Matteo
The hum of expensive engines echoed through the estate’s courtyard before I ever saw her.
Only one person arrived in a convoy of matte black luxury sedans lined with red-stitched leather and custom silver serpent hood ornaments. The doors opened in synchronized elegance. Guards stepped out first—slick-suited and silent—and then came her.
Serafina Moretti.
La Vipera.
A woman who needed no introduction because the very air announced her.
Dressed in emerald satin and a fur-lined black coat that slithered behind her like a living creature, she stepped onto my grounds as if they were hers. Her heels clicked like warning shots. Her gaze—piercing and lined in charcoal—swept over the estate with disdainful approval.
I hadn’t summoned her. She didn’t need an invitation.
That was the
