Shackled Hearts

Chapter Six

Dante

Il Vizio pulsed around him, alive and bending to his rhythm. The club was his kingdom, and nights like this reminded him why—music like thunder, money flowing like liquor, everyone moving in his orbit.

Eva leaned into him, nails grazing his thigh through his slacks, her perfume heavy and sweet. She laughed at something he hadn’t said, her lips brushing the shell of his ear before pressing against his mouth. Dante let her kiss him, lazy and unbothered, the kind of distraction that filled the space but meant nothing.

It was always nothing.

“Another drink?” she purred, running a finger along the rim of his glass.

He hummed noncommittally, eyes already drifting past her toward the edge of the booth. Something itched at the back of his neck—an instinct, that familiar pull when he knew he was being watched. But when he glanced toward the crowd, all he saw was bodies writhing beneath red light.

He let it go.

Until Matteo slid into the booth across from him, moving with the kind of casualness Dante knew better than to trust.

“Enjoying yourself?” Matteo asked, lips twitching.

Dante raised a brow. “What does it look like?”

“Like you’re about to have a bigger problem than lipstick on your collar.” Matteo’s tone was deceptively light, but his eyes gleamed with something sharper.

Eva made a face, but Dante waved her off. “Go dance. I’ll catch up.”

She pouted, but a snap of his fingers sent her sliding off the seat with a sway of her hips. When she was gone, Dante leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Spit it out.”

Matteo didn’t hurry. He took a sip from Dante’s untouched glass, smirking at his cousin’s irritation. “Funny thing, running into familiar faces in a place like this.”

Dante’s jaw flexed. “Who?”

Matteo’s grin widened, sharp as a blade. “Serafina Caruso. And her little shadow. Looking very cozy in the VIP section.”

The name hit harder than it should have. Dante sat back, his expression schooled to neutrality, though his pulse betrayed him. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” Matteo leaned in, voice dropping. “And I’ll tell you something else, brother. They weren’t here to dance.”

Dante’s hand tightened around his glass until it creaked. His mind spun, piecing together the itch at his neck, the way the curtain had shifted near his booth. Serafina. Always where she shouldn’t be. Always with fire in her eyes.

“What did you do?” he asked.

Matteo smirked, leaning back. “Nothing. Yet. Figured I’d let you decide how much fun you want to have with this.”

Dante’s lips curved, but there was no humor in it. The glass cracked in his grip, splintering under the pressure of his hand. He set it down carefully, shards glittering in the dim light.

“Serafina wants a game?” he muttered, more to himself than to Matteo. His eyes darkened, a dangerous heat rolling beneath the surface. “Fine. Let’s play.”

Matteo smirked, lounging back as if he had started a fire and was content to watch it burn.

“Don’t take too long, brother. She already looked like she had an exit plan.”

That was all Dante needed. He shoved out of the booth, ignoring the startled glance Eva shot him from the dance floor. His stride was fast, purposeful, cutting through the crowd as though the smoke and lights parted just for him.

By the time he reached the street, the night air was cooler, sharper—but it didn’t soothe the burn in his chest. He scanned the line of black cars until he spotted the flash of familiar dark hair in the passenger seat of a silver sedan pulling away from the curb.

Serafina.

His jaw tightened. Without a second thought, he slipped into his own car. “Follow them,” he ordered his driver, voice low, lethal.

The chase was short. A few blocks later, the Caruso car pulled to the side outside Amelia’s town house. Dante waited, watching as the two women got out, laughing too loud, too careless—as if they hadn’t just been caught stalking him.

By the time Serafina closed the passenger door, Dante was already there.

“Going somewhere, bella?”

Her spine snapped straight. The laughter died instantly as she spun, eyes locking on him. For a fraction of a second, shock flickered across her face—then she smoothed it away, lifting her chin with that familiar defiance.

“Romano,” she said coolly, crossing her arms. “What a coincidence.”

“Not a coincidence,” he corrected, stepping closer. The streetlight caught the edge of his smile, dangerous and sharp. “You’ve been watching me. Playing spy in my club.”

Amelia bristled at his tone, but Serafina laid a hand on her cousin’s arm without breaking eye contact with him. “Don’t flatter yourself. We were just… passing through.”

Dante laughed, low and humorless. “Passing through Il Vizio? Cute. Tell me, Caruso—did you get what you came for?”

Serafina’s lips curled into something between a smile and a challenge. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

For a beat, the world narrowed to just the two of them—the thrum of passing traffic, Amelia shifting uneasily, none of it mattered. Heat sparked in the space between their words, old history bleeding into the present like an open wound.

Dante leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for her. “Careful, Serafina. You’re playing with fire. And you remember what happened the last time you got burned.”

Her eyes flashed, not with fear, but with fury. “Maybe I like the heat.”

The corner of his mouth tugged up, equal parts menace and desire. “Then I’ll make sure you get more than you can handle.”

He pulled back, leaving her breath caught in her throat, and turned to go. But before sliding into his car, he glanced over his shoulder one last time.

“Game on, bella.”

Then he was gone, tires hissing against the pavement, leaving Serafina frozen under the streetlight with her pulse racing and Amelia staring at her like she’d just declared war.