Chapter 11
Serena's POV
It took Dante's people eleven days to find Vivienne.
She'd been hiding in a Corsetti safe house on the outskirts of Naples — protected, fed, comfortable. In exchange, she'd been feeding them every scrap of information she'd collected during her time with me.
But she miscalculated one thing: the Corsettis didn't protect people. They used them.
The moment Dante's men closed in, the Corsettis scattered like roaches — left Vivienne alone in that house with nothing but a dead phone and a suitcase of stolen documents.
Dante brought her to our estate. Not to hurt her — but because I asked.
I needed to see her face when she answered for what she'd done.
...
They brought her to the formal sitting room. Two of Dante's men flanked the door. She looked smaller than I remembered — thinner, paler, stripped of the polished performance she usually wore.
But her eyes were the same. Sharp. Calculating. Watching me for weakness.
"Serena." She managed a smile. "You look well. Marriage agrees with you."
"Cut the act," I said. "You sold my family's information to our enemies. You put my life — and my husband's life — at risk."
She tilted her head. "I did what I had to do."
"What you had to—" I stopped myself. Took a breath. "Why, Vivienne? What did I ever do to you?"
For a moment — just a flicker — something real crossed her face.
"You existed," she said.
I stared at her.
"You had everything," she continued, voice quiet now, bitter. "A father who adored you. A family name that opened every door. A fiancé who would've married you if I hadn't intervened." She laughed shortly. "And even after I took Dominic — even after I destroyed your engagement — you still landed on your feet. Better than before."
"So this was jealousy," I said. "All of it."
"This was survival," she corrected, leaning forward. " My mother married your father for security. And when she died, I had nothing. Your father gave me a room like I was a guest — not family. You treated me like a project. 'Take care of Vivienne.' Like I was a dog you'd adopted."
"I treated you like a sister."
"You treated me like charity." Her voice cracked for the first time. "And I hated you for it."
The room was silent.
I understood, in some small way. The loneliness, the resentment, the feeling of being always second. I'd felt it too — with Dominic, with Nolan — no. Not Nolan. Dominic.
But understanding didn't mean forgiveness.
"You put people I love in danger," I said. "That's not something I can overlook."
"So what happens now?" she asked, chin lifting. "Your husband puts a bullet in me?"
Dante spoke from the doorway — I hadn't heard him enter. "I don't kill women," he said calmly. "But the Corsettis will discover you've been feeding us information about them for the past week."
Vivienne's face drained of color. "That's not true."
"It doesn't need to be true," Dante said. "It just needs to reach the right ears."
She stared at him, then at me. And for the first time, real fear broke through her composure.
"You can't — if they think I betrayed them—"
"Then you'd better run," Dante said simply. "Far. Fast. And never come anywhere near my wife again."
He opened the door wider. A clear dismissal.
Vivienne stood on shaking legs. She looked at me — one last time, searching for something. Mercy, maybe. Or the sister she'd never let me be.
"Goodbye, Vivienne," I said quietly. "Don't come back."
She walked out without another word.
...
After she was gone, I sat in that room for a long time.
Dante sat beside me — not speaking, just present.
"Do you think I was too harsh?" I asked eventually.
"No." His hand found mine. "I think you were exactly fair."
"I could've done more. I could've been better — when she first came to us. Maybe if I'd seen how alone she felt—"
"You are not responsible for someone else's choices," Dante said firmly. "You opened your home. Your life. She chose to weaponize that kindness. That's on her."
I leaned into him, letting his warmth ground me.
"It's over?" I whispered.
"It's over," he confirmed. And pressed a kiss to my temple.
It took Dante's people eleven days to find Vivienne.
She'd been hiding in a Corsetti safe house on the outskirts of Naples — protected, fed, comfortable. In exchange, she'd been feeding them every scrap of information she'd collected during her time with me.
But she miscalculated one thing: the Corsettis didn't protect people. They used them.
The moment Dante's men closed in, the Corsettis scattered like roaches — left Vivienne alone in that house with nothing but a dead phone and a suitcase of stolen documents.
Dante brought her to our estate. Not to hurt her — but because I asked.
I needed to see her face when she answered for what she'd done.
...
They brought her to the formal sitting room. Two of Dante's men flanked the door. She looked smaller than I remembered — thinner, paler, stripped of the polished performance she usually wore.
But her eyes were the same. Sharp. Calculating. Watching me for weakness.
"Serena." She managed a smile. "You look well. Marriage agrees with you."
"Cut the act," I said. "You sold my family's information to our enemies. You put my life — and my husband's life — at risk."
She tilted her head. "I did what I had to do."
"What you had to—" I stopped myself. Took a breath. "Why, Vivienne? What did I ever do to you?"
For a moment — just a flicker — something real crossed her face.
"You existed," she said.
I stared at her.
"You had everything," she continued, voice quiet now, bitter. "A father who adored you. A family name that opened every door. A fiancé who would've married you if I hadn't intervened." She laughed shortly. "And even after I took Dominic — even after I destroyed your engagement — you still landed on your feet. Better than before."
"So this was jealousy," I said. "All of it."
"This was survival," she corrected, leaning forward. " My mother married your father for security. And when she died, I had nothing. Your father gave me a room like I was a guest — not family. You treated me like a project. 'Take care of Vivienne.' Like I was a dog you'd adopted."
"I treated you like a sister."
"You treated me like charity." Her voice cracked for the first time. "And I hated you for it."
The room was silent.
I understood, in some small way. The loneliness, the resentment, the feeling of being always second. I'd felt it too — with Dominic, with Nolan — no. Not Nolan. Dominic.
But understanding didn't mean forgiveness.
"You put people I love in danger," I said. "That's not something I can overlook."
"So what happens now?" she asked, chin lifting. "Your husband puts a bullet in me?"
Dante spoke from the doorway — I hadn't heard him enter. "I don't kill women," he said calmly. "But the Corsettis will discover you've been feeding us information about them for the past week."
Vivienne's face drained of color. "That's not true."
"It doesn't need to be true," Dante said. "It just needs to reach the right ears."
She stared at him, then at me. And for the first time, real fear broke through her composure.
"You can't — if they think I betrayed them—"
"Then you'd better run," Dante said simply. "Far. Fast. And never come anywhere near my wife again."
He opened the door wider. A clear dismissal.
Vivienne stood on shaking legs. She looked at me — one last time, searching for something. Mercy, maybe. Or the sister she'd never let me be.
"Goodbye, Vivienne," I said quietly. "Don't come back."
She walked out without another word.
...
After she was gone, I sat in that room for a long time.
Dante sat beside me — not speaking, just present.
"Do you think I was too harsh?" I asked eventually.
"No." His hand found mine. "I think you were exactly fair."
"I could've done more. I could've been better — when she first came to us. Maybe if I'd seen how alone she felt—"
"You are not responsible for someone else's choices," Dante said firmly. "You opened your home. Your life. She chose to weaponize that kindness. That's on her."
I leaned into him, letting his warmth ground me.
"It's over?" I whispered.
"It's over," he confirmed. And pressed a kiss to my temple.