Empire of Revenge

Chapter - Four

Serafina POV

My bodyguard, Madison, pulls a blindfold over my eyes. Her grip stays firm as she guides me down the steps, steadying me whenever I slip. She doesn’t say much, just enough to keep me moving until I’m inside the car.

The location has changed. I can feel it. This isn’t the same mansion from the party. Fresh air. Different silence. I keep wondering which country I’m in. Definitely not France.

No one speaks during the drive. Not a word. I try mapping it out in my head anyway: the distance, the turns, the time. About an hour, give or take.

The car finally stops. Voices drift through the air in American accents. Music pulses low, like a heartbeat beneath the floor.

We’re in LA.

So that’s the game. He’s toying with me.

The blindfold comes off.

A speakeasy.

I turn to the left, catching my reflection in the window. My blond hair falls in soft waves over one shoulder, styled to perfection. My face looks flawless beneath the makeup, and my red lips seem even more alluring.

The burgundy gown hugs my frame perfectly. I adjust the black fur stole on my shoulders, letting it slip just enough to reveal the strapless cut and the silver necklace catching the low light at my collarbone.

I step inside, and the room shifts. Eyes follow me. Every single one of them.

Across the crowd, my eyes lock onto Zavier. He looks dangerously good in a tailored suit, the top two buttons left open just enough to reveal his chiseled chest. Leaning back in his chair like he owns the entire room, he casually sips his whiskey while keeping his eyes trained on me.

I can’t decipher his expression.

“Assassin princess,” he says casually, but I can feel the hatred beneath his voice, just like mine toward him.

“You look killer,” he adds coldly.

“I know,” I say nonchalantly.

The knife presses against my thigh, hidden, stolen from the kitchen without Madison noticing.

An attendant appears with menus, pouring expensive wine into glasses.

“You didn’t have to use a blindfold,” I say, annoyed, taking a slow sip of the wine.

“What’s the fun in that? I like you on edge, princess.” His voice stays cold.

I roll my eyes.

“Come on. Your brain was working the whole time, wasn’t it? Trying to figure out where you were.”

I don’t answer right away. I just look at him.

He pulls me closer to him, his grip firm. I glare at him, every ounce of hate clear in my eyes. But his attention isn’t fully on me. His gaze keeps drifting across the speakeasy, scanning, calculating like a predator waiting for a threat to reveal itself.

The Academy? Did they send someone? Maybe even a top assassin trained to extract targets like me and Kael. I need to throw him off.

“Tell me something, heartless demon,” I say, my voice low. “Why the hell would you want to marry a woman who plans to kill you?”

His eyes snap back to mine, sharp enough to cut.

“That’s exactly what makes you intriguing,” he says. “I know what you are. Predictable.”

No, there’s more behind that.

“You think I’m predictable?” I ask softly, not even reacting to the insult.

Now he’s watching me closely. Alert.

I smile.

“Why are you the one on edge?” I ask, sweetness laced with venom.

His gaze drops to my lips, studying the curve of my smile like it means something dangerous. He leans in, his lips brushing my earlobe. Anger flares through me. I want to shove him away. Then he speaks.

“Assassin princess, don’t try anything if you want Kael to stay alive.”

My hand tightens around the glass as I feel a gun press discreetly against my side, hidden from the room.

“If you don’t care about Kael,” he whispers, “I can kill you instead.”

He looks at me.

“Or you can play nice.”

The words settle like poison.

I can feel the anger rising, swallowing everything else.

“I don’t care about anything,” I hiss. “I’d rather die than marry you.”

“Really?” he says, one brow raised. “You’d die without killing me first?”

I scoff.

“Smart choice, princess,” he murmurs. “Just remember that you act in love when we’re in public.”

I roll my eyes, my fingers itching toward the knife hidden beneath my dress. So close. Too close.

“Who exactly are we putting on a show for?” I ask.

A slow smirk spreads across his face, like he’s been waiting for that.

“My godfather.”

My brows lift. Dominic Ventura.

I’ve heard the name before, half rumor, half nightmare. The man has every mafia family, every politician, and even parts of law enforcement wrapped around his finger. People say he’s a myth.

“You look scared, princess.” His voice snaps me out of it.

I glance around. The speakeasy is thinning out. Only a few attendants remain, too attentive, too still. Watching.

“The Godfather, Dominic Ventura?” I ask.

“You thought he was a myth?” Zavier’s smirk turns colder. “He’s not.”

I follow his line of sight.

Silver-streaked hair. Tall. The suit is too fitted for a man who should be in his seventies. He looks closer to fifty. Tailored suit. Classic look, straight out of an old mafia film. But his aura screams danger. Still not quite like the man sitting beside me. Dominic smiles as he approaches. Zavier doesn’t.

“Grandson,” Dominic says, his voice smooth but edged. “Still frustrated with me?” A pause. “Why did you call me here?”

“To give you bad news and good news,” Zavier replies.

Dominic nods once. “Start with the bad.” His eyes flick toward me, narrowing.

“Your son is dead,” Zavier says calmly, like he’s talking about the weather. Dominic’s face hardens, anger cracking through the surface.

“Who killed him?” he demands, grabbing Zavier by the collar. I feel sweat gather at the back of my neck. Zavier doesn’t flinch.

“I will find whoever did this,” Dominic continues, his voice darkening. “I’ll make them beg for mercy. I won’t spare anyone. Tell me who.”

“He died of cardiac arrest,” Zavier says evenly. “No one killed him.”

For a split second, grief cracks through Dominic’s mask, impossible to hide, before vanishing just as quickly. Too many of his security guards are watching him.

“When is the funeral?” he asks.

“Done,” Zavier says.

Dominic looks at him with anger burning in his eyes, but says nothing.

“What’s the good news?” he asks, regaining control.

Zavier doesn’t hesitate.

“I’m marrying Serafina Montavaro.” Dominic’s gaze snaps to me, sharp and heavy with recognition and something darker.

Hate.

“Montavaro,” he repeats, the name dripping with resentment.

His eyes move between us before settling back on Zavier.

“Are you sure,” he asks slowly, “that she agreed to marry you?”

Zavier looks at me, a silent cue.Time to perform.

I smile, forcing myself to think of Kael. The warmth comes instantly, softening everything. Zavier mirrors it, smiling as if this is natural to him, as if we’re the real thing.

“We’re in love,” I say.

“What about your parents?” Dominic asks. “You know the Montavaros never liked our family.”

I’ve stayed away from the rest of the Montavaro family for years, an outcast since my parents died. The thought alone stirs something bitter in my chest. Then Zavier’s hand settles on my thigh, warm. His blue eyes lock onto mine in subtle warning.

“I’m an outcast,” I say, offering a faint, sad smile. “Ever since my parents died.”

“Sorry to hear about your parents,” Dominic says.

The sympathy is hollow. It only makes the anger under my skin pulse harder.

“I’m glad you found a wife,” he continues. “I’ll have to share the good news with Marco Santoro.”

There it is. Disapproval buried beneath politeness. He hates this. Hates the arrangement Zavier forced into place.

“Grandfather, tell them right away,” Zavier says smoothly. “We’re getting married tomorrow.”

“What?”

Dominic’s expression cracks for a second, a flicker of something ugly before smoothing back into charm. But his mood has shifted. Darker now.

“Well,” he says, “I suppose you won’t be having a grand celebration like Caspian did.”

“I don’t like crowds,” Zavier replies.

“I know.” Dominic gives a thin smile. “Congratulations in advance.”

He looks at me for a second before turning back to Zavier.

“I assume I’ll be watching the ceremony through a livestream.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” His gaze hardens as it settles on Zavier. “Good luck, grandson. You better know what the hell you’re doing.”

“I do,” Zavier says.

“I’ll send a gift if things goes off without a hiccup,” Dominic says.

It isn’t generosity. It’s a warning. A leash. A quiet threat meant to keep me from running. Like that would work on me.

He studies my face, like he expects fear, expects cracks. Instead, he finds calm. That seems to throw him off.

I glance at Zavier. He’s watching me with clear amusement. When I look back toward where Dominic was seated, the chair is empty. He’s already left the premises.

“Well played, assassin princess,” Zavier says.

“It seems like you’ve been trying to trap me from every direction,” I hiss.

He chuckles under his breath.

“You were scared I’d rat you out, weren’t you?” he whispers. “Tell my grandfather the truth, that you’re the one who killed his son.”

“I wasn’t scared,” I shoot back. “I was worried about—”

The words stop.

“Kael,” he finishes softly. “Seems you have a soft spot for him.”

His voice drops lower.

“Were you thinking about him while you were acting?”

His face stays unreadable.

“I’m not answering that,” I say flatly. “Tell me what he meant by ‘without a hiccup.’”

“An unknown guest,” Zavier replies, his tone casual.

Something about it doesn’t sit right.