Chapter 25 Sera
Sera
I choose my dress carefully.
Not because I care about impressing whoever's coming to dinner. But because I've learned that everything in this world is a message. What you wear. How you sit. Where you stand.
And tonight, I want to send a very clear message to my husband.
The black dress is elegant but severe. It has a high neck and long sleeves, and it clings to my curves.
Though I'm completely covered up, the dress accentuates my breasts and baby bump.
I pull my hair back into a tight bun, which shows off my face fully.
I add a bit of simple makeup and diamond studs that were a gift from Adrian at our wedding.
I pair the look with a pair of black court heels that scream professionalism rather than sexy.
I look severe and professional, which is perfect. It's exactly what I want.
Adrian appears in the doorway, already dressed in a dark suit. "You look beautiful."
I don't respond. Just turn back to the mirror, applying lipstick with more focus than necessary.
"Seraphina—"
"What time are they arriving?" I cap the lipstick. My voice is clipped.
"Six." He moves closer. "Are we going to talk about this?"
"About what?"
"About you being angry."
"I'm not angry." I meet his eyes in the mirror. "I'm managing my expectations. Like you taught me."
His jaw tightens. "I told you why—"
"You did." I interrupt him. "And while I understand, I wish you'd talked to me instead of just deciding for me."
"That's not fair," he says.
"Isn't it?" I move past him toward the door. "Though I shouldn't be surprised. You promised me three hours. I got forty minutes because your mother called. And now I'm supposed to be grateful for one day a week. One day, Adrian. Like it's some grand gesture instead of scraps."
"It's not scraps—"
"It is." I finally turn to look at him, crossing my arms over my chest. "But apparently scraps are all I should expect in this life. So I'm learning to be grateful. Like a good wife." My voice is full of sarcasm.
And I watch as Adrian's silver eyes flash. I make a move to walk past him, but he reaches out and grabs my wrist. "Let me go, Adrian."
"No, you're my wife."
"Yes," I snap. "I'm aware."
It feels like we are in a standoff. Adrian drops my wrist.
"Who's coming to dinner?" I ask. "You've given me no information."
"The Marini family. Antonio, the patriarch. And his nephew, Santino."
The names mean nothing to me. Another gap in my knowledge. Another thing I'm supposed to just figure out.
"And why are they coming?"
"Business." He says it like that explains everything.
I roll my eyes.
"What kind of business?"
"Family business."
"I'm family now, aren't I?" I finally turn to look at him. "Or am I just the pretty accessory you parade around when it's convenient?"
"You're my wife."
I scoff.
"I might believe you if you'd treat me like one." I cross my arms over my chest, and Adrian's eyes linger on my breasts. "Tell me what's happening tonight. Tell me who these people are. Tell me what I need to know."
He studies me for a long moment, and I don't think he is going to say anything.
Then he releases a world-weary sigh. "The Marinis control shipping and imports.
They're neutral brokers between families, mostly.
But they are looking for more power. Antonio, the head, has been Bianca's second, but they are getting older, and his heir and I… " He trails off. "We don't get along."
I snort, and he narrows his eyes.
"Antonio and Bianca decided they would force an alliance another way."
"Why?"
"Because the Morozovs are pushing boundaries. And alliances matter in this world. The Marinis control a lot of the docks and shipping. We work together, pay a fee, but that only worked with Antonio and Bianca. They want to ensure compliance when they move on."
"And what does this have to do with me?" All of this feels heavy and confusing, and it serves as another reminder that this world is something I don't know much about.
"Nothing specific."
"Then why do I need to be here?"
Adrian sighs, looking up at the ceiling. "You're the heir's wife. People need to see you. They'd ask questions if you weren't present."
Of course. I'm a prop. Evidence of stability. Proof that Adrian Nero is settling down, becoming respectable.
"Fine." I head toward the door again. "Let's go be assessed."
"Seraphina—"
"Six o'clock, right? Wouldn't want to be late for family business."
I walk out before he can respond.
The dining room is immaculate. Bianca, or rather, her staff, clearly spent hours on preparations. There are white linens, fresh flowers, and gold chargers behind porcelain China.
It's extravagant for a simple dinner.
I'm one of the first to arrive. Bianca is directing staff. Tonight she wore a black suit, perfectly pressed, and gold jewelry. Immediately, I realize that we match, and as a slow smile unfurls on her face, I can see that she is pleased.
"Seraphina. You look lovely."
"Thank you." I wish I could change, but there isn't time, and I know that I am just being childish.
"You are starting to show."
I flush. I am. "Yes, a bit."
"You need to eat more. Make sure that you are taking advantage of my chef. She's exquisite. I poached her from a Michelin Star restaurant."
I nod, staying silent. I never know how to deal with my mother-in-law—a society lady on the surface, and a Mafia Don underneath. It's like the worst of both worlds.
"Are you ready for tonight?"
"I don't know what I'm supposed to be ready for." The honesty slips out before I can stop it. "No one tells me anything."
Her lips turn into a frown. "You must ask if you want answers."
I bite my tongue in irritation. "Is that what I should do? Ask questions at dinner?"
"No." She moves closer, adjusting a fork that was already perfect. "Tonight, you watch. You listen. You learn who the players are. Questions come later, when we're alone."
"So I'm supposed to just sit there and smile?"
"You're supposed to observe. Every family has their dynamics. Their tensions. Their weaknesses." She meets my eyes. "The Marinis are allies, but that doesn't mean they're friends. Pay attention to what isn't said as much as what is. That is your role. Be Adrian's eyes."
I want to ask more, but Adrian appears with Luc and Gemma.
Gemma.
Adrian's sister. The one I've barely seen since moving into the mansion. I'd looked for her after the wedding, but the staff informed me she'd returned to school after our post-wedding breakfast. I'd felt a twinge of sadness that we wouldn't be in the same house, but I couldn't blame her.
Who would want to stay here—in this fortress of ice.
"Gemma." Bianca's voice warms slightly. "You remember Seraphina."
Gemma approaches with the grace of someone trained from birth in this world. Her smile is polite but genuine, but there's something in her expression that is guarded.
"It's nice to see you again," she says politely.
I smile. "It is. I heard you were back at school."
She nods, but before she can say anything Bianca jumps in. I can see Gemma's frustration. Her eyes narrow slightly, and her teeth grind against her bottom lip.
"Columbia," Bianca supplies. "Finishing her degree in art history."
"Wow. Do you enjoy it?"
"I do." Gemma's smile turns slightly sad. "I'd been hoping to get my doctorate studies in Paris, but it appears that won't be necessary."
Something in her tone makes my stomach tighten. It's the same tone she had when she talked to me about my wedding. There's something happening here, and Gemma is in the center of it.
"I was hoping—"
The doorbell rings, stopping the conversation.
"They're here." Bianca straightens. "Gemma, come!"
Gemma's shoulders sag, but she listens, taking her place next to her mother. Adrian and I are on Bianca's other side, Luc next to him.
It's like we're actors in a play, all on our marks, ready for the show.
The Marinis enter like they own the place.
Antonio Marini is in his sixties, silver-haired, with the kind of face that's seen everything and been impressed by nothing. Slightly wrinkled with dark eyes that scan everything. He moves with quiet authority, shaking Bianca's hand first, and then Adrian's.
He leans to me, pressing a small kiss on my cheek. Adrian stiffens, but when he says nothing, I suspect this is protocol.
"Thank you for having us," he says. His accent is subtle. New York Italian, softened by generations.
"Always a pleasure, Antonio," Bianca says.
Behind him is a younger man. Late twenties, maybe thirty.
Tall, dark, covered in tattoos that peek out from his collar and cuffs.
He wears his suit without a tie, and the buttons at his neck are undone.
His dark hair is slicked haphazardly back, with some pieces falling into his stunning green eyes.
Santino. Saint, I'll learn later everyone calls him.
He looks at Gemma first. Then at me. His eyes linger too long, and I feel Adrian tense beside me.
"Santino," Antonio says sharply. "Manners."
"Right." Saint's smile is sharp and predatory. "Manners." He makes no move to greet anyone, and I can see Bianca's eyes harden even as she gives a wide smile.
Adrian's hand tightens on mine.
"Let's begin," Bianca says, gesturing to the dining room.
We move, and I'm placed between Adrian and Luc. Gemma is across from me, next to Saint, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else.
I remember Bianca's words: You are Adrian's eyes.
So I watch. Observe every detail.
Conversation flows carefully. Business discussed in code. Territory. Shipments. "Opportunities for cooperation."
I stay quiet, cataloging these people like I do the flaws of an old manuscript.
Luc isn't the charming man who teased me and needled his brother. He's different here. Sharper. He sits at Adrian's right hand, contributing to the conversation with the kind of precision that makes me realize he's not just Adrian's brother.