🔥MAFIA'S PREY 🔥. ❤️‍🔥SELL YOUR SOUL SERA ❤️‍🔥

The scent of rain mixed with gasoline. Sera Valente sat behind the wheel of her rusting sedan, fingers curled too tightly around the steering wheel. The neon glow from the club ahead painted her face in blood-red streaks, but she didn’t move. Not yet. Her heart was beating far too loud for that. Club Vanta. A front. Everyone in the underworld knew it. Owned by her aunt, Viola Mancini—a name Sera hadn’t dared whisper in ten years. Ten years since the fire. Ten years since her family—the Valentes—were slaughtered. And now, just days ago, her uncle was found burned alive in a car explosion. They said it was a gas leak. Sera didn’t believe in accidents anymore. A tap on her window made her jump. She turned sharply, hand instinctively reaching under her jacket. But it was just Gia, her best friend, her roommate, the one person who didn’t know who she truly was. “You’ve been sitting here for like, ten minutes,” Gia said, peeking in. “Weird vibe or are you nervous to get in with the elite?” Sera smiled faintly. She had perfected that smile. Calm. Slightly sarcastic. Normal. “I’m fine. Let’s go.” The bass of the club thumped against her chest like a second heartbeat as they stepped inside. Flashing lights, bodies moving, smoke curling in the air like ghosts. But Sera wasn’t looking at the dancers. She was looking at the balcony above the VIP floor. Because he was there. Lucian Moretti. He leaned casually on the balcony railing, watching the crowd with the detachment of someone who owned the world beneath him. Cold dark eyes. Cut jawline. Expensive suit. The devil dressed in velvet. Their eyes met. Only for a second. But it was long enough. Sera’s blood turned to ice. He was supposed to be in New York. She’d tracked him for months. Why was Lucian Moretti here? In her city. At her aunt’s club. Three days after Viola’s murder. “Gia,” Sera said, grabbing her friend’s arm. “Get out of here.” “What? Why?” “I just remembered something. Please. Go home. Don’t ask—just—just trust me.” Gia blinked, confused but concerned. “Okay. Text me, alright?” Sera barely waited for her to leave before she slipped into the hallway behind the bar. The back rooms hadn't changed. She remembered them—walls lined with old weapon racks and liquor shipments that never made it to legal shelves. And that’s when she heard the footsteps behind her. Measured. Confident. Dangerous. She turned. Lucian stood at the other end of the corridor. Closer now. Seeing him up close after all these years was like staring at a knife made of memories. She expected rage, maybe recognition. Instead, he just tilted his head. “You’re trespassing,” he said. “And you’re far from your empire,” she shot back, keeping her voice cool. Lucian’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Do I know you?” That smile again—hers this time. The practiced one. “Not yet.” For a moment, neither moved. Then he took a step forward. “You look familiar.” She took a step back. “A lot of girls do.” He didn’t smile. “But not a lot of girls carry a Glock under their jacket.” Her heart skipped. He had noticed. “So,” he murmured. “Let’s stop pretending. Who are you?” She met his gaze, pulse steady now. “A ghost,” she said. “And you? You’re the man who made one out of me.” Lucian paused. And then, slowly, he smiled. Cold. Lethal. Curious. “Well then,” he said softly. “Welcome back, Valente.” --- The hallway thickened with silence, broken only by the low thrum of the music through the walls. Sera didn’t move. Neither did Lucian. She expected him to reach for a weapon. A threat. A warning. Instead, he spoke low and calm, with the confidence of someone who was used to being obeyed. “You have exactly ten seconds to tell me why you’re here before I decide you’re working for the D’Angelos.” Sera raised her chin. “If I were working for Silas D’Angelo, you’d already be dead.” That earned the smallest flicker in his expression. Interest. “Brave,” Lucian murmured. “Or stupid. I haven’t decided yet.” He stepped closer. Close enough now that she could see the silver scar just under his jaw—thin like a whisper, the kind of mark you earned surviving something most people didn’t. Sera didn’t back away. “Do you always interrogate strangers in club hallways, or am I just special?” “You’re not a stranger.” His eyes searched her face. “You’re wearing a dead girl’s face.” Her fingers twitched near her jacket zipper. He hadn’t reached for his weapon, but she knew better than to assume safety in the presence of a Moretti. “I’m not here to play games,” she said sharply. “Viola Mancini is dead. I want answers.” Lucian’s smile vanished. “You’re too late,” he said. “His files were wiped. Security footage gone, all evidence gone. Whoever did it, they were surgical. Professional.” “Like you?” she shot. Lucian moved faster than she could process. In a blink, her back was against the wall, his hand gripping her wrist, pinning it above her head. He was strong. Not just physically, but in presence. Like a tide that pulled everything toward it. > “You changed your name, your face, and even your soul... but you can’t run from blood,” Lucian whispered, pressing the barrel of his gun to her chest. “You’re still a Valente.” Sera met his gaze, unflinching. “And you’re still a monster. Let’s dance, devil.” “Don’t mistake patience for weakness,” he whispered against her ear. “You have secrets. So do I. But I don't like being lied to.” I wouldn't waste my time on him." He scoffed bringing down his gun “You don’t even know me,” she said breathlessly. “I will.” His voice was velvet and iron all at once. A threat laced in promise. Then, just as suddenly, he stepped back. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, tone colder now. “Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of. This world doesn’t forget. Or forgive.” Sera smoothed her jacket and forced a bitter smile. “Neither do I.” Lucian’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered without breaking eye contact. “Talk,” he snapped. A pause. Then: “What?” His eyes sharpened. “Where?” Another beat. “I’ll be right there.” He ended the call and turned to leave. But before he disappeared down the corridor, he looked over his shoulder. “This conversation isn’t over, Valente.” Then he was gone. And Sera was left alone in the hallway, heart pounding, mind racing. He remembered her name. That changed everything. --- Sera didn’t move for a long time. The walls around her felt smaller than before. She pressed her hand against her chest, willing her heartbeat to slow. The heat from Lucian’s grip still lingered on her skin like a brand—one part warning, one part memory. He knew her name. Not her alias. Not the life she’d built to forget. Her real name. Which meant someone had talked. Or someone had been watching her far longer than she realized. She pulled out her phone and quickly dialed an encrypted number—one that hadn’t rung in almost six years. It clicked after a single ring. A man’s voice answered. Cool. Familiar. “Matteo speaking.” Sera closed her eyes for half a second. The sound of his voice brought back flashes—gunshots, fire, and a strong hand grabbing her out of the burning Valente estate. “It’s me,” she said quietly. A beat of silence. Then: “You shouldn’t be using this number.” “Viola’s dead.” Another pause. But now his voice was tight. Alert. “Where are you?” “I just saw Lucian Moretti.” Matteo cursed under his breath. “Get out of there, Sera.” “I’m not running this time.” “You don’t know what they’ve become. Lucian’s not just the heir anymore. He’s—” “I’m not afraid of him.” “You should be.” Sera stared down the empty corridor, jaw clenched. “I’m coming back in.” “To what? Suicide?” “To the truth.” She ended the call. --- Outside, the club pulsed and flashed, unaware that two monsters had crossed paths just beneath its glittering surface. Sera stepped out into the night, pulling her hood up. She knew what this meant. No more pretending. No more hiding. She was done being the ghost. If Lucian wanted to remember her, he’d remember everything. The blood. The betrayal. And the girl who should’ve died… but didn’t. Not yet. --- Lucian Moretti hated surprises. They were messy. Emotional. Dangerous. He stood in his penthouse, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the glittering skyline like a throne room view. But his mind was nowhere near the city lights. It was on her. Sera Valente. Alive. Her name was a whisper in the underworld, a ghost story told in locked rooms. Everyone believed she’d died in the fire that ended the Valente bloodline. Even Lucian had believed it—until tonight. He poured a glass of scotch, but didn’t drink it. Instead, he stared down at the image pulled from the club’s discreet security footage. Sera. Long dark hair. Sharp cheekbones. Same fire in her eyes. A little older now. A little smarter. And dangerous. “She’s back,” he said aloud. Behind him, Dante Moretti leaned against the doorway, shirt half unbuttoned, cigarette in hand. “You sure it’s her?” Dante asked. Lucian didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Dante let out a low whistle. “Well, s**t. I thought she was dead.” “So did I.” “And what do we do now? Welcome her home with roses? Or put a bullet between her pretty eyes?” Lucian’s jaw tightened. “She didn’t come back for peace. She asked about Viola. She wants to know who killed her.” Dante shrugged. “Then she’s either suicidal or stupid.” Lucian turned toward him. “She’s neither. She’s angry.” “Good,” Dante said with a smirk. “Angry people make mistakes. We just have to wait.” Lucian swirled the untouched drink, thinking. Viola’s murder had been clean. No witnesses. No footage. And now Sera reappeared like a curse from the past? Coincidence didn’t exist in their world. “Put a tail on her,” Lucian ordered. “No contact. Just watch.” Dante raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want her brought in?” “No. Not yet. If she’s working with the D’Angelos, we’ll know soon enough.” “And if she’s not?” Lucian finally drank, letting the burn hit his throat like punishment. “Then I want to know why the last Valente walked into my city… breathing.” --- Meanwhile... Far across the city, in a dark surveillance room lit only by monitors, another man watched the same footage. His face remained hidden in shadow, but his lips curled into a grin when Sera’s image appeared. He pressed play again, whispering to no one: > “So you finally came home, little girl. I’ve been waiting.” ---