Serafina
The car rolled through the iron gates of the Caruso estate, headlights sweeping across gravel and stone. I hadn’t spoken since we’d left the gala, hadn’t so much as glanced at Dante. My arms stayed folded tight, eyes fixed on the dark stretch of road ahead.
When the driver stopped at the front steps, I opened the door before Dante could move. My heels struck the ground hard enough to echo. The porch light spilled over the columns, the house standing solid and cold in the night.
“Serafina—” Dante’s voice followed me.
I turned back just long enough to meet his eyes. “Don’t,” I said, my voice low but sharp. “Not tonight.”
And I left him there, the black car idling behind me, his shadow stretching across the steps. I pushed through the doors without looking back.
Morning c
