Chapter 13: the signature that changes everything

Serena’s POV

“I’ll do it.”

The words leave my mouth before I can pull them back. They sound steady, which surprises me, because my chest feels like it’s caving in. I keep my eyes on Dante’s face, waiting for some kind of reaction, something that tells me I haven’t just crossed a line I can’t return from.

He stops moving.

He had been standing near the chair beside my bed, one hand resting on the back of it like he hadn’t decided whether to sit or leave. Now he straightens slowly, his attention locking onto me with sharp focus. Not relief. Not surprise. Calculation.

“You’ll do what?” he asks.

“I’ll sign,” I say, forcing the words out again before doubt can catch up to me. “The papers.”

The silence that follows feels heavy, like the room is holding its breath. I shift slightly against the pillows, the movement pulling at sore muscles, reminding me that my body is still paying for mistakes I don’t fully remember making. My hands are folded tightly in my lap, fingers curled into the thin hospital blanket.

Dante takes a step closer. “Say it clearly.”

I lift my chin. “I’ll marry you.”

Something in his expression changes. Not softening. Sharpening. Like a decision clicking into place.

He nods once. “Good.”

The word lands harder than I expect. Not kind. Not reassuring. Final.

“This isn’t love,” I say quickly, the words tumbling over each other now that I’ve started. “I need you to understand that. I’m not pretending this is anything else.”

“I don’t require pretending,” Dante replies.

“I’m doing this for my mother,” I continue, my voice tightening despite my effort to keep it steady. “That’s the only reason. I won’t give you affection. I won’t give you gratitude. I won’t…”

“You won’t be asked for those things,” he says calmly.

That stops me.

I study his face, trying to find something human there, something that looks like expectation or disappointment. There’s nothing. Just control.

“This is an arrangement,” he goes on. “You will be protected. Your mother will receive care. In return, you will take my name.”

“And after?” I ask. “What happens after?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches for the small table beside the bed and pulls it closer. I hadn’t noticed it before, but the papers are already there, neatly stacked, clipped together. A pen rests on top, placed carefully, deliberately.

“After,” he says, “you will live as my wife.”

My stomach twists.

I swing my legs slightly to the side of the bed, ignoring the protest from my ribs. The room tilts for a second, and I pause until it steadies. Dante watches closely but doesn’t move to help.

“I don’t want promises,” I say. “I don’t want lies. If I’m doing this, I need to know exactly what it is.”

He gestures toward the papers. “It is what’s written there.”

I stare at the stack. “And if I regret it?”

“That won’t change the terms.”

I let out a slow breath through my nose. My head throbs faintly, a dull pressure behind my eyes, but I push through it. I’ve pushed through worse.

“Okay,” I say. “Then let’s finish it.”

I reach for the pen.

My hand shakes as soon as my fingers close around it. I clamp down harder, annoyed at my own weakness, and bring the pen over the paper. The text swims for a moment, black lines blurring together.

“Take your time,” Dante says, though his tone suggests time is already gone.

I think of my mother. Her voice. The way she squeezes my hand even when she’s the one hurting. I think of the machines beside her bed and the doctor’s careful pauses before giving numbers he knows I can’t afford.

My grip steadies.

I sign.

The sound of the pen scratching against paper feels too loud in the quiet room. I don’t rush it. I write my name carefully, deliberately, letter by letter, like maybe precision will make this feel less like a surrender.

When I finish, I lift the pen and set it down.

I don’t feel anything dramatic. No wave of emotion. Just a hollow space opening in my chest.

Dante picks up the papers and scans them quickly. He doesn’t need to read them. This was never a question for him. He signs his name last, his handwriting bold and controlled, like he’s sealing something he already owns.

He clips the papers together and straightens.

“There will be changes,” he says. “Where you live. How you move. Who has access to you.”

I nod faintly.

“The marriage is effective immediately,” he continues. “Publicly and privately.”

My throat tightens. “And my mother?”

“She will be taken care of,” he says without hesitation.

I exhale shakily. “Then that’s it.”

“That’s it,” he agrees.

He steps closer to the bed, close enough that I can smell his cologne, something dark and restrained. He looks down at me, his gaze steady.

“You are a Romano now,” he says. “Tomorrow, we finalize everything.”

Tomorrow.

The word echoes in my head, heavy and unavoidable.

I open my mouth to respond, but he’s already turning away, his hand on the door handle.

“Rest,” Dante says without looking back. “You’ll need your strength in the morning.”

The door clicks shut behind him.