Chapter 3

Seraphina POV:

The air in the penthouse grew thick, suffocating me with the scent of lilies and lies. The sight of Alessandro's hand tracing a slow path down Aria's spine, the possessive gleam in his eyes as he watched her, pushed me to the edge. I needed to escape.

I slipped away from the party, finding refuge in a small, darkened alcove that overlooked the city. The glittering skyline was a cold comfort.

From the shadows, I saw them. Alessandro pulled Aria into the hallway, his back to me. His movements were urgent, desperate. I heard the rustle of her dress, then his voice, a low growl that vibrated with a passion he had never shown me.

"God, you're so alive," he murmured against her skin. "Not like her. She's just a perfect, cold statue."

He kissed her then, a hungry, bruising kiss that was all about possession. I saw his hand slide a box into hers. A Cartier bracelet. A transaction. A payment for services rendered.

My heart didn't break. It turned to stone.

I forced myself to walk back into the party, my posture perfect, my expression serene. A Donna to the very end. I saw Aria preening, the fresh love bite on her neck a vulgar trophy.

Emboldened by Alessandro's attention, she approached me, a triumphant smirk on her lips. In front of two Capos' wives, she held out her empty glass.

"Pour me a drink, Seraphina," she demanded, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. It was a power play, a public humiliation.

I met her gaze, my own as cold as the grave. "No."

The single word hung in the air. Flustered by my refusal, she took a clumsy step back, her heel catching on the rug. She stumbled, crashing into the towering fountain of champagne glasses.

The sound was like a gunshot. Shards of glass exploded outwards. A sharp, searing pain shot up my arm as a piece of crystal sliced through the silk of my dress. I fell, the impact jarring my bones.

In that split second, everything slowed down. I saw Alessandro. He was moving, but not toward me. He shoved past my fallen form, his body a human shield, and wrapped himself around Aria, protecting her from the falling glass.

He chose her.

In front of his Capos, his soldiers, and their wives, the Underboss of the De Luca family chose his mistress over his Donna. He left me bleeding on the floor, my honor shattered as completely as the champagne fountain.

No one moved to help me. They were all watching him.

I rose on my own, my arm dripping blood onto the white marble. Ignoring the stares, the whispers, the sudden, sharp intake of breath from the women who had once envied me, I walked out.

Alone, I went to the family's private clinic to have my wound stitched. The nurse was silent, her eyes full of pity I didn't want.

As she was finishing, the door opened. Alessandro walked in, but he didn't look at me. He was leading Aria by the hand, his face a mask of concern. He gently brushed a stray piece of glass from her hair, his touch tender, his voice a low murmur of reassurance. A tenderness he had never, not once, shown me.

I was no longer just a failed asset. I was a liability. An obstacle to be removed.

Donato's "Purification" plan was no longer an escape. It was survival.

And in the sterile silence of that clinic, watching the man who was my husband tend to the woman who had replaced me, the cold fire of a true vendetta finally ignited in my soul.