Shackled Hearts

Chapter Eight

Serafina

By the time morning crept through Amelia’s town house windows, my head was pounding with too many thoughts and too little sleep. The place bore the scars of last night—wine glasses still on the counter, a half-eaten pizza box on the kitchen island, Amelia’s laptop left glowing faintly on the coffee table. The town house smelled of stale red wine, coffee, and a trace of smoke from the club still clinging to my hair.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it again. Dante Romano’s mouth on Eva’s. His hand sliding up her thigh like it belonged there. The photos Amelia had snapped weren’t just images—they were loaded bullets waiting for the right gun. And I hadn’t decided yet when—or how—to pull the trigger.

Amelia was far less shaken. She sat curled on the couch in an oversized hoodie, coffee steaming in her hands. Her curls were a halo of chaos, her smirk intact. “You’re awfully quiet,” she said, eyeing me over the rim of her mug. “Second thoughts?”

“No.” The word came too fast, too sharp. My stomach told on me anyway, knotting so tightly it hurt. “I just don’t want them thinking I’m some bitter ex trying to stir trouble. If I do this, it has to stop the marriage. It has to mean something.”

Amelia tipped her mug like a toast. “The truth is on our side. He’s the one sneaking around with Eva. All we’re doing is holding up a mirror. If the families want to keep pretending he’s the golden heir, that’s their lie, not ours.”

I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to ease the ache. Dante wasn’t just another man. He was the boy I had once believed in—the boy I had loved too deeply, too blindly. That made everything messier.

My mind flicked back without mercy. Sixteen years old, dizzy on champagne at a Caruso cousin’s wedding, Dante pulling me into a dark corner, his laugh spilling against my ear. Reckless forever’s whispered against my skin. And then Eva. Her voice echoing down the hallway days later, smug and cutting: He was with me last night.

I hadn’t asked if it was true. I hadn’t waited for him to deny it. I’d walked away with pride as armor, and he hadn’t stopped me.

Now, years later, seeing Eva’s lips on his again made something ugly twist in my chest.

“I don’t want to wait until the engagement dinner,” Amelia said, breaking through my thoughts. She leaned back, casual as ever. “We should strike sooner. The unity dinner’s coming up. Perfect stage.”

The words landed like cold steel. My coffee paused halfway to my mouth. The dinner. Both families at one table, pretending we were allies instead of rivals. Pretending I wasn’t being bartered like a pawn. Pretending Dante and I weren’t circling each other with knives.

The idea of sitting across from him while knowing what I knew made my chest seize with fury and dread.

“You want me to expose him there?” My voice came out quieter than I intended, but steady.

Amelia’s grin turned feral. “Imagine Old Romano’s face when he sees those photos. Or your father’s. No way either of them force an engagement after that.”

My pulse spiked. The thought was tempting, vindicating. But stepping into that dinner with a live grenade meant risking everything. Old Romano didn’t forgive humiliation. And my father—Don Caruso—valued loyalty above all else. What happened when his loyalty to the alliance clashed with his loyalty to me?

I leaned back, exhaling slow. “If we do this, it has to be smart. One wrong move and I’m the one who looks desperate. He walks away clean, and I’m branded as the jealous ex trying to stir scandal.”

For a rare moment, Amelia’s smirk softened. She set her mug down and leaned forward. “Then we’ll be careful. We’ll time it right. But Serafina… you can’t walk into that dinner looking broken. You have to own it. Make him regret ever losing you.”

Her words struck something sharp in me. She was right. Dante might have found comfort in Eva’s arms, but that didn’t erase our history—or the way his eyes still lingered when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.

My lips curved into something sharper than a smile. “Fine. At the unity dinner, we make our move. But not a second before.”

Amelia’s grin returned, wolfish this time. She raised her mug in mock salute. “To bringing Dante Romano to his knees.”

I clinked my cup against hers, porcelain ringing faintly. My fingers trembled around the handle. Because beneath all my fury and resolve, I knew the truth I couldn’t admit aloud.

The only person who still had the power to break me wasn’t Eva. Not Old Romano. Not even my father.

It was Dante.

And in two nights, I’d have to face him again.