linen. Candles burn in glass cylinders, their flames steady and patient. The air smells like vanilla, warm, soft, addictive. I used to tease him about his obsession with that scent.
He guides me forward, his hand firm at the small of my back.
On the table rests a bouquet of white roses. Not a dozen. Not two. There must be a hundred. Pure white, untouched, perfect. My favorite.
Beside them lies a folded note.
My fingers tremble as I open it.
Turn around.
My heart pounds as I do.
And then the world narrows.
“Oh my God.”
He’s on one knee.
A red velvet box in his hand.
“Serena Evelyn Beaumont.”
The sound of my full name makes something inside me shatter. I never use my middle name. I barely remember telling him.
He knows it anyway.
He opens the box.
The diamond catches the candlelight and explodes with it.
It’s oval, large and luminous, impossibly clear yet holding depth within it, like it carries its own secret fire.
Light fractures inside it, turning into a thousand tiny stars.
The band is delicate, lined with smaller diamonds that cradle the center stone without overpowering it. It doesn’t scream wealth.
It looks eternal. It looks like something meant to be passed through generations. It looks like something that chooses you back.
“Look around you,” he says softly.
I do.
Every wall. Every memory. Every captured glance.
“That’s all I see,” he tells me, and it’s the voice of the man I fell in love with. It’s Lorenzo. Raw. Open. “Every time I close my eyes, every time I open them, that’s all I see. You.”
My throat tightens.
“I wonder sometimes what the fuck I did to deserve you,” he continues.
“You’re my everything. I can’t breathe if you’re not near me.
I can’t function if you’re not here.” His jaw flexes, emotion barely contained.
“My heart cannot fucking comprehend how something as ruined as me could hold something this pure.”
He swallows. “Marry me, love.”
It isn’t a question.
“Give me the chance to make you the happiest woman alive. Give me your eternity. Let me be the lucky bastard who gets to call you his wife for the rest of his life.” His voice roughens. “I gave you my fucking heart. Now let me give you my last name.”
The song swells around us.
“I told you I loved you to this song for the first time,” he says quietly. “Now let me spend the rest of our lives proving it.”
I step toward him.
My hands cup his face. His skin is warm beneath my palms. His eyes, the same blue that once terrified me, are glassy with unshed tears.
This man.
This powerful, dangerous, ruthless man.
On his knees for me.
“I love you,” I whisper.
His expression softens in a way that still shocks me. Like I am the only thing that can undo him.
“Yes,” I breathe against his lips. “I would love to be your wife.”
The words feel sacred.
He slides the ring onto my finger.
It fits perfectly.
The diamond catches the candlelight again, scattering it across the walls filled with our memories. For a moment, it feels like the entire room is glowing around us.
And then his lips crushes mine. He kisses me like he’s hungry of me. He kisses me like this is the most important thing in his world.
“How do you know about my middle name?” I ask him panting.
“There’s nothing I don’t know about you, love.” He tells me pushing my panties away.
He gives me another kiss, cupping my ass cheeks and biting my neck. “Get undressed, love.” He tells me. My pussy pulsing around his touch. “I want you in nothing but the engagement ring and heels.”
Oh my.
I try to get undressed but he helps me eager. After I’m all naked, only wearing his engagement ring and my stilettos, he looks at me like I’m the only woman in this world. “My wife.” He tells me before crushing his lips into mine and fucking me senseless.
“Hurry up! We should be there in ten minutes!” Sienna shouts from the living room.
Her voice echoes through the house while Kylie is still dabbing highlighter across my cheekbones like this is the Met Gala and not a political wedding dressed as a love story. Clara is nowhere to be seen. I tried calling her twice. No answer.
“I still can’t believe they want a strict white dress code,” Kylie mutters, leaning closer to fix the corner of my eyeliner.
“Well,” Sienna calls out again, walking into the doorway, “I don’t think they give a fuck about the aesthetics of this wedding anyway.”
That might actually be true.
Lorenzo told me Lev chose to marry Aurora for business. Alliance. Strategy. Power. Not love.
“I think we’re ready!” Kylie suddenly declares, stepping back dramatically.
We all turn toward the mirror.
White silk everywhere.
Sienna’s caramel hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, glossy and effortless. Kylie’s silver hair is twisted into a messy bun that somehow looks intentional and editorial. My own hair cascades in loose curls down my back, framing my shoulders and collarbone.
“We’re so hot,” Kylie announces proudly.
She’s not wrong.
And then Clara appears in the doorway.
And the room shifts.
Her eyes are swollen, rimmed red like she hasn’t slept. Dark circles bruise the delicate skin beneath them. She’s wearing a gray tracksuit instead of silk. Her long, straight hair hangs limp and unbrushed down her back.
My chest tightens.
I should’ve checked on her more.
Yes, she’s closer to Kylie than to me or Sienna. But that’s not an excuse. We’re supposed to be there for each other. After everything we’ve survived together, there are no sides.
Kylie’s face changes instantly. There’s something in her eyes, love, worry, guilt.
“Is everything okay?” Sienna asks gently, crossing the room to wrap Clara in a hug.
Clara nods, but tears spill anyway.
“Hey,” I say softly.
Her gaze finds mine.
“Can we talk?”
I nod and lead her into the kitchen, away from the silk and perfume and wedding chatter.
The house feels too quiet in here.
“Do you want coffee?” I ask carefully, already knowing the answer.
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Serena.” Her voice cracks.
“For what?” I step closer and take her hands in mine. They’re cold.
She hesitates, like she’s deciding whether to detonate something between us.
“When Lorenzo went after your father. . .” she begins, swallowing hard. “I knew he killed him.”
My heart gives a single, heavy beat.
“I helped.”
Everything inside me stills.
She rushes to continue before I can react, like she’s terrified of what my silence means.
“I swear I didn’t know,” she says quickly.
“Lev told me he’d pay me extra if I helped lure a man into a private room.
I thought it was business. I didn’t know it was your father.
I just needed the money for my mom.” Her voice breaks.
“Everything happened because of me. I helped kill your father. I hurt you. I betrayed you.”
Tears stream down her face.
“I was too scared to tell you. And when I wanted to, you were gone. And I value your friendship more than anything, so please believe me, I didn’t know they were after him.”
She looks destroyed.
Not defensive.
Destroyed.
And something in me aches for her.
Because I know the full truth now. I know why Lorenzo killed my father. I know what kind of man he truly was. I know what he planned for me.
If Clara had told me this months ago, before I knew everything. . . maybe I would have reacted differently. Maybe I would have felt betrayed.
But now?
Now I feel relief that she didn’t carry this alone.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I say gently.
She shakes her head, but I wipe her tears away anyway.
“There is nothing to forgive,” I continue. “I love you. And you didn’t know. Stop punishing yourself for something you were manipulated into.”
My father deserved what he got.
That’s a truth I’ve already made peace with.
Clara exhales shakily, like she’s been holding her breath for months.
“Are you coming to the wedding?” I ask softly, even though I can already see the answer in her eyes.
“I don’t know,” she whispers.
“That’s okay,” I tell her. “We’ll be there if you come. And if you don’t, that’s okay too. But you’re not alone. And you never were.”
She nods slowly.
Then she leaves the kitchen.
Kylie immediately follows her without a word.
Lorenzo stands at the door, his expression unreadable to anyone who doesn’t know him. But I do. There’s sadness there. A quiet heaviness in his eyes when they flick briefly toward Clara. He knows. It’s impossible not to.
We step outside and the air feels sharper, colder.
Andres is already waiting. Next to him stands Knox.
Andres’ black G Wagon is parked in front of the house, immaculate and imposing. Beside it, Knox’s black Lamborghini Urus gleams under the late afternoon light, aggressive and sleek. Both men are leaning against their cars in smoking jackets, looking like a mafia magazine cover.
“Let’s go, love,” Lorenzo says softly, pressing a kiss to my lips.
I melt instantly.
We slide into Lorenzo’s G Wagon. Him, Lev, and Andres all drive the same model, black, armored, untouchable. Kylie joins us, adjusting her dress as she sits. Through the window, I catch Sienna hesitating between the two men outside.
She looks at Andres for a second too long.
Then she turns and walks toward Knox’s car instead.
Twenty minutes later, we arrive at Kirill’s mansion.
The entire place looks unreal.
Everything is white.
White flowers. White drapes. White marble steps. White lanterns lining the entrance. Even the security detail is dressed in white suits. The only dark elements are the long line of black cars parked along the driveway.
A mafia wedding, indeed.
Lev stands at the altar in black.
The only man in black.
Aurora stands beside him in a flawless white gown, her brown hair swept into a delicate bun. She looks like a porcelain angel, fragile, beautiful, obedient. From a distance, they look perfect.
But something about it feels wrong.
Too staged.
Too quiet.
There are reporters everywhere. Cameras flashing. The alliance between Bratva and Cosa Nostra has become spectacle.
The ceremony begins.
And then—
“Oh fuck,” Sienna mutters under her breath.
Knox doesn’t even react. He looks bored, as always.
I follow her gaze.
Clara.
She didn’t just ignore the dress code.
She annihilated it.
She’s wearing black.
Not simple black.
A sheer black lace gown that hugs her body like it was stitched onto her skin.
Intricate floral embroidery covers the fabric, climbing over her hips and waist in dark, delicate patterns.
The bodice is structured and daring, with sculpted cups beneath transparent lace, bold and unapologetic.
Long lace sleeves wrap around her arms like shadowed vines, and a high slit slices up her thigh, revealing toned skin with every step she takes.
The dress flows behind her in a soft train, black lace trailing across white marble like spilled ink.
Her long hair is perfectly straight, glossy and severe against the softness of the lace. Black eyeliner sharpens her eyes. Red lipstick stains her mouth like a warning.
She doesn’t look heartbroken. She looks lethal.
Her posture is straight, her gaze steady, like grief has been sharpened into something far more dangerous.
Lev is the only man in black. And now, so is she.
Beside her stands Theodore Hunter, tall and composed, watching the room with quiet calculation.
What the hell?
Julian is massaging his temples near Andres. Lorenzo and Andres both smirk, not amused, but impressed.
All the cameras shift. One by one, lenses turn away from the bride and groom. Toward Clara and Theo. The movement ripples through the room like a silent command, flashes beginning to pop as attention follows the scandal in real time. The drama writes itself.
Then Lev sees her.
And for a split second, just a second, I see him move. Instinctively. His body shifts before his mind can stop it, like something in him is pulling him toward her. Like he’s about to go to her.
Aurora’s hand tightens around his wrist, stopping him before anyone else notices.
But I notice.
Lorenzo exhales beside me. “There’s too much drama for me,” he murmurs against my ear.
Then, lower, “Do you want me to fuck you in the car, Serena?”
Heat floods my cheeks instantly.
“Yes,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
His hand slides to cup my ass through the silk of my dress, possessive, grounding.
The chaos, the alliances, the cameras, the heartbreak, all of it fades for a second.
I look at the altar.
At the white wedding built on strategy and sacrifice.
Then I look at the man beside me.
And I smile.
Because no matter how twisted our world is, we got our happy ending.