2. Alessandro
ALESSANDRO
I t's fucking freezing outside as I lead Serafina away from the Rose Garden, her tiny hand trembling slightly in mine. She tries to mask it—that fear—but I see through it. I always have. Marco's men are here, and she's more than just an employee. Why is she tangled up with him? She is hiding something, and I want to know what.
We move deeper into Rosewood Hall, away from the crowd and the prying eyes hidden beneath glittering masks. The dim hallway is lined with ancient portraits, their painted eyes following our every move. I don't stop until we reach the Hall of Mirrors, the flickering candlelight casting endless reflections around us. The décor carefully selected to create a 'mood' for valentines, a stupid holiday I have always hated.
"Take off the mask, Serafina," I command, my voice low but firm. I want to see her face, to know what lies she is trying to conceal behind the delicate gold.
Her chin lifts defiantly. "No."
I step closer, closing the distance between us. She smells like sunshine and seduction. "You want to play games? Fine. But not with me. Not tonight." I'm not interested in games—those are for children and fools.
Her breath hitches, but slowly, her hands rise to the delicate mask, she unhooks it and lets it fall to the marble floor. Her face—the same and yet different—stares back at me, fierce but vulnerable.
"Satisfied?" she snaps. How could I be satisfied when I am looking at her, not claiming her?
I don't answer. I just watch her, cataloging every shift in her expression.
"You're keeping a secret. What is it? You shouldn't be here. We both know it."
"Don't pretend you care." I don't care. I shouldn't care—but I do.
Her words cut like shards of glass, but I brush them off.
"Marco's men aren't here for fun, or Valentine's. Why are they watching you? Don't say it's work—that is not work." He's not really the lovey-dovey type. If they are keeping tabs on her, she is in trouble.
She crosses her arms, lips pressing into a thin line. "That's none of your business." Everything is my business—especially her.
I take a slow step forward, crowding her space. "It is when it puts you in danger. And if you're not careful, you'll put others in danger too. You will always be my business, Serafina. Let's just get that straight."
Her eyes flash with anger, but there's something else—fear. Genuine fear. She's terrified, but of what? Him, or is it me?
Before I can push her further, the sharp clatter of footsteps on marble catches our attention. Both of us freeze. I grip her arm, pulling her into the nearest alcove, pressing her back against the cold stone wall. My body shields hers from sight as the footsteps get closer.
I hear voices—low, whispering.
"She was seen with D'Angelo. If she slips away, Marco will fucking kill us. How can she just vanish? We're not in a fucking children's book, even if this ridiculous castle makes it look like we are." They're looking for her, and they know she was with me—not a good thing for either of us.
Serafina stiffens against me. I lean in, my lips brushing against her ear. "Shhh."
Her breath is shallow, but she nods. My hand rests lightly at her waist, steadying her. We wait, the footsteps fading as the men disappear back down the hall.
Only when I'm sure they're gone do I pull back, though not by much. I'm not about to let her escape without an explanation.
"What the fuck was that about?" I murmur. "Tell me what the hell is going on."
For a moment, I see her walls crack—the fear bleeding through. But then they slam shut again.
"Stay out of it, Alessandro. You don't want to be involved in this." She tries to push me away.
I smirk coldly. "Too late for that. I'm involved."
Back in the Grand Ballroom, the waltz has shifted to something darker, slower. The room is colder now, with fewer bodies heating the place. I can sense Serafina's unease rippling through her polished facade. I watch her scanning the room, the tension radiating off her in waves. What is she looking for? Or who?
"Tell me why you left," she suddenly demands, voice like a dagger.
I blink, caught off-guard. "What?"
Her eyes flash with something fierce—anger, maybe pain.
"Years ago, you vanished. No word. No explanation. Just gone. Now you're back, out of fucking nowhere."
Pain sears through my chest, brief but sharp, like a blade slipping between my ribs. She has no idea what I've done to keep her safe—what I've sacrificed, what I've lost. But maybe it's better that way. If she knew the truth, she wouldn't look at me with anger. She'd look at me with fear.
"You wouldn't understand," I say, the words tasting like ash. They're a lie, and we both know it. But telling her the truth would only drag her deeper into this world, a place she doesn't belong. A place I never wanted her to be.
Her bitter laugh cuts through the din of the ballroom. It's colder than the air outside, colder than the blood I've spilled for people who don't deserve it.
"Try me," she says, daring me to break her.
I glance away, my jaw locking tight. "I was protecting you," I admit, though the words feel weak in my mouth. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. It was business—bloody, messy business.
"By abandoning me?" Her voice rises, her composure slipping. "You left me to pick up the pieces of my broken heart—to survive in a war you started." She pauses, her tone dropping lower, deadlier. "You fucking coward."
My stomach churns, anger and regret warring inside me. Coward? Maybe she's right. Maybe I am. But I couldn't risk her becoming another casualty. Her brother already made that mistake.
"Your brother—" I start, but the words catch in my throat. The weight of his name is a noose tightening around my neck.
"Don't you dare." Her voice trembles, her rage barely masking something else—grief. "You don't get to use him as an excuse. The blame game will not fly with me."
There are things she doesn't know, and there isn't time tonight to explain them. It hurt me to hurt her, and she'll never forgive me. I don't blame her for that.
I exhale slowly, dragging the guilt deeper into my chest. "It was never meant to be like this." Weak. Pathetic. A man like me should never sound like this. But it's all I have.
"No," she says, her laugh bitter, humorless. "It wasn't. But you made your choice."
Her words are a blade twisting in old wounds. I didn't have a fucking choice. My hands were tied, my path already carved in blood long before I even met her. But none of that matters now. Not to her.
She steps closer, her eyes sharp and unforgiving. "Now it's too late to come stick your nose in my life."
I meet her glare, refusing to flinch. She thinks it's too late. She thinks I'll let her go. But she doesn't understand—there's no world, no life, no future where she isn't mine.
A server glides past, his silver tray reflecting the soft glow of the chandeliers. My eyes catch a folded note slipped discreetly under a crystal glass at Serafina's place setting. I snatch it without hesitation, my movements sharp and purposeful.
Unfolding it, the elegant scrawl is brief but damning:
He knows. Run.
I feel her presence beside me before I hear her. She leans in, reading over my shoulder, her breath catching audibly. "It's rude to read notes that aren't addressed to you," she snaps, her tone venomous as she snatches the paper from my hand.
Her gaze flits over the short message, her fingers trembling slightly as she grips the note too tightly. I watch her swallow hard, the mask she wears slipping just enough for me to see the fear she's trying to hide.
"Marco?" I murmur, my voice quiet but firm.
Her silence speaks volumes. She doesn't confirm it, but her gaze flickers to the edges of the room, where Marco's men linger like shadows. Her fingers tremble as they clutch the note too tightly, bending the edges as if she's trying to keep herself from unraveling. I don't need her to say it—I can piece it together easily enough.
My grip on her arm tightens, steady but commanding. "You're not leaving my sight," I growl, each word deliberate.
Her posture stiffens, her back straightening as she glares up at me, the fire in her eyes unmistakable. She rips her arm free, the sudden movement full of defiance.
"You lost the right to touch me years ago," she bites out, her voice rising just enough to attract a few glances from nearby tables.
I step closer, my tone dropping low enough to stay between us. "I didn't lose anything. But you're about to lose everything if you keep pushing me away."
Her breathing quickens, her chest rising and falling with unspoken words. I see the turmoil in her expression—fear, anger, maybe even desperation—but she refuses to let it surface.
"He's dangerous, Serafina," I say, my voice low, biting.
Her eyes blaze as she snaps back without hesitation. "Look who's talking."
The words cut deep, sharper than she probably intended, but I don't flinch. Instead, I meet her glare head-on, holding it steady as my thoughts churn. What does Marco know? Why the hell is she not running? Every instinct in me screams to get her out of here, but she's too damn stubborn to listen.
Her jaw tightens, her defiance hardening with every passing second. I watch her carefully, searching for a crack, a sign of the fear she's trying to bury. It's there—in the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the tension in her shoulders. She's terrified, but of what? Him? Or me?
The note crumples in her hand, trembling with the same energy that's radiating off her in waves. She's not just scared. She's trapped, and for some reason, she won't let me pull her out.
I scan the room, my eyes catching the subtle movements of men in dark suits lurking near the edges of the crowd. Marco's men. The storm is closer than I thought.
Her voice finally breaks the quiet. "This isn't your problem, Alessandro. Leave it alone."
I laugh, cold and humorless. "Everything about you is my problem, Serafina. Don't forget that."
I step back, giving her just enough space to breathe, though my gaze remains locked on her.
She thinks I'll let her walk away. She's wrong. She doesn't understand—she never has. Marco knowing means she's already a target, a pawn in a game she's not equipped to survive. If she walks away now, I'll never get another chance to protect her, to fix the damage I've already caused.
I can't let her go. Not because I care—not just because I care—but because she's mine. She's always been mine. And Marco? Marco doesn't get to take what's mine.