Lies & Vows

SERENA'S POV

"I'm not just a witch, but a wicked one at that who eats little boys like you for dinner,"

I leaned in, locking eyes with the trembling brat, my grin spreading slowly as I dragged my tongue across my teeth for effect.

Then I picked up my drink, sipped elegantly, and watched him burst into tears, sprinting off in search of his mother.

"You know you'll have one of your own someday, right?"

My father's voice cut through, amused, as he approached my table, wearing a grin that mirrored mine.

Still tall and handsome even at his current age of sixty-five, he still made the ladies hearts shiver wherever he went.

I could positively say he participated significantly in my good looks.

"Thanks, but no thanks," I snorted in response.

He sighed, pausing while the waiter refilled our glasses. A polite nod to the man, then back to me.

This conversation was old news. My stance on motherhood wasn't changing. He knew that.

"One day you'll understand..."

"Don Giovanni," a loud, slurred voice interrupted, "I didn't think you'd actually show."

Santos. My father's longtime associate and a high-ranking member of the cartel. Drunk and far too cheerful for a man on his fifth marriage-to a girl younger than his eldest daughter.

They launched into loud greetings, all handshakes and back-slaps. I tuned them out, ignoring the bride hovering beside us, desperate to wedge herself into the conversation.

I glanced at her, caked makeup, plunging neckline, cunning eyes behind a fake smile. Gold digger. But hey, who was I to judge? I was just the unwilling plus-one, dragged here by my annoying father.

"I see you dragged the recluse out of her cave," Santos turned to me, eyes twinkling with charm. "What's the trick?"

His grin was all mischief-classic ladies' man. Charm and money: the only two tools in his belt.

"We had a bet. I lost," I replied flatly.

"Oh? And what was the wager?"

That came from the bride. Her voice-high and sugary-grated on my nerves.

I ignored her, taking my time as I sipped my cognac, savoring the slow burn.

"A bet on how long your latest marriage would last. That's why I'm here."

My father choked on his drink, simultaneously kicking me under the table.

I'd totally made that up. There was no bet. But the look on the bride's face? Definitely Worth it.

"And now, if you'll excuse me," I said, standing with a flourish, "I need to use the restroom,"

I walked off, basking in the silence I'd left behind and the bride's strained, frozen smile.

As I moved through the ballroom, familiar faces turned toward me-cartel members, old family friends, snakes in suits. I gave curt nods, never slowing. They didn't deserve my time.

I knew the nickname always whispered behind my back. The Cold Bitch.

Good.

Better that than a warm-hearted fool.

I'd seen too much to play nice. Being the first daughter of one of Vegas' most feared cartels meant I'd witnessed more than enough power games, betrayal, all for the sake of money or at a grasp at power.

Loyalty was an illusion. Love, a transaction.

I veered left instead of heading to the restroom, slipping out of the ballroom in search of air.

That's when I slammed into a wall.

"Ouch!" I snapped, stumbling.

Except, it wasn't a wall. Two strong arms caught my waist, holding me steady.

I looked up and forgot to breathe for a. while.

Tall. Sharp-jawed. Eyes like storm clouds. A walking, brooding statue of perfection.

For a moment, I stared. So did he.

Then the warmth in his touch turned cold.

"Watch where you're going, missy," he growled, voice like gravel as he narrowed his eyes, and then walked away without another word.

Rude.

I stood there, stunned.

Who the hell was that? And who pissed in his drink?

"Whatever," I muttered, resuming my mission.

Outside, I took a deep breath, exhaling like a fish starved of air.

"Much better,"

A high-pitched giggle rang out.

"I swear, did you see how hot he is?"

Three women approached the entrance, heels clicking against the marble. My instinct told me to hide and so I ducked behind the rose bushes. I couldn't help the silly grin that found itself to my face as I got comfortable to listen.

"I wish I was born a Giovanni," one of them sighed. Tall, red-haired. Familiar. "Then I'd actually have a chance with him."

Come and try, sweetheart, I thought.

"I need to tell Lilian I saw her man today. God, she's so lucky!"

Lilian. That name clicked. So this redhead was one of her friends.

That makes more sense, the dumb butches club.

"How do you even know she's the one marrying into the Moretti family?" asked the curvy brunette. Her voice was quiet, but sharp.

Finally, someone with a brain, I yawned silently.

"Come on. Who else would they sacrifice?" the redhead scoffed. "It's not like they'd pick that spoiled, cold-hearted bitch, Serena."

I pouted jokingly at their vague description of me.

The third girl nodded like her neck was on autopilot. She was the type to always agree to everything, and never having an opinion of their own.

Useless, I concluded to myself.

The brunette opened her mouth to speak, but I'd heard enough.

Time to make my entrance.

I stepped out slowly, letting my signature cold smile bloom. The brunette noticed me first, I watched her eyes widen, guilt freezing her in place.

She grabbed the redhead's shoulder, hard.

"Ouch! What's your problem, Marie?"

"She... she's here."

"Who?"

The redhead turned and immediately went pale.

I stopped in front of them, eyes locked on hers.

"That would be me," I said smoothly. "The cold bitch."