Chapter 1 - Seraphina

The fire crackled softly, filling the silence in the room. I pulled the blanket tighter around me, its warmth doing little to ease the chill that had settled in my chest. His arms were wrapped around me, strong and steady, and though I should have pulled away, I didn't. Maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe it was the brief illusion of safety I found in his embrace—something I would never admit aloud.

The silence was heavy, but I broke it anyway. "Tell me," I said, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Adrian shifted slightly behind me, his chin brushing the top of my head. "Tell you what?" My fingers played with the edge of the blanket as I stared into the flames. "What do mafias do when they are betrayed."

I felt his body tense against mine, the arms that held me so protectively just moments ago now rigid. He didn't answer right away, and the air between us thickened with something unspoken.

"They shoot them," he finally said, his voice cold and detached.

The words were like a punch to the gut. I stayed quiet, but my thoughts screamed at me. My father's voice echoed in my mind, warning me that betrayal could only end one way. I had lived with that truth for years, but hearing it from Adrian, so matter-of-fact, was something else entirely.

I stayed wrapped in his arms, but my mind drifted back to a time I had tried to forget—a time when betrayal wasn't just a concept, but a decision I was forced to make. The fire crackled again, and I let the silence swallow us both.

I woke up gasping, my chest heaving as the remnants of the nightmare clung to me. The familiar sound of a gunshot still echoed in my ears, and the phantom pain in my shoulder felt so real I reached for it instinctively.

Shoving the blanket aside, I sat up and ran a trembling hand through my hair. It was just a dream, I told myself. But it wasn't, not really. Dreams are supposed to be figments of your imagination, and this? This was my reality, replaying itself in vivid color night after night.

The room was eerily quiet, the warmth of Adrian's arms long gone. I glanced at my phone on the bedside table, reaching for it with shaking fingers. One press of a button, and her face appeared.

"Morning, Mama!" she greeted, her smile so bright it made my chest ache. "Did you sleep okay?"

"You look tired."

I forced a smile, the kind a mother is supposed to wear.

"Are you eating well?"

"I'm fine, sweetheart. How's school?" She rolled her eyes playfully, and for a moment, the weight in my chest eased.

"You always ask me the same thing! Yes, I'm fine. But what about you? You look like you haven't slept in days."

I laughed softly, the sound foreign to my own ears. "That's my job, isn't it? To worry about you. Don't think for a second that you can turn the tables on me."

Her giggle filled the room, but the moment was fleeting. As soon as the call ended, the silence returned, oppressive and suffocating. I stared at the black screen for a long time, my reflection staring back at me. My fingers brushed the scar on my shoulder—a permanent reminder of how far I had fallen and how much I had lost.

I didn't have the luxury of breaking. Not now. Not ever. For her sake, I had to keep going. With a sigh, I set the phone down and stood. The day wasn't going to wait for me, and neither would Adrian.

The sun was beginning to set by the time I finished my work. The mission had gone smoothly, cleaner than I expected. One bullet, one kill—swift and silent. I wiped the blood off my gloves, my heart steady as always.There was a time when killing had made my stomach churn, but those days were long gone. Now, it was just another task. Another problem solved.The air was crisp as I stepped out of the building, the weight of the day's events settling lightly on my shoulders. I could have gone straight home, but the suffocating silence of the mansion didn't appeal to me. Instead, I found myself turning down a secluded road, the kind no one dared to wander after dark.

The chill of the evening bit at my skin, but I welcomed it. It felt grounding, a sharp contrast to the whirlwind of my life. For a moment, I let my guard down, enjoying the quiet solitude. Then I heard it—the faint hum of engines.

I stopped in my tracks, my instincts sharpening instantly. Five black cars emerged from the shadows, their headlights slicing through the darkness. My hand went to my gun holster as the vehicles circled me like predators closing in on their prey. The doors opened, and men spilled out. Ten, maybe fifteen of them. They didn't speak, but their intent was clear. I smirked, a dark, cold satisfaction curling in my chest.

"You really think you can take me?" I muttered under my breath

They lunged.

I moved on instinct, years of training and survival kicking in. My first bullet found its target—a man to my left who had underestimated my speed. He crumpled to the ground, and I didn't give the others time to react. My foot connected with another man's chest, sending him flying backward.

They surrounded me, but I wasn't easy prey. Ducking, spinning, striking—I moved like a shadow, fluid and unpredictable. My knife sliced through flesh, my gun fired with precision. Blood splattered, staining the asphalt beneath our feet. But then, a sharp sting pierced the back of my neck.

I spun around, my vision already blurring. A man stood behind me, an empty syringe in his hand, a smug grin on his face. I aimed my gun, but my arm felt heavy, the weapon slipping from my fingers.

"Damn it," I hissed, my knees buckling beneath me.

The world tilted, the shadows around me growing darker and darker. The last thing I saw before everything went black was the smirk on his face as he leaned closer, his voice a faint echo in my ears.

"Good night, Seraphina."

I woke to the distant sound of creaking wood and the faint scent of damp stone. My head throbbed, and my limbs felt heavy, but I didn't move. Years of survival had taught me to assess before reacting. My eyes fluttered open just enough to take in my surroundings. The church was old, abandoned, with broken pews scattered across the cracked stone floor.Sunlight filtered through shattered stained-glass windows, casting fragmented colors over the decaying walls. Dust floated in the air, disturbed only by the faint movement of someone pacing nearby.

I stilled my breathing, letting my eyes shift toward the figure. Nick.

His back was turned to me, his hand resting casually on the gun holstered at his hip. He looked older, sharper, but there was no mistaking the boy I once knew. Seven years. It had been seven long years since I last saw him.

I didn't have time to dwell on the memories. Slowly, I shifted my hand, testing the ropes binding me. They were loose, almost careless. A mistake. My fingers found the knot, and within seconds, I was free.

Nick turned, but before he could see me, I lunged forward, grabbing his gun. The cold metal felt reassuring in my hand as I cocked it and pointed it at his back.

"Long time no see, Nick," I said, my voice cold and steady.

"It's been seven years."

He froze, his shoulders stiffening. Slowly, he raised his hands in mock surrender, his lips

curling into a smirk.

"Well, look who's awake. You always did have a knack for dramatics, Seraphina."

Before I could retort, a cold barrel pressed against the back of my head.

"Hello, sweetheart," a deep, familiar voice drawled.

The words sent a shiver down my spine, and my grip on the gun faltered. That voice. That

damn voice.

"Adrian," I whispered, my breath hitching.

The gun lowered from my head, but the weight of his presence was far more suffocating.

Slowly, I turned, the weapon still clutched in my hand.

And there he was.

Adrian.

He looked exactly as I remembered and yet completely different. Taller, broader, with an air of authority that made the room feel smaller. His blue eyes locked onto mine, a storm of emotions brewing within them—anger, bitterness, and something else I couldn't quite place.