Serafina
The Caruso car pulled up to the curb outside the glittering restaurant, headlights sweeping across polished marble and doormen in dark suits. Inside, chandeliers glowed like captive stars, and already I could see the Romano men stationed along the entrance like shadows with guns.
I smoothed my coat closed, keeping the secret beneath hidden until the right moment.
Amelia’s sharp eyes caught the edge of red silk peeking when I shifted in my seat. She froze.
“Oh no, you didn’t.”
“Oh yes, I did.”
Her mouth fell open, then curved into a grin half admiration, half alarm. “You’re insane. Bold—but insane. Are you sure about this? Because Dante is going to lose his mind.”
“That’s the point,” I said, gathering my clutch. “He doesn’t get to write the whole story.”
The chauffe
