Seraphina Vitiello POV
We walked out of the restaurant together just as the sun was setting.
The sky was a bruise of purple and orange, bleeding into the horizon.
"You live around here?" Luca asked, his voice low and even.
"Just moved in," I said, gesturing vaguely down the block. "Down the street."
He walked me to the building, matching his pace to mine.
He didn't try to come up.
He didn't try to make a move.
He just stood at the door, hands relaxed in his pockets, watching the street before turning his gaze back to me.
"You're safe here, Sarah," he said. "Whatever you're running from, it's a long way away."
"I hope so," I said softly.
"Goodnight," he said.
"Goodnight, Luca."
I watched him walk away under the streetlights.
He moved with a loose, easy gait.
Dante had always walked like a tiger stalking prey—every muscle coiled, every step calculated.
But Luca walked like a man who had nothing to fear.
I went up to my empty apartment and locked the door behind me.
I sat on the floor, the silence of the room pressing in against my ears.
Slowly, I pulled my old phone out of my bag.
It was the only thing I had left from Chicago. The only tether to a life that no longer existed.
I had kept it turned off since the hospital.
But I needed to know.
I needed to see if the bomb had finally detonated.
I powered it on.
It vibrated instantly, a violent buzz against my palm.
Dozens of missed calls flooded the screen.
My father. My mother. Marco.
And one text from Isabella.
It was sent three hours ago.
I opened it, my breath hitching in my throat.
It was a photo of a wedding dress.
Layers of intricate lace. Cascading silk. Diamonds catching the light.
It was the dress she was wearing to marry Dante.
The caption was short, brutal, and precise.
*He is finally mine. You were never even a player in the game.*
I stared at the screen, the blue light stinging my eyes.
She was right.
I wasn't a player.
I was just the ball they kicked around.
But the game was over.
I felt a dull ache spread through my chest. It wasn't heartbreak.
It was the phantom pain of a limb that had been severed a long time ago.
I stood up, my movements mechanical.
I walked to the kitchen counter and set the phone down on the granite.
My eyes landed on a heavy metal pestle the previous tenant had left behind.
I picked it up, weighing the cold steel in my hand.
I raised it.
And brought it down on the screen.
*Crack.*
Glass shattered, spiderwebbing outward.
I hit it again.
And again.
And again.
I didn't stop until the phone was nothing but twisted metal and plastic shards, unrecognizable.
Breathing hard, I swept the pieces into the trash.
Seraphina Vitiello was dead.
She died in the wreckage of that SUV.
I walked to the window and looked out at the dark expanse of the ocean.
I was Sarah now.
And Sarah was going to survive.
