Shackled Hearts

Serafina The silence in the study was suffocating. Serafina Caruso stood with her arms crossed, expression carved from stone, spine straight despite the weight pressing on her chest. The fire behind her crackled, spitting embers into the dark wood-panelled room, but the warmth didn’t reach her. All she felt was ice, spreading from her chest into her veins. Adriano stood beside her, silent as ever, arms folded and eyes sharp. His jaw was tight, his shoulders stiff in a way she recognized too well. He knew something—she could see it in the way his gaze darted once toward their father and then quickly away—but he hadn’t said a word. The door opened. Don Romano enters followed by Nicola and the last person I ever wanted to see Dante. He stepped inside as if the room had been waiting for him. Broad shoulders filled the doorway, a tailored black suit cutting him into sharp edges. He walked with that same arrogant swagger he’d worn since they were teenagers—like he hadn’t been cold for years, like he hadn’t already scorched every last bridge between them. That same sharp jaw. That same colder stare. Older now, broader, harder. Her pulse spiked. Of course. Of all the men in this city, it had to be him. The one Serafina had sworn she’d never speak to again. He barely spared her a glance as he came forward. Her jaw clenched, fury flickering under her skin. “Why is he here?” Dante’s eyes cut to hers, and his expression soured immediately. “This better be quick.” The venom in his voice snapped something tight inside her chest. He still believed it—that rumor, that lie, that she’d been sneaking around with someone else while they were together. She wanted to scream at him, demand why he hadn’t fought for her back then, why he’d let Eva’s poison end them. But her father’s voice cut through before she could speak. Don Caruso rose from behind his desk, composed and lethal. His grey suit was immaculate, his presence heavier than the fire, heavier than the room. “We’ve called you here because a decision has been made.” Her stomach dipped. “What kind of decision?” Don Romano answered from across the room, his gravelly voice steady, his eyes cold. “A permanent alliance. Between families.” Dante’s jaw clenched hard enough she could see the muscle twitch. “Let me guess. This is about the Albani cartel again.” “They’ve been testing our territory,” her father said. “They see division. Weakness. That ends now.” Adriano finally spoke, his voice sharper than usual. “So, what—you’re declaring war?” “We’re preventing one,” Don Romano replied. “With unity.” “Unity?” Adriano’s gaze flicked between the two dons, his brows pulling tight. “What the hell does that mean?” Serafina’s heart thudded. Adriano doesn’t know either. Whatever was about to be said—it was for her. And then her father delivered the blow. “You two are getting married.” The words slammed into her skull like a gunshot. Serafina’s arms dropped to her sides. Heat flashed to her cheeks, fury and disbelief colliding so fast she nearly choked on them. “Excuse me?” Her voice sharpened like a blade. “Who is getting married?” “Absolutely not,” Dante snapped instantly. “You were close once,” Don Romano added, as if that excused anything. “That makes the arrangement easier to sell.” Serafina barked a bitter laugh. Close once? Try ripped apart by betrayal. Try left bleeding by the man who hadn’t cared enough to defend her. She spun to her father. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’ll go along with this.” “You will do as you’re told,” he said coldly. His tone carried centuries of command, final and sharp as a knife. “You don’t need to like it. You just need to do it.” Dante stepped forward, voice biting. “I’m not marrying her.” Not after she’d proven exactly what kind of woman she was. His eyes said it even if his lips didn’t. Serafina’s glare could have cut glass. “Please. Like I’d marry someone beneath my standards.” “The paperwork is already drafted,” her father said without flinching. “The announcement goes public next week. Engagement party in two. Wedding in four.” Her laugh this time was sharper, angrier. “Good luck with that. This isn’t an alliance. It’s a hostage situation.” “This is the cost of peace,” Don Romano said, calm as though he were discussing a business merger instead of her life. “And your shared history makes it believable.” Her fists curled so tight her nails bit into her palms. “I don’t care what it makes. He has history with half this city’s women. Choose one of them. I’m not doing it.” “You will,” her father repeated, every word cold steel. “You’ll stand beside him at that altar.” “No,” she snapped, heat burning the back of her throat. “You can’t force me.” “You’ll comply,” he said flatly. The fire popped in the hearth, a sharp crack that echoed through the silence. Serafina took one step back, then another, fury blazing in her chest. “Try me.” She turned on her heel, the click of her boots cutting through the silence as she stormed out—not defeated, but defiant. Behind her, she heard the scrape of Dante’s shoes on the floor, felt the fury radiating off him. He didn’t want this any more than she did. But when the door slammed behind them both, the air in the hallway tightened. For a split second, their eyes locked. Rage met rage. His lips curled in disgust. Hers twisted in defiance. Neither spoke. Words weren’t needed. The arrangement had already drawn its battle lines.