Serafina
I needed air.
After the dress fitting—and Dante standing there, commanding the room without a single word—I felt suffocated. Amelia had begged me to grab coffee, to make a celebration out of it, but I couldn’t. Not with my head pounding, not with my chest tight.
So I slipped outside. One guard trailed at a polite distance, sunglasses on, hands clasped in front like he wasn’t ready to shoot the first man who looked at me wrong. I walked through the square, letting the cool air bite my skin, trying to remember who I was before all of this. Before Dante. Before the marriage contract. Before my life became politics and cameras.
That was when I saw him.
Dom Costa.
He leaned against a sleek black car like he owned the street, suit jacket open, dark hair gleaming under the su
