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Serafina De Luca

“Seriously, Mother, if anyone in this house has to marry that dying man, it should be Serafina!”

Mirabella’s shrill voice cracked through the midnight silence like shattered glass, sharp enough to make me flinch even before the words truly settled in.

I kept my head down.

Kept scrubbing.

Kept my knees pressed into the cold marble floor while the dirty water soaked through the thin fabric of my dress and numbed my skin.

The mop handle trembled in my hands.

Not because the floor was hard to clean.

Because I already knew where this conversation was going.

A crystal chandelier hung above the grand hallway, spilling warm golden light over expensive paintings, imported vases, and the spotless staircase curling toward the second floor like something from a palace. Everything in the De Luca mansion screamed wealth.

Everything except me.

I was kneeling in the center of it, barefoot, damp, exhausted, dressed in one of Mirabella’s old faded house gowns with bleach stains across the hem, looking less like family and more like the servant Rosalina constantly reminded me I was.

“Oh, calm down, honey.” Rosalina’s voice flowed like silk dipped in poison. “No one is marrying you off to a dead man. I would never do such a horrible thing to my daughter.”

A small laugh followed.

Soft.

Controlled.

Cruel.

My scrubbing slowed.

I lifted my eyes just enough to see Rosalina seated elegantly on the velvet couch, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of red wine balanced between her fingers.

Her lips curled.

And then she looked at me.

My stomach dropped.

Mirabella, however, was too busy throwing her tantrum to notice.

“But the wedding is tomorrow!” she whined, stomping one jeweled slipper against the floor. “I cannot marry Vincenzo Marazona. Mother, have you seen the things people say about him? They said he’s half dead already. They said he looks at people like he wants to bury them alive. I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

Rosalina set the wineglass down.

“Mirabella.”

Her daughter instantly quieted.

Rosalina smiled in that way that never reached her eyes.

“Mother knows best.”

Mirabella folded her arms petulantly. “Then do something.”

“I am.”

Rosalina’s gaze slid back to me.

This time it stayed.

Heavy.

Predatory.

I swallowed hard and lowered my head again, forcing the mop across the floor as if I had suddenly become fascinated by a tiny invisible stain.

“What are you staring at?” Mirabella snapped. “Keep mopping, you useless thing!”

“I-I’m sorry.”

My voice came out too soft.

Too shaky.

Mirabella rolled her eyes. “Pathetic.”

Rosalina rose from the couch, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her silk robe. She walked to her daughter first, cupping Mirabella’s cheek with maternal affection I had spent ten years starving for.

“Go upstairs, darling,” she murmured. “Take off your makeup, get some sleep, and let me handle the rest.”

Mirabella still looked uncertain.

“But—”

Rosalina kissed her forehead.

“I said I will handle it.”

That was enough.

Mirabella nodded and climbed the staircase, muttering under her breath about dead men and ruined lives until her footsteps disappeared down the hall.

The second she was gone, the warmth left the room.

Rosalina’s hand dropped from the air.

Her smile vanished.

Silence spread.

Even the ticking grandfather clock near the entrance suddenly sounded too loud.

I scrubbed faster.

Maybe if I finished before she spoke—

“Serafina.”

My entire body locked.

The mop slipped from my fingers and hit the marble with a wet smack.

“C-come here.”

I pushed myself up too quickly, almost losing my balance as I hurried toward her. My knees were aching, my palms damp, my breathing already shallow.

Rosalina looked me over from head to toe with visible disgust.

“Goodness,” she muttered. “You look even worse standing.”

“I’m sorry.”

Her eyes snapped to mine.

“Did I ask you to apologize?”

“N-no, ma’am.”

She stepped closer.

I caught the familiar scent of expensive perfume—the same floral scent my mother used to wear before Rosalina moved into this house and somehow made every beautiful thing feel rotten.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I often wonder how a woman as brilliant as your mother managed to produce something as spineless as you.”

My throat tightened.

I said nothing.

Experience had taught me silence usually hurt less.

Usually.

Rosalina tilted her head. “Kneel.”

My breath caught.

I looked at the wet marble beneath us.

Then at her.

She raised one sculpted brow.

“Kneel, Serafina.”

Slowly, I lowered myself.

Cold water soaked my knees instantly.

Humiliation burned hotter than the sting.

Rosalina folded her arms and looked down at me as though I were an animal she was deciding whether to keep alive.

“You should thank me.”

I blinked.

“M-ma’am?”

Her heeled shoe nudged my shoulder sharply.

“I said you should thank me.”

“For… what?”

The slap came so fast I barely saw her hand move.

Pain exploded across my cheek, snapping my head sideways.

Tears flooded my eyes before I could stop them.

Rosalina crouched in front of me, nails digging into my chin as she forced me to look at her.

“For allowing you to continue breathing under my roof after all these years.”

My lips trembled.

“Thank… thank you.”

“Louder.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

A satisfied smile touched her red lips.

“Better.”

She released me and stood.

“Tomorrow, you will be marrying Vincenzo Marazona.”

The world stopped.

Not slowed.

Stopped.

I stared at her, certain I had heard wrong.

My ears rang.

My heartbeat pounded so violently I thought I might faint right there at her feet.

“I…” My mouth opened and closed helplessly. “I thought Miss Mirabella was—”

Rosalina laughed.

A low, vicious sound.

“My daughter was not born to be handed over to a dying monster.”

Each word was deliberate.

Precise.

Designed to cut.

“You, however…” She looked me over with thinly veiled contempt. “You should be grateful a man of his status is willing to touch damaged goods.”

Something inside my chest cracked.

Not loudly.

Just enough for me to feel it.

“Please…” My voice shook so badly I barely recognized it. “Please, I don’t understand. I can’t marry tomorrow. I-I’m not prepared and—”

“You are not in a position to refuse.”

Rosalina’s tone hardened.

“Our family owes the Marazonas money. A great deal of money. They requested a bride. Vincenzo Marazona requested Mirabella by name, but since my daughter deserves a future and not a grave, you will take her place.”

I shook my head so hard tears spilled free.

“No… no, please… please don’t do this…”

Rosalina leaned down until her face was inches from mine.

“You should be thanking me, Serafina. This is the first useful thing you have ever done for this family.”

“I’m scared…”

“Oh, spare me.” She straightened with a disgusted sigh. “Continue cleaning. By this time tomorrow, you will be the newest Mrs. Marazona.”

She turned and walked away.

Just like that.

As if she hadn’t just signed away my life.

I remained kneeling there, staring at the ripples in the dirty water around my legs.

Mrs. Marazona.

Bride.

Tomorrow.

Vincenzo Marazona.

The dying devil of Italy.

I had heard the stories.

Everyone had.

The ruthless eldest son of the Marazona dynasty.

A man whispered about in business circles and dark corners.

A man who ruined families with one signature.

A man who had terminal cancer and no patience left for humanity.

A man who did not believe in love.

And tomorrow…

I was supposed to belong to him.

My lungs constricted.

Air refused to go in.

No no no no—

My fingers clawed at my chest.

I couldn’t breathe.

The hallway blurred.

The chandelier lights smeared into golden streaks.

This was happening.

This was really happening.

A sob tore out of me before I could swallow it.

Father.

The thought came sudden and desperate.

Father would stop this.

Wouldn’t he?

Even after all these years, some pathetic corner of me still believed the word father should mean safety.

I pushed myself upright and ran.

Up the staircase.

Bare feet slapping against polished wood.

Tears blinding my vision.

My heart battering against my ribs.

My father had never saved me before.

Not when my mother died under suspicious circumstances and the newspapers called her an addict to protect his reputation.

Not when Rosalina moved into our home six months later wearing my mother’s jewelry.

Not when Mirabella discovered that my silence made me the easiest target in the house.

Not when every birthday passed without him remembering I existed.

But desperate girls are foolish girls.

And I was desperate enough to believe in impossible things.

I reached his office and shoved the door open.

“Father, please—”

The words died.

A half-dressed maid scrambled off his lap with a squeal.

My father shot to his feet, shirt hanging open, face flushed with fury rather than shame.

For a moment all three of us just stared at each other.

Then I stumbled back.

“I-I’m sorry—I didn’t know—I just needed—”

His palm collided with my face so hard stars burst behind my eyes.

I gasped.

“Have you lost your damn mind?” he barked.

Tears streamed faster.

“Father, please listen to me, Rosalina said I have to marry tomorrow and—”

“I know.”

Two words.

That was all.

Two words that shattered every fragile illusion I had left.

I stared at him.

My cheek burning.

My mouth trembling.

“You… knew?”

He buttoned his shirt with impatient fingers, as though this conversation inconvenienced him.

“The Marazonas need a bride. We need their financial support. Stop behaving like a hysterical child and do something useful for once.”

Useful.

The same word Rosalina used.

I grabbed his sleeve with shaking fingers.

“Please, Father. Please don’t do this. I’ll do anything. I’ll work more, I’ll stay out of sight, I’ll—”

He yanked his arm free.

The office door swung wider.

Rosalina appeared.

Her eyes moved from the maid to my father to my tearstreaked face.

In one second, she understood everything.

And in one second, she decided how to weaponize it.

“What is going on here?” she asked sharply.

The maid immediately burst into fake tears.

“Miss Serafina attacked me!”

I turned in horror. “What?”

Father pointed at me with disgust. “She barged in here raving like a lunatic.”

“No!” I cried. “That’s not true! I just came to ask for—”

Rosalina clutched a hand dramatically to her chest.

“Serafina,” she whispered, voice dripping with disappointment, “are you trying to destroy this family because you don’t want to help us?”

My breathing turned frantic.

“No, I swear, I wasn’t—”

Father shoved me.

Hard.

I stumbled backward, my heel catching on the edge of the stair runner just outside the office.

For one suspended heartbeat, I windmilled.

Rosalina gasped.

The maid screamed.

Father didn’t move.

Then the world tilted.

I fell.

Down the staircase.

My shoulder hit first.

Then my back.

Then my head slammed violently against the carved wooden edge.

Pain flashed white.

The chandelier spun above me in dizzy circles.

Faces blurred at the top of the stairs.

Rosalina.

Father.

Mirabella stepping into the hallway in silk pajamas.

No one moved.

No one came.

No one was ever coming.

And then everything went black.