“Don’t.”I cut him off, not unkindly.“Don’t analyze it or apologize for it or try to take it back.What happened, happened.We’ll deal with the consequences later.”
He studies my face for a long moment, then nods.“Be safe, Serena.”
“You too.”
I leave before I change my mind.
The DiLorenzo estate, with its sprawling mansion, sits in Brookline.I make it there with just enough time to shower in my old room, change into a navy blue, modest dress, the kind my father approves of.As I fix my makeup, my reflection in the mirror shows no trace of last night.Perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect daughter of the Syndicate.
The mask is flawless.As always.
Isabella catches me in the hallway as I’m heading down to breakfast.My younger sister is twenty-two and still in college, studying international business because Father demanded it.Unlike me, she’s never learned to hide her emotions properly.
“Where were you last night?”she hisses, grabbing my arm.“Father was calling you around eleven.”
My stomach drops.He didn’t leave a message.
“What did you tell him?”
“That you were probably at the library working on Syndicate business.”Her dark eyes search my face.“You weren’t at the library, were you?”
“No.”
“Serena—“
“Not now, Bella.”I pull free gently.“I promise we’ll talk later.What’s the breakfast about?”
Her expression shifts from concern to something akin to pity.“I don’t know.But Joe is already down there, and Father is wearing his I’m-about-to-ruin-someone’s-life face.”
Wonderful.
As we descend the grand staircase together, I can already hear voices from the formal dining room.My father’s deep baritone, my brother Joe’s measured responses.There’s another voice I don’t recognize.
We enter the dining room, and the scene before me is carefully orchestrated.My father, Giovanni DiLorenzo, sits at the head of the table in a gray suit that costs more than a mid-size car.At sixty-three, he’s still powerfully built, his silver hair immaculately styled, his green eyes sharp and calculating.
Joe sits to his right, already in a suit despite the early hour.My older brother catches my eye and gives me the slightest shake of his head—a warning.
And on Father’s left sits a man I’ve only met once before.
Cesare Dellamare.
He’s handsome in that classical Italian way—dark hair slicked back, strong features, high-end suit.Thirty-five, if I remember correctly, and rising quickly through the Italian faction of the Syndicate.On the surface, he’s perfect.
But his eyes are wrong.
They’re dark brown, almost black, and completely empty.Like looking into a void.When he smiles at me, as he is smiling now, it doesn’t reach his expressionless eyes.There’s something predatory in the way he looks at me, the way a cat might look at a mouse it’s about to play with.
Every instinct I have screams danger.
“Serena, Isabella.”My father gestures to the empty seats.“Please, join us.We have much to discuss.”
I take my seat across from Cesare, keeping my expression neutral even as my heart rate picks up.Isabella sits beside me, and I feel her tension matching my own.
“Good morning, Father,” I greet him.
With a wide smile, I accept the cup of coffee from Mathilda, one of the kitchen hands.I desperately need something to do with my hands.
Father clears his throat.“I’ve asked you all here this morning because I have wonderful news.Serena, I believe you remember Cesare Dellamare?”
