Chapter 6
Serena's POV
Five days before the wedding, Vivienne made her move.
I was leaving the tailor — final fitting done, dress perfect — when a black car pulled up beside me on the sidewalk.
The window rolled down. Vivienne, in the backseat, eyes red-rimmed.
"Get in," she said. "Please. I need to talk to you."
Against my better judgment, I got in.
She looked worse than I'd ever seen her — hair unwashed, no makeup, hands trembling around a tissue.
"Serena," she started, voice breaking. "I made a terrible mistake."
I said nothing. Just waited.
"Dominic — he called off our wedding." She pressed the tissue to her eyes. "He said he couldn't go through with it. Said he still loves you."
I kept my expression neutral. "And?"
"And I'm scared." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I lied to him, Serena. About the pregnancy. I was never pregnant. I just — I was so lonely, and Dominic was so kind to me, and I thought—"
"You thought you could steal my fiancé with a fake baby," I finished.
She flinched. "I know how it sounds. But I wasn't trying to hurt you — I just wanted someone to love me."
The tears fell faster now. Classic Vivienne — beautiful even when she cried.
But I noticed something. Her eyes kept darting to my hand. To the ruby ring.
"Is this real?" I asked suddenly. "This confession?"
"What?" She blinked.
"Because the last time you cried in front of me, you were setting up a lie." I leaned closer. "So I'll ask again — why are you really here, Vivienne?"
Something shifted in her expression. Subtle. Barely there. But I caught it — the flicker of calculation behind the tears.
"I want to warn you," she said, dropping the trembling act by a fraction. "About Dante."
"Warn me?"
"He's not who you think he is, Serena." She gripped my arm. "The Valenti family — they're not just wealthy. They're violent. Ruthless. Dante has blood on his hands."
"I'm a Romano," I reminded her. "We all have blood on our hands."
"Not like this." She leaned in, urgent. "I heard things when I reached out to his family. Things about women who got close to Dante. Things about what happened to them."
"Funny," I said calmly, "considering his family told me you approached them trying to steal my arrangement. So whatever you 'heard' was probably whatever they said to scare you off."
Her face went blank. Then — the mask slid completely.
"You know about that," she said flatly.
"I know about everything, Vivienne." I removed her hand from my arm. "The fake pregnancy. The approach to the Valentis. The calculated performances."
She stared at me. And for the first time, I saw her clearly — no tears, no trembling, no wide-eyed innocence. Just cold, hard ambition.
"You can't prove any of it," she said quietly.
"I don't need to prove it," I replied. "Because in five days, I'll be Dante Valenti's wife. And you'll be nobody's anything."
I reached for the door handle.
"Serena." Her voice stopped me — sharp now, stripped of all pretense. "Do you really think you've won? Dominic canceled our wedding. He's coming for you. And when he realizes Dante is just your revenge plot—"
"Then he'll be too late," I said. "Just like he was too late to tell me the truth. Just like you were too late to stop me."
I stepped out of the car and didn't look back.
...
That evening, I found Dante waiting at my house.
He was standing in my garden, hands in his pockets, watching the sunset like it belonged to him.
"Vivienne came to see me today," I said, joining him.
"I know." Of course he knew. "What did she say?"
"That you're dangerous. That women who get close to you disappear." I looked up at him. "Should I be worried?"
He turned to face me fully. The dying light carved shadows across his cheekbones, made his eyes darker than usual.
"I've never hurt a woman in my life," he said. "But I've destroyed men who hurt the people I care about. If that makes me dangerous—" He shrugged one shoulder. "Then yes. I am."
I studied him — this man who was about to be my husband. This man I'd known for mere weeks but who had shown me more honesty than Dominic had in three years.
"Dante," I said. "After the wedding. What happens?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean — is this just a contract? Do we live separate lives? Do we—"
He stepped closer, cutting off my words. Close enough that I could smell his cologne — dark, warm, woodsy.
"I don't do anything halfway, Serena," he murmured. " When I marry you, I marry you. Not a contract. Not an arrangement. You."
My breath caught.
"But," he added, pulling back slightly, "only when you're ready. I won't rush you. I won't push you. I'll wait — like I've been waiting."
"Two years is a long time to wait," I whispered.
"You're worth longer," he said.
Five days before the wedding, Vivienne made her move.
I was leaving the tailor — final fitting done, dress perfect — when a black car pulled up beside me on the sidewalk.
The window rolled down. Vivienne, in the backseat, eyes red-rimmed.
"Get in," she said. "Please. I need to talk to you."
Against my better judgment, I got in.
She looked worse than I'd ever seen her — hair unwashed, no makeup, hands trembling around a tissue.
"Serena," she started, voice breaking. "I made a terrible mistake."
I said nothing. Just waited.
"Dominic — he called off our wedding." She pressed the tissue to her eyes. "He said he couldn't go through with it. Said he still loves you."
I kept my expression neutral. "And?"
"And I'm scared." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I lied to him, Serena. About the pregnancy. I was never pregnant. I just — I was so lonely, and Dominic was so kind to me, and I thought—"
"You thought you could steal my fiancé with a fake baby," I finished.
She flinched. "I know how it sounds. But I wasn't trying to hurt you — I just wanted someone to love me."
The tears fell faster now. Classic Vivienne — beautiful even when she cried.
But I noticed something. Her eyes kept darting to my hand. To the ruby ring.
"Is this real?" I asked suddenly. "This confession?"
"What?" She blinked.
"Because the last time you cried in front of me, you were setting up a lie." I leaned closer. "So I'll ask again — why are you really here, Vivienne?"
Something shifted in her expression. Subtle. Barely there. But I caught it — the flicker of calculation behind the tears.
"I want to warn you," she said, dropping the trembling act by a fraction. "About Dante."
"Warn me?"
"He's not who you think he is, Serena." She gripped my arm. "The Valenti family — they're not just wealthy. They're violent. Ruthless. Dante has blood on his hands."
"I'm a Romano," I reminded her. "We all have blood on our hands."
"Not like this." She leaned in, urgent. "I heard things when I reached out to his family. Things about women who got close to Dante. Things about what happened to them."
"Funny," I said calmly, "considering his family told me you approached them trying to steal my arrangement. So whatever you 'heard' was probably whatever they said to scare you off."
Her face went blank. Then — the mask slid completely.
"You know about that," she said flatly.
"I know about everything, Vivienne." I removed her hand from my arm. "The fake pregnancy. The approach to the Valentis. The calculated performances."
She stared at me. And for the first time, I saw her clearly — no tears, no trembling, no wide-eyed innocence. Just cold, hard ambition.
"You can't prove any of it," she said quietly.
"I don't need to prove it," I replied. "Because in five days, I'll be Dante Valenti's wife. And you'll be nobody's anything."
I reached for the door handle.
"Serena." Her voice stopped me — sharp now, stripped of all pretense. "Do you really think you've won? Dominic canceled our wedding. He's coming for you. And when he realizes Dante is just your revenge plot—"
"Then he'll be too late," I said. "Just like he was too late to tell me the truth. Just like you were too late to stop me."
I stepped out of the car and didn't look back.
...
That evening, I found Dante waiting at my house.
He was standing in my garden, hands in his pockets, watching the sunset like it belonged to him.
"Vivienne came to see me today," I said, joining him.
"I know." Of course he knew. "What did she say?"
"That you're dangerous. That women who get close to you disappear." I looked up at him. "Should I be worried?"
He turned to face me fully. The dying light carved shadows across his cheekbones, made his eyes darker than usual.
"I've never hurt a woman in my life," he said. "But I've destroyed men who hurt the people I care about. If that makes me dangerous—" He shrugged one shoulder. "Then yes. I am."
I studied him — this man who was about to be my husband. This man I'd known for mere weeks but who had shown me more honesty than Dominic had in three years.
"Dante," I said. "After the wedding. What happens?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean — is this just a contract? Do we live separate lives? Do we—"
He stepped closer, cutting off my words. Close enough that I could smell his cologne — dark, warm, woodsy.
"I don't do anything halfway, Serena," he murmured. " When I marry you, I marry you. Not a contract. Not an arrangement. You."
My breath caught.
"But," he added, pulling back slightly, "only when you're ready. I won't rush you. I won't push you. I'll wait — like I've been waiting."
"Two years is a long time to wait," I whispered.
"You're worth longer," he said.