Chapter 5

Seraphina's POV

Strong arms caught me before I hit the ground.

It hauled me upright and held me there, pressed against a chest.

"Hey." Nico's voice cut through the haze. "Careful, boss. Could be a setup."

"Don't scare her."

The voice rumbled through me—deep, commanding, vibrating against my cheek where it pressed to his chest.

The arms shifted. He stepped back, just enough to look at me.

His gaze traveled downward.

Slow. Deliberate. Taking inventory.

I followed his eyes.

Oh God.

My dress was destroyed. The neckline gaped open, exposing the swell of my breasts, the lace edge of my bra barely containing them. One strap had slipped completely off my shoulder. The skirt had ridden up to obscene heights, bunched around my hips, leaving my thighs completely bare.

Scrapes from the pavement marred my knees. My hair had come undone, tumbling wild around my shoulders. Mascara probably streaked my cheeks from the tears I didn't remember crying.

I looked like exactly what they'd accused me of being. A girl who'd come here looking for trouble and found it.

Heat flooded my face. I tried to tug the fabric down, but my hands were shaking too badly. The more I pulled, the more the torn seams gave way.

Lorenzo's eyes returned to my face. One dark brow arched.

"Do you understand what it means," he said slowly, "to cling to me like that, little one?"

I didn't.

Or maybe I did.

"I..." My voice came out as a whisper. "I was scared. I'm still scared. I can't—I can't be alone here. It's too dangerous."

"Dangerous." Something flickered across his face. Amusement, maybe. Or contempt. "You've heard the rumors about me, haven't you? What I do to the girls who come to this club?"

I had. Wren's voice echoed in my memory. Ties them up, edges them for hours, makes them scream and cry and cum until they're completely his.

"I'm far more terrifying than anyone in this room," he continued, his voice dropping to something almost intimate. Almost soft. Which somehow made it worse. "The men you ran from? They would have used you and discarded you by morning. Forgotten your name before they'd finished. But me?"

He leaned closer. Close enough that I could smell him—expensive cologne, something dark and woody, and underneath it, the metallic hint of gun smoke.

"I would take my time. Break you down piece by piece until there was nothing left but what I chose to rebuild. And you would thank me for it."

A shudder ran through me.

He'd just killed a man without blinking. And now I was pressed against the chest of the monster who'd done it.

My fingers loosened their grip on his jacket.

Slowly, I stepped back.

His arms fell away.

"Smart girl," he murmured.

He turned to leave.

The commotion started before he'd taken three steps.

Raised voices near the entrance. The sharp crack of doors being forced open.

"What the hell—" Nico moved toward the disturbance.

A man in a cheap suit pushed through the crowd, camera raised, eyes scanning the room with predatory hunger. More followed. Five. Ten. A swarm of press, their equipment held like weapons.

"We received a tip," one of them shouted. "Daughter of a prominent business family. Caught in a BDSM club. The public has a right to know—"

The words hit me like bullets.

Prominent business family.

Caught in a BDSM club.

The public has a right to know.

Sterling's voice echoed through the fog of my memory. The phone call in the car. The words I'd been too drugged to understand.

"...media all arranged?"

"...after tonight, we can finally be together..."

The pieces clicked into place with devastating clarity.

This wasn't an accident. Wasn't a cruel joke. This was a plan—calculated, deliberate, designed to destroy me completely.

Sterling had drugged me. Dumped me at a mafia-owned BDSM club. Called the media to document my "scandal."

After tonight, we can finally be together.

He'd been talking to Vivienne.

They'd set me up. Both of them. The recording wasn't fake—it was real, and this was their endgame. Humiliate me. Ruin my reputation. Give the Ashfords no choice but to disown me.

And then Sterling would be free to be with the woman he actually wanted.

The mafia princess.

I couldn't breathe.

If those photos got out—if the Ashfords saw their charity case daughter splashed across tabloids, half-naked in a sex club—

They'll throw me away.

Just like my father did. Just like everyone eventually did.

I'd be alone. Truly alone. No family. No future. Nothing.

Lorenzo was walking away. His broad back retreated into the shadows, indifferent to the chaos, indifferent to me.

I lunged forward and grabbed his arm.

"Help me."

He stopped. Didn't turn.

"Please." The word tore from my throat. "Please help me. I can't—I can't let them photograph me. I can't let my family see—"

"Why should I help you?" His voice was flat. Bored. "I don't do charity."

"I'll do anything." I was begging now. Shameless. Desperate. "Please. I have no one else. If those pictures get out, I'll lose everything—"

The cameras were getting closer. I could hear the photographers arguing with Nico's men, demanding access, threatening lawsuits and exposés.

Any second now, they'd see me.

I didn't think. I moved on pure survival instinct.

I threw myself against Lorenzo's chest, pressing my ruined body into the shield of his massive frame. My arms wrapped around him, my face buried in the hollow of his throat.

No one would photograph Lorenzo Vitale's scandals.

Everyone knew that. You didn't cross the Vitale family. You didn't print stories about the Don unless you wanted to disappear.

If I stayed close to him—if I made myself part of his shadow—

"Please," I breathed against his neck. The words came out hot, desperate, my lips brushing his skin with each syllable. "Please. Help me. I'll do anything you want. Just don't let them see me."

For a long moment, he didn't move.

I could feel his pulse beneath my lips. Steady. Unhurried. As if none of this chaos touched him at all.

Then his hand moved.

Fingers tangled in my hair. Gripped. Pulled.

My head snapped back, my throat exposed, my eyes forced to meet his.

Those dark eyes burned into mine. No mercy. No warmth.

"If I help you," he said softly, "do you know how to be an obedient girl?"