The Devil’s Table.

The afternoon arrived heavy with clouds, as if the sky sensed what was coming.

Seraphina stood silently in the center of her room, staring at the red dress placed carefully on her bed. The fabric shimmered in the dim light; soft, expensive and dangerous..... beside it was a folded note in bold handwriting: ‘He wants to see you tonight.’

She hadn’t moved for a long time. She had refused, even threw the dress across the room earlier that morning. But hunger and silence had gnawed at her pride. No food, no escape, no response to her screams. Her stomach was empty, her body weak. And the guards outside that door were no joke.

She showered, brushed her hair into a loose bun, and applied light makeup. No matter what trap tonight was, she would not meet it looking defeated. If she had to stare down the devil, she’d do it with her chin up.

When the door finally opened, two guards were waiting. No eye contact. No words. Just a silent command.

They led her into a private elevator that opened directly to the 75th floor.

The hallway she entered was too quiet. Cold black marble floors stretched out in front of her, with ancient Renaissance paintings lining the walls. Everything was soaked in money….heavily tasteless money. Yet the silence made it feel more like a tomb than a palace.

At the end of the corridor, the double doors opened slowly, like they’d been expecting her.

And there he was.

Vincenzo De Luca.

He sat at the head of an enormous dining table set for two. A flawless black suit hugged his shoulders, the first button of his shirt undone. A glass of deep red wine swirled slowly in his fingers. He looked up the moment she entered, his dark eyes locking onto her like a predator finding prey.

“Good evening, wife,” he said, his voice hoarse but dripping with sarcasm.

“I’m not your wife,” Seraphina snapped, stopping at the entrance without stepping further in.

He smiled casually. “Technically, you are. But we can discuss that after dinner, and I'm sorry for the delay. Sit down let’s eat.”

She stayed exactly where she was. “I don’t dine with monsters.”

Vincenzo stood slowly. His every movement was deliberate, rehearsed, meant to control the space. He walked toward her, one step at a time, like he had all the time in the world.

When he reached her, he leaned slightly down, his face close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath.

“Monsters kill for pleasure,” he said. “I kill out of necessity..... there’s a difference.”

She tilted her head, her voice sharp and raw. “Really? Was killing Jude two days ago a necessity too? Forging my signature on that damn document and then dragging me into the middle of nowhere, ruining my life. Was it also a necessity? Even when I told you I knew nothing about your rival.”

Vincenzo’s jaw twitched. He tilted his head, studying every feature of her, sniffing in her body mist.

“He looked at you,” he said plainly. “With lust in his eyes, that was enough.”

“You killed him… just because of that?” she asked, trying to read his face, his tone or anything human left in him.

He stared back, slow and cold. “No man looks at what belongs to me and lives to tell the story.”

Her stomach turned, but she didn’t flinch.

He stepped even closer, his fingers wrapping around her chin. “My necessity… is you. I dragged you here, you say! Darling, you dare defy me by trying to escape. I no longer trust you.”

Seraphina yanked her face away with force. “Go to hell, De Luca.”

He smirked. “I already live there, baby. And now, so do you, my beautiful wife.”

He turned and walked back to the table, moving with confidence like she hadn’t just insulted him.

“Either you sit and eat like a civilized woman, or you’ll have dinner locked up with the dogs in the basement,” he said flatly.

She clenched her fist. Her pride screamed not to sit. But her stomach ached, and her throat was dry. She sat, slowly, with what little pride she had left.

The food was rich and steaming. Waiters moved like ghosts, placing plates and pouring wine. Classical music drifted softly from hidden speakers. Everything looked royal. But to Seraphina, it all tasted like poison.

“How many people have died in this room?” she asked, staring at her wineglass.

Vincenzo didn’t flinch. “Enough for you to know not to provoke me.”

She stared at him. “Yet you want me, don’t you?”

“I don’t want,” he said slowly, placing his fork down…. His eyes pierced into her. “I own.”

Seraphina gave a bitter laugh. “You really think you can own people, Vincenzo? You may have power, money and guns, but you’ll never have what really matters. What a tragedy.”

His gaze narrowed. “And what’s that?”

“Loyalty, love and respect. The kind no amount of money can buy.”

He slammed his glass on the table, wine spilling over the rim. The sharp sound echoed through the room. Instantly, the waiters vanished like smoke.

Vincenzo stood up.

“Love,” he repeated, almost spitting the word. “Love is for fools who think betrayal doesn’t exist, loyalty?” he scoffed. “Loyalty can be bought, just like royalty.”

He began walking toward her again, his voice rising as he moved.

“I’ve bought governments, generals, kings and killers alike. I’ve paid men to smile while I killed their friends. I’ve paid fathers to sell their daughters. That’s what this world is. Power, money and control.”

He stopped behind her, voice low now, near her ear.

“Everything can be bought. And anyone who dares betray me?”

He paused.

“They pay, with blood…… silence. Or with someone they love.”

She froze.

He stepped in front of her again, his face unreadable.

“You thought you could run to him?” he asked. “Back to Jarvis? Back to the soft version of life? You thought I wouldn’t find out?”

Seraphina’s voice cracked. “You stay away from him.”

Vincenzo leaned down until their faces were level. His eyes were dark, fixed on her lips as he whispered, “Then behave. Don’t make me do something I’ll enjoy.”

She stood suddenly, her chair scraping the floor. “You’re insane.”

He smiled. “No. I’m yours. You just haven’t accepted it yet.”

Then he reached out and grabbed her waist, dragging her close again. His voice dropped lower.

“You talk too much.”

“And you listen too little,” she fired back, her chest rising.

“Careful,” he warned. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Good,” she whispered. “Burn with me!”

He stopped. Just for a second, the air shifted. Her words landed like a punch.

“You’ll hate me so much,” he said slowly, his voice rough, “you’ll end up loving me.”

“I’d rather drown in acid,” she replied coldly.

He let her go, but his eyes never left hers.

“And yet,” he said with a small, cruel grin, “you’ll still carry my last name.”

They stood in silence, breathing hard.

He turned and walked away, slowly. She watched him go, her heart racing against her chest.

*********

That night, Seraphina stood in front of the mirror.

Her hand moved to the spot on her waist where he had held her. She could still feel his touch on her waist and became furious. Not because she hated Vincenzo De Luca, but because she started to realize that hatred wasn’t the only feeling pulsing inside her.