"You're late, Sera. Again."
Lorenzo's voice sliced through the dark foyer, low and edged with that calm fury only my eldest brother could weaponize. I froze mid step on the staircase, one heel dangling from my fingers, the other still strapped to my foot. The grandfather clock in the hall ticked loudly. Midnight had come and gone twenty minutes ago.
I turned slowly, plastering on the sweet smile that usually bought me five extra minutes of freedom. "Missed you too, big brother. Did you wait up just to count my footsteps?"
Lorenzo stepped out of the shadow where he'd been lurking with his arms crossed over his tailored shirt, dark eyes narrowed beneath the slash of his brows. At thirty three he looked every inch the head of the Moretti Famiglia: broad shouldered, lethal, the kind of man who could sign a death warrant over espresso and still make it sound reasonable. Tonight, though, the only thing he wanted to kill was whatever excuse I was about to feed him.
"Cut the cute act," he said, voice dropping. "You reek of paint and secrets. And those fingernails.." He caught my wrist before I could hide my hands behind my back, brushing the smear of red and blue that no amount of scrubbing in the auction house bathroom could remove. "Starry's working late again?"
I yanked my arm free, heart stuttering even though he already knew. The family secret was ironclad. Only the five of us behind these walls had any clue the anonymous painter raking in millions was their own princess. Still, hearing the name out loud inside these walls made my stomach flip.
"It's called having a life, Lorenzo. You should try it sometime instead of playing prison warden." I tossed my heels onto the bottom step and walked past him in bare feet, my gown moving against my thighs. The estate was quiet except for the distant hum of security cameras and the low murmur of guards outside. Home sweet cage.
He followed behind me, his steps silent.
"A life? You slipped your detail at nine. Dante's been pacing the west wing like a caged tiger, Nico's already pulled the traffic cam feeds from the coast road, and Papa's waiting in the library. For all of us. Now."
I stopped in my footsteps, pulse spiking. Papa waiting meant one thing: family business. The kind that ended in blood or weddings or both. I spun to face him, chin lifted.
"I was careful. Driver's one of ours. No tails. And before you start the lecture, yes, I know the rules. No risks. No fun. No breathing without a Moretti shadow breathing down my neck."
Lorenzo's jaw tightened, but something softer flickered in his eyes. The same look he'd given me since I was six and scraped my knee on the training mats.
"You think I enjoy this? You're our sister, Sera. The only light in this goddamn darkness. One slip, one photo, one asshole who connects the dots between you and Starry..." He dragged a hand through his hair, the first crack in the calm. "The Bratva's been sniffing around the docks again. We can't afford you playing ghost artist tonight."
I softened, just a fraction. My brothers would burn the world for me. I knew that. They'd killed for less. But God, the weight of their love was suffocating.
"I'm not playing," I whispered, stepping closer so the faint scent of my paint mixed with his cologne. "That canvas tonight? It sold for five million. Five. Million. Dollars. For something I painted because I can't scream it in this house without you three turning it into a war." My voice cracked on the last word. "Let me have this one thing that's mine, Lorenzo. Please."
He stared at me a long beat, then exhaled surrendering a battle he'd already lost. "You're impossible." A ghost of a smile tugged his mouth. The rare one that reminded me he was still my big brother under the Don mask. "And you're still grounded from leaving the estate after dark without an escort. Effective immediately."
I laughed, sharp and bitter. "Grounded? I'm twenty four, not fourteen. Try telling Dante that when he drags me to the range tomorrow and makes me shoot until my shoulder screams."
"Dante's the reason you know how to shoot," he shot back, but his tone had lost its edge. He reached out and tucked a stray wave of hair behind my ear, thumb lingering a second too long on my cheek. "Just... be careful. You're not just Sera anymore. You're the future of this family. And if anyone finds out Starry's our princess..."
"They won't." I stepped back, flashing him my best defiant grin even as my pulse hammered. "I'm a ghost, remember? The best kind."
Before he could reply, heavy footsteps echoed from the east corridor. Dante appeared first. 6'2 of barely leashed rage, leather jacket slung over one shoulder, knuckles still bruised from whatever "meeting" he'd handled earlier. Nico trailed him, phone in hand, sharp eyes scanning me.
"Jeez, Sera," Dante growled. "You smell like a fucking art supply store exploded. Where the hell were you? I was two seconds from sending a team to drag your ass back."
"Missed you too, hothead," I said sweetly, dodging when he tried to pull me into a bear hug that would've crushed ribs. "And relax. I'm home. Alive. No bullet holes. Happy now?"
Nico snorted, leaning against the banister with that tone that made lesser men piss themselves. "Traffic cams say you took the long way home. Care to explain why your driver burned rubber on the coastal exit like the devil was on his tail?"
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. "Paranoid much? Maybe I just like the scenic route. You know, waves, moonlight, not feeling like I'm in a maximum security art gallery 24/7."
Dante stepped closer, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. "Turpentine. And something else. You've been painting again after we told you to lay low until the bratva talks settle."
"Enough." Lorenzo cut him off with a single word, the big brother voice that still worked on all of us. "Library. Now. Papa's been waiting fifteen minutes, and you know how he gets when schedules slip."
My stomach knotted. The three of them closed ranks around me without thinking. Dante on my left, Nico on my right, Lorenzo at my back like always. Protective. Suffocating. Perfect.
We moved down the long hall in silence except for the click of my bare feet on marble. The library doors loomed ahead, heavy oak carved with the Moretti crest. A lion and olive branch, blood and peace in one twisted symbol. Warm light came from under the door. I could already smell Papa's pipe tobacco and Mama's perfume.
Lorenzo pushed the doors open without knocking.
Don Marco Moretti sat behind the massive desk, silver hair gleaming under the chandelier, eyes still sharp as the day he'd handed the reins to Lorenzo. Mama stood at his shoulder, elegant in a silk robe with one hand resting on his. They looked every inch the old guard: warm, principled, lethal when crossed.
Papa's gaze landed on me first. "Serafina. Good of you to join us."
I swallowed the retort burning on my tongue and dipped my head. "Sorry, Papa. Lost track of time."
He waved it off, but the lines around his eyes deepened. "Sit. All of you. This concerns the family. The whole family."
We took our usual seats. Me between Dante and Nico on the leather couch, Lorenzo claiming the armchair closest to the desk like he was already testing the weight of the crown. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows across the bookshelves lined with first editions and ledgers.
Papa leaned forward, intertwining his fingers. The room went still.
"The De Luca Syndicate has made contact," he said, voice steady but heavy. "The Bratva's pushing harder than we anticipated. Shipments lost. Docks bleeding. An alliance is the only way to push them back into the Black Sea where they belong."
My brothers shifted. Dante's fists clenched on his knees. Nico's eyes narrowed to slits. Lorenzo didn't move, but I felt the tension roll off him in waves.
I forced a laugh, light and brittle. "Alliance? Like some medieval treaty? What, are we trading olive oil and guns now? Or is it daughters and sons?"
Papa's eyes met mine, calm and unyielding. "It's already decided, Sera. The contract is drawn. The De Luca heir has agreed."
The words hung there, unsettling.
My heart slammed hard, then froze.
No. Not him.
Not after twelve years of silence
I reached blindly for the tumbler on the side table. Papa's scotch, untouched and my fingers slipped. The glass hit the floor and shattered, crimson liquid pooling at my bare feet.
The room erupted in motion. Dante cursing, Nico rising, Lorenzo already moving toward me, but all I could hear was the echo of that name in my skull.
Alessandro De Luca.
The boy who'd promised to be my shield.
The man who'd vanished without a word and left me painting his shadow for a decade.
I stared at the shards glittering on the floor, my pulse roaring in my ears, and felt the cage door slam shut for good.
This wasn't an alliance.
It was a life sentence.
