VICIOUS DEVOTION

CHAPTER EIGHT : The First Strike

The Palace – Serafina's Private Study

Two Days Later

Three council members had already resigned.

Lord Ashworth was holding out, convinced he could outmaneuver her. Lady Moreau had fled the country. Two others had gone into hiding.

Serafina was winning.

But she wasn't stupid. She knew that cornered animals were the most dangerous.

She was sitting at her desk, reviewing the latest reports, when her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Check your balcony.

Her heart stuttered.

She stood, walked to the French doors, and pulled them open.

Dante was standing on her balcony.

He was leaning against the railing, dressed in a black suit, a single red rose in his hand. The moonlight caught his sharp cheekbones, his dark eyes, the slight smirk playing at his lips.

"How did you get up here?" she demanded.

"Trade secret." He held out the rose. "For you."

She took it, trying not to smile. "You're going to get caught."

"I've been sneaking into this palace for two years, Angel. I know every secret passage, every blind spot, every guard rotation." He stepped closer. "I know you."

She swallowed. "Why are you here?"

"Because you're winning." He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "And when you win, your enemies panic. And when they panic, they get desperate."

"I can handle desperate."

"I know." His hand cupped her cheek. "But you don't have to handle it alone anymore. That's the point of an alliance, remember?"

She looked up at him. His eyes were dark, intense, burning with something that made her knees weak.

"I remember," she whispered.

"Good." He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "Because I have information. Ashworth is planning something. Something big. He's hired an assassin—the best in the business. They're coming for you tonight."

Serafina's blood ran cold. "Tonight?"

"Tonight." He pulled back, his expression grim. "But don't worry. I'll be there."

"You can't be everywhere at once."

"No." He smiled. "But I can be exactly where I need to be. And tonight, I need to be with you."

---

That night, Serafina lay awake in her bed, listening to the silence.

She had dismissed her guards—Dante's orders. She had locked her doors—Dante's orders. She had worn a knife strapped to her thigh—her own instinct.

The clock struck midnight.

Nothing happened.

The clock struck one.

Nothing.

At two, she began to relax.

And then the window shattered.

A figure in black dropped into her room, a knife glinting in the moonlight. Serafina rolled off the bed, her own knife in her hand.

The assassin lunged.

She dodged, slashing upward. Her blade caught their arm. They hissed in pain but didn't stop.

They fought in silence—deadly, brutal, efficient. Serafina was good. She was trained. But the assassin was better.

She stumbled. They pinned her against the wall, their knife at her throat.

"Goodbye, Princess," they whispered.

And then the assassin's head snapped back.

Dante stood behind them, his hand wrapped around their throat. He didn't speak. He didn't hesitate. He snapped their neck with a single, brutal twist.

The body crumpled.

Serafina stared at him, her heart pounding. "You—"

"I told you." He stepped over the body, pulling her into his arms. "I'm always exactly where I need to be."

She clung to him, her body shaking. "You saved me. Again."

"Always." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Every time. Forever."

She pulled back, looking up at him. "How did you know? How did you get here so fast?"

He smiled. "I never left."

She blinked. "What?"

"I've been on your balcony all night." He shrugged. "I told you. I protect what's mine."

She should have been furious. She should have been terrified.

Instead, she laughed. "You're insane."

"I know." He kissed her. "But you love it."