Shackled Hearts

Chapter Five

Serafina

Il Vizio was louder than Serafina expected, the bass pounding through her chest like a second heartbeat. Smoke curled lazily in the air, mingling with perfume and expensive cologne. Glasses glimmered beneath strobing lights, laughter and shouted toasts blurring into the hypnotic chaos. The club was everything its reputation promised—decadence wrapped in velvet, danger disguised in glass and silk.

Even from the edge of the VIP section, it was clear this was Dante Romano’s kingdom. The security detail stationed near the stairs didn’t need to wear badges to mark their loyalty. Their suits fit too sharp, their stares cut too cold. No one walked near the roped-off booths unless they wanted to be noticed.

But tucked behind a semi-sheer divider, Serafina crouched low with Amelia, shadows hiding them in plain sight. Her knees pressed against plush carpet, her heart drumming a warning she tried to ignore.

“Perfect cover,” Amelia whispered, adjusting the angle of her phone.

Serafina forced her breath steady. It wasn’t nerves. It was adrenaline.

“There,” Amelia hissed suddenly, pointing through a sliver in the curtain.

Serafina followed her line of sight—and froze.

Dante.

He lounged back in a leather booth like the club belonged to him, every inch of him dripping ease and command. Broad shoulders, posture loose but alert, that same air of untouchable arrogance that had haunted her since the study. And beside him—Eva.

Her laugh floated above the beat, slicing through the haze and spearing straight into Serafina’s chest. Then, slow and confident, Eva leaned in and kissed him.

Serafina’s nails dug crescents into her palms. Heat surged up her throat, fury and something she refused to name tightening like a noose. Amelia’s phone clicked in rapid bursts, capturing frame after frame. Eva’s hand crept boldly up Dante’s thigh, her smile smug, her touch proprietary.

“That’s enough,” Serafina said sharply. The words came out clipped, like broken glass. “We’ve got what we need.”

They turned to slip out—only for the curtain behind them to rustle.

“Jesus,” a low voice hissed.

Serafina’s stomach dropped. Matteo.

He stilled in the narrow gap, gaze darting once to Dante and Eva in the booth, then settling on them. His sharp eyes moved slowly, deliberately—cataloging, calculating. Then his lips curved into something between disbelief and amusement.

“Well, s**t,” he murmured.

The smirk lingered like a knife edge. He didn’t step closer. He didn’t call out. He simply let them see that he had seen—then slipped back into the smoke, vanishing as quietly as he’d come.

But the message was clear. Game on.

Amelia’s hand clamped around Serafina’s wrist. “We need to move. Now.”

They slid out from the divider and into the thrashing sea of bodies. The crowd swallowed them, neon strobes splintering across sequins and sweat, but Serafina’s pulse pounded louder than the bass. Every sway of the crowd felt like Matteo’s eyes still tracked her.

“Matteo saw us,” Serafina muttered, voice rough as they pushed through glittering women and men in sharp suits.

“Correction—he saw you,” Amelia shot back, clutching her phone like a loaded gun. Her grin was edged, wicked. “And I can’t tell if that’s a curse or an opportunity.”

Serafina’s chest tightened. Matteo was dangerous in a way Dante wasn’t. Dante burned hot, temper visible for all to see. Matteo smoldered—quiet, unreadable, the kind of fire that killed without warning.

They pushed toward the exit. A man bumped Serafina’s shoulder, muttering an apology she didn’t hear. Her heels clicked against the sticky floor, hair catching under shifting lights. Any second, she expected Dante’s men to cut through the crowd and pin her under their weight.

Finally, they reached the velvet rope. The bodyguard on duty looked them over with a sweep that felt too long, too sharp. For one sick heartbeat, Serafina thought he’d recognize her, drag her back inside, deliver her straight to Dante.

But then his expression flickered bored, and he unclipped the rope.

They spilled out into the night.

Cool air hit her like a slap, bracing and harsh. She dragged in a breath—then another—but her pulse refused to slow. Amelia tugged her across the pavement toward the car, their heels too loud in the silence beyond the music.

Only when the doors shut did Serafina let out the breath she’d been holding. She shoved a trembling hand through her hair, staring out at the dark windshield. “If he tells Dante—”

Amelia cut her off, the engine rumbling alive. “Then we’ll know just how badly he wants to play.”

Her grin was sharp. Predatory.

Serafina turned to the window, city lights streaking gold against glass. But she couldn’t shake what she’d seen—the press of Eva’s mouth against Dante’s, his arm slung like she belonged there. And Matteo’s smirk, quiet and knowing, carved deeper than the rest.

This wasn’t just leverage anymore.

This was war.