Vanya looked tiny beside her, his curls tousled, eyes wide and searching.
And then he spotted her.
“Mom!” His voice cracked, raw and fierce.
He ripped his hand free and ran before she could react.
She dropped to her knees instinctively, arms wide, catching him as he collided with her. The impact nearly sent her tumbling, but she held tight, cradling him like she could press him back into her body, absorbing every bit of his fear.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice breaking. “No one will ever take you from me again. I promise, baby. I promise.”
He burrowed into her shoulder, muffling a whisper she barely caught. She froze, startled.
She loosened her grip slightly, eyes wide as she glanced toward Seraphina.
Seraphina approached, heels clicking against the marble like gunshots. Each step was deliberate.
“Pen,” she said sweetly, almost saccharine, “since we’ll be living together, I think it’s only fair we become acquainted.”
Pen rose slowly, keeping Vanya between them like a living shield. Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders, a silent warning.
“We’ll be under the same roof for three months,” she said, her voice flat, ice threading through every word. “But I have no interest in being your friend. Stay away from us—especially my son.”
Seraphina’s smile didn’t falter. “Vanya and I got along just fine, didn’t we?” She bent slightly, looking down at him with an insincere warmth that made my skin crawl.
Vanya peeked out, whispering softly. “She gave me ice cream,” he said, his voice timid, uncertain.
My chest tightened.
Pen bent slightly, meeting his gaze. “You’ve known her less than a day, baby. We don’t trust strangers, and we never will. Understand?”
Vanya nodded slightly, leaning into her.
Seraphina lifted her gaze, turning her attention slowly to the staircase. Her eyes found mine.
There was something in them—pity, hidden desperation, as if she thought she could save me from my own grief.
I let her see nothing.
“Giovanni will show you to your room,” I said from the shadows, voice controlled, flat, ice over steel.
For a fraction of a second, her smile faltered.
Then, with effortless composure, she recovered. “Next to yours, as agreed?”
“As agreed,” I replied, voice final.
She didn’t push further. She didn’t need to. The game had begun. And I had no intention of letting her win.
Giovanni appeared first, his gait stiff from the bandages wrapped around his shoulder and temple, evidence of the ambush that had nearly cost him his life.
Giovanni’s eyes flicked to her briefly—a silent warning—before he gestured for Seraphina to follow.
She moved like a doll on strings, delicate, deliberate, but I could see the tension coiling beneath her porcelain exterior.
Giovanni led Seraphina away, each step measured, leaving the foyer heavy with quiet.
Pen knelt again, pulling Vanya close, burying her face in his curls.
