Velvet and stone

Serena

I didn’t bother turning on the light.

The darkness felt cleaner.

No pretense. No performance.

Just shadow and silence—the kind I could breathe in without choking on expectation.

I stood at the edge of the room for a long moment, letting the hush settle into my bones. My reflection blinked at me from the window glass—sharp, still trembling, but alive.

God, I was so alive.

More than I had been in months. Maybe ever.

I peeled the jacket from my shoulders like a second skin, letting it fall to the floor. The silk blouse followed. Cold air kissed my skin, but I didn’t reach for anything to cover myself. Let the chill bite. Let it remind me I wasn’t made of glass.

I wasn’t untouched.

Not anymore.

I moved to the mirror above the dresser. Not to admire. Not even to check for blood.

Just to look.

Really look.

My eyes were wide and wild, rimmed with the kind of knowing that didn’t wash off. The kind you wore like war paint.

I picked up the necklace I’d hidden in the drawer weeks ago—a thin gold chain with a coin pendant etched in a language I never learned but somehow always understood.

Something from before.

Before them.

Before all this.

I clasped it around my neck and let the metal settle over my sternum like a vow.

“I’m not unclaimed,” I whispered to no one.

Not because I belonged to them.

But because I belonged to myself now.

For so long, I’d waited for them to give me a place. A title. A reason to stay.

Now? I was the reason.

My fingers brushed over the curve of my collarbone where Luca’s mouth had once lingered. Where Matteo’s hands had held me too tight. Where Nico’s breath had ghosted hot promises I still hadn’t decided if I wanted kept.

They thought they’d taught me control.

But they were wrong.

They taught me restraint.

And now that was gone.

The knock on the door came soft.

A single knock.

I didn’t answer.

Whoever it was, they could wait.

Because I wasn’t dressing in silk tonight.

I wasn’t soft.

I was steel.

And tomorrow, when I walked into whatever fire was coming—I’d do it wearing the weapon he gave me.

Not because I trusted him.

But because it reminded me:

I wasn’t here to be chosen.

I was here to choose.

The knock came again.

A pause.

Then the handle turned, slow like whoever was on the other side already knew I wouldn’t stop them.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t dress.

Didn’t reach for anything but the tension gathering low in my stomach.

The door opened.

And Matteo stepped through.

Not Luca with his fire, not Nico with his shadows.

Matteo.

Always the one who watched.

Always the one who never showed his hands.

He closed the door behind him without a word, eyes sweeping the room, then landing on me.

I stood barefoot in nothing but dark lingerie and the coin necklace gleaming like a brand between my collarbones.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t look away.

Didn’t leer.

He just looked, like I was something sacred and unholy all at once.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” I said finally.

He stepped closer. “I wasn’t sure you’d let me in.”

I arched a brow. “I didn’t.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but it wasn’t amusement. It was restraint—cracking.

“I came because I needed to see you,” he said, voice low. “Not the girl they trained. Not the weapon they unleashed. You.”

“That girl’s gone,” I whispered.

“Good.” He took another step. “Because she was always afraid to want what she deserved.”

I swallowed hard. “And what’s that?”

“You think I’m here to claim you?” he asked, voice hushed like a confession. “I’m not. I’m here to ask you to claim us.”

Something cracked in me then. Not loudly.

Just a quiet splintering.

A piece I’d held too tightly too long.

“Why now?” I whispered. “Why after Dante? After I walked away and threw a loaded promise on your table?”

“Because that was the first time you looked us in the eye without flinching. Because that was the first time I realized we might lose you. And because—” his voice caught for a breath “—I’d rather burn with you than rule without you.”

He was in front of me now.

Close.

So close I could smell the dark spice on his skin and the hint of ink on his shirt—like he’d been writing something, then walked away from it the second he realized he needed to come here.

I reached up and curled my fingers into his shirt. “You’re bleeding, Matteo.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Not blood. Control. You’ve been bleeding it since the moment I walked into that room with Dante’s scent on me.”

His hand came up, slow, and rested against the curve of my cheek. “Then stop watching me bleed, Serena.”

“Start making me feel something worth staying for.”

And when he kissed me—

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t safe.

It was the kind of kiss you give someone after the fall, when the truth’s already shattered and all that’s left is the wreckage you build from.

His mouth was fire and apology. Hunger and desperation.

But it wasn’t a claim.

It was a plea.

Let me in before I lose you.