The Calm Before the Storm

Serena:

I woke before the house and remembered how to breathe.

No footsteps. No slamming doors. No whispered arguments behind study walls.

Only shadows. And mine was already moving.

The air outside was cold enough to bite, but I didn't feel it as I slipped into the backseat of the black sedan waiting by the gate.

The driver didn't ask questions.

He knew better than to ask why the girl with bloodlines in her bones and bruises at her throat wanted to vanish before dawn.

I didn't tell anyone.

Not Matteo.

Not Luca.

Not Nico.

Because this time, I wasn't theirs.

Not yet, at least.

The car wound down coastal roads while the sky peeled back from indigo to bruised lavender. I watched the sunrise without a single set of eyes on me.

And for the first time in weeks, I felt a sense of clarity.

They'd marked me like property.

They'd whispered about protection, about power, about legacy.

But none of them had ever asked what I wanted.

So I made a decision.

The campus was older than I expected. Weather-worn stone. Ivy-choked windows. Students moved through the fog like figures in a painting.

It wasn't far from the estate—just twenty minutes into the city—but it felt like a different world.

Here, no one knew me.

Not as the girl in Luca's lap. Not as Matteo's muse. Not as Nico's next move.

I walked into the admissions office like I belonged.

Because I would.

I had my mother's forged records in my bag. Her name opened doors still, even if no one dared speak it.

The receptionist didn't blink when she read the last name.

She just said, "We've been expecting you."

By the time I stepped out into the central courtyard with a schedule in hand and a new student ID pressed against my palm, I felt a sense of difference.

Not clean.

Not free.

But sharpened.

Like a blade finally drawn from its sheath.

And that's when I saw him.

He was leaning against the railing near the fountain, dark curls damp with mist, a book in one hand, sunglasses in the other.

He looked up when I passed.

Smiled.

But not like a stranger.

Like someone who already knew me.

"Serena," he said. Not a question.

I stopped.

Turned slowly.

He tucked the sunglasses into his pocket.

"Took you long enough to come play with the rest of us."

His voice was low. Silk cut with smoke. The ring on his finger caught the light—silver, coiled with two snakes biting each other's tails.

I'd seen that symbol before.

In one of Matteo's files.

The Moretti crest.

I didn't speak.

He walked toward me, slow and confident, like the campus bent to his gravity.

"I'm Dante," he said. "But I think your family already knows that."

I narrowed my eyes. "You're a Moretti."

He smiled like a sin I hadn't committed yet.

"And you're the only thing Romano, Rivera, Moretti, and Vassallo have ever agreed on.

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"That you're too dangerous to touch."

I didn't flinch.

"Maybe they were right."

"Maybe." He tilted his head. "But the problem with fire, Serena, is that it doesn't care what burns. And I have a feeling you're ready to let it all catch."

 

He pulled a card from his coat pocket. I slid it into my hand.

Midnight.Twelve Gates Club. Ask for the Black Room.

"When you're ready to stop being a pawn," he said, backing away, "come see what the other side of the board looks like."

And then he was gone.

Just like that.

Like a ripple across the calm water.

 

When I returned, the house was awake.

Matteo's sketchbook was open on the table.

Luca's jacket was gone from the hall.

Nico's boots were by the stairs.

But none of them knew I'd left.

None of them knew I'd enrolled.

None of them knew I'd met the enemy.

And that for the first time since I walked through the doors of this house, I wasn't waiting to be claimed.

I was preparing to choose.

 

I used to think the war was between them.

The Romano, Rivera, Vassallo, and Moretti families. But now I see it clearly.

I'm not a part of this battlefield. I'm the one who sets it on fire.