CHAPTER TWO
A House Built on Bones
The gates closed behind them with the sound of final judgment.
Seraphina watched iron swallow the world she knew as the car rolled deeper into the estate. Gravel crunched beneath the tires. The driveway curved like a serpent through manicured gardens that looked too perfect to be real. Statues stood frozen in silent agony, marble saints with cracked faces and hollow eyes. Even beauty here felt violent.
She kept her spine straight. Chin lifted. Fear was a currency in places like this, and she refused to spend it.
The car stopped.
A man opened her door. Tall. Scar across his cheek. Eyes that did not soften when they met hers.
Matteo Ricci.
She knew the name without being told. Everyone who mattered in Milan knew Alessandro De Luca's shadow.
Get out, Matteo said.
She did.
The air smelled like pine and gun oil. Rain clung to her hair, soaking the thin fabric of her dress. She felt exposed. Not weak. Just painfully aware of how alone she was.
Alessandro stepped out last.
The house rose before her, massive and ancient, lights blazing behind tall windows. This was not new money. This was legacy soaked in blood and inheritance paid in silence. The kind of place where secrets were buried under marble floors and never spoken of again.
Inside, warmth wrapped around her instantly. The doors shut. Locks clicked. Somewhere deep within the house, a clock chimed once.
Midnight.
A woman appeared from the shadows. Older. Sharp eyes. Hair pulled back so tight it looked painful.
She studied Seraphina like an object being appraised.
Kitchen will prepare food, the woman said to Alessandro. Guest room is ready.
She is not a guest, Alessandro replied.
The woman inclined her head. Of course.
Seraphina clenched her jaw.
Alessandro turned to her. You will eat. You will sleep. Tomorrow, we talk business.
I want my father's body, she said.
Silence.
Matteo's hand twitched toward his gun.
Alessandro held up two fingers. Matteo stopped.
Your father's death is under investigation, Alessandro said evenly. The police have him.
That is a lie.
A pause. Small. Telling.
He stepped closer. You should be careful accusing me of things in my own house.
Her voice stayed steady. You staged it as suicide.
You do not know that.
I know my father did not kill himself.
Something shifted in Alessandro's gaze. A crack. Quickly sealed.
We will discuss this tomorrow.
He turned away.
Rage surged hot and bright. She grabbed his sleeve.
Do not walk away from me.
The room froze.
Matteo moved first. He grabbed her wrist and twisted just enough to hurt.
Enough.
Alessandro did not raise his voice. He did not need to.
Matteo released her instantly.
Seraphina glared at Alessandro, pain blooming in her wrist, fury blooming everywhere else.
You brought me here because you are afraid, she said. Afraid of what I know. Afraid of what my father left behind. If you kill me, you lose leverage. If you let me live, you lose control.
His lips curved. Barely.
You talk too much for someone with no power.
She stepped closer, ignoring the ache in her wrist.
Power is knowing where the bodies are buried.
For a second, the world held its breath.
Then Alessandro laughed.
It was low. Soft. Wrong.
You will be interesting, he said.
He turned to the woman. Giulia. Make sure she eats.
He looked back at Seraphina. And do not let her leave the east wing.
She did not miss the implication.
He walked away.
She stood there long after he disappeared, pulse hammering, every nerve screaming danger and something darker she did not want to name.
Giulia gestured sharply. Come.
The room she was taken to was large, elegant, and unmistakably a cage. Windows too high. Doors that locked from the outside. Furniture chosen for comfort but not familiarity.
A meal waited on the table. Still steaming.
She did not touch it.
She paced instead.
Her mind raced. Replaying every moment. Every word. Alessandro De Luca was smarter than she expected. More controlled. That made him more dangerous, not less.
He was not a brute.
He was a strategist.
And worse, he was curious.
A knock sounded.
Once.
Matteo entered without waiting for permission.
You should eat, he said.
I am not hungry.
You will be.
He crossed his arms. You think you are clever. But I have seen women like you come and go. They all think they have leverage. They all end up dead.
She met his stare. Then why am I still breathing.
He hesitated.
Because you are useful, he said finally.
And when I am not
He leaned closer. Then you pray the boss still finds you interesting.
She smiled without warmth. Pray you do not bore me first.
His eyes darkened. Careful.
He left.
She locked the door behind him and leaned against it, breath shaking despite herself.
Later, she ate. Slowly. Methodically. Fuel for war.
Sleep came in fragments. Nightmares stitched with fire and her father's face and Alessandro's voice whispering her name like a promise and a threat.
When morning came, it came with a gunshot.
She bolted upright.
Footsteps thundered down the hall. Voices. Shouting in Italian. Orders barked.
Her door opened.
Get dressed, Giulia snapped. Now.
What is happening
Alessandro wants you downstairs.
That was never a good sentence.
They led her through corridors lined with portraits of men who looked too calm for how they must have died. The air felt charged. Dangerous.
The dining room was filled with men. Armed. Tense.
At the head of the table sat Alessandro, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight. Blood stained the cuff of his white shirt.
On the floor beside him lay a man with a bullet hole in his forehead.
Seraphina stopped short.
He looks at her.
Someone tried to kill me this morning, Alessandro said. Inside my own house.
Her stomach dropped.
The traitor was dealt with, Matteo added.
Seraphina's gaze flicked to the body. Fear crept in, cold and sharp.
Alessandro stood.
Everyone leave us.
No one moved.
He looked around the room.
Now.
They filed out quickly, the door shutting behind them with a heavy thud.
Seraphina swallowed.
You wanted suspense, she said quietly. You got it.
He stepped closer, bloodied cuff visible, eyes unreadable.
You knew this would happen.
I knew someone would try.
He stopped inches away.
Then tell me why, Seraphina Moretti.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
Because my father did not just keep ledgers. He kept insurance.
Against you
Against everyone.
A long silence.
Alessandro reached out and wiped blood from his cuff. Calm. Controlled.
You are going to tell me everything.
No, she said. I am going to tell you enough to keep me alive.
His hand shot out. Gripped her jaw. Not rough. Not gentle.
You do not get to negotiate with me.
Her breath hitched. Not from fear alone.
I already am.
Their eyes locked. Something dangerous sparked between them. Recognition. Challenge. Hunger.
Finally, he released her.
You will stay close to me, he said. You will sleep under my roof. Eat at my table. Move when I move.
You want to watch me.
I want to own the threat, he corrected.
She smiled faintly.
Careful, Alessandro.
Why
Ownership cuts both ways.
For the first time since he dragged her from the fire, Alessandro De Luca looked genuinely unsettled.
And Seraphina knew she had just stepped deeper into something far more dangerous than revenge.
She had stepped into his orbit.
And devils did not let go once they claimed something as theirs.