SERAFINA
The Castellano estate drips with old money and older blood. Crystal chandeliers cast fractured light across faces. I've learned to read like** manuals—every smile a potential threat, every gesture coded with meaning. I smooth down the emerald silk of my dress, feeling the familiar weight of the blade strapped to my thigh. Lorenzo's hand rests on the small of my back as we enter the dining hall, warm and possessive.
"Smile," he murmurs in my ear. "We're supposed to be newlyweds."
I tilt my head toward him, letting my lips curve into something that might pass for affection. "I am smiling."
"That's your 'I'm planning someone's murder' smile."
"Then it's perfect for tonight."
His fingers press slightly harder against my spine—half warning, half amusement. We move through the cro
