Sera's POV
"You're thinking too much."
Dante's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. We're in his private office—a room I didn't even know existed until ten minutes ago when he led me through a hidden door behind his bookshelf.
The envelope from Elena burns in my jacket pocket. Evidence that he might have known about my mother's murder all along. Evidence that everything he said earlier could be lies.
But I can't let him see that I know. Not yet.
"I'm not thinking," I lie, forcing myself to focus on the chess board between us. "I'm planning my next move."
"No, you're overthinking." He reaches across and moves my queen back to where it was. "You're so busy trying to predict what I'll do that you're forgetting your own strategy. That's how you lose."
His hand lingers near mine on the board. I pull away fast.
"Rule one of revenge," Dante says, leaning back in his leather chair. "Control your emotions. Never let them see you break. The second they know they've gotten to you, they win."
"Like you controlled yours when you tortured me for three years?" The words come out sharper than I mean them to.
Something flashes in his dark eyes. Pain, maybe. Or guilt. "No. Like I failed to control mine, which is why we're in this mess."
He stands and walks to the window. His office overlooks the entire campus—the perfect view for someone who likes to control everything.
"My father taught me that emotions are weaknesses," he says quietly. "Love makes you vulnerable. Fear makes you stupid. Anger makes you sloppy. So I buried everything. Became ice. Became the perfect heir to his empire."
"Then what happened?" I ask, even though I shouldn't care. Even though he might be lying right now.
"You." He turns to face me. "You happened. You were supposed to be a simple deal—torture Marcus Ashford's daughter, keep the business arrangement stable. Easy. Clean. Emotionless."
"But?"
"But you kept fighting back in small ways. Little acts of rebellion that nobody else noticed. You'd look me in the eye even when you were terrified. You'd help other students even after we'd humiliated you. You'd show up to class with bruises we gave you and still answer questions correctly." He shakes his head. "You wouldn't stay broken. And that made me angry."
"So you tried harder to break me."
"Yes." His honesty is almost worse than a lie. "I became obsessed with destroying whatever kept you standing. Because if I could break you, it meant I was still in control. Still ice. Still my father's perfect weapon."
The envelope in my pocket feels heavier. Is this another manipulation? Another game?
"Why are you telling me this?" I ask.
"Because you asked for truth. And because—" He moves closer, and I force myself not to step back. "If I'm going to teach you control, you need to understand what happens when you lose it."
"You lost control on the roof," I realize. "When you saved me."
"I shattered completely." His voice drops to almost a whisper. "I saw you standing there, ready to jump, and every emotion I'd buried for twelve years exploded at once. Terror. Guilt. Rage. And something else I still can't name."
Our eyes lock. The air feels electric, dangerous.
"What emotion?" I breathe.
He doesn't answer. Instead, he returns to the desk and pulls out a thick folder. "Your first real lesson. Learning to read people. Everyone has tells—small signs that reveal what they're really thinking or feeling."
He opens the folder. Inside are photos of students from our school. Victoria. Trevor. Random people who've bullied me.
"When Victoria posts something cruel about you, what does she do immediately after?" Dante asks.
I think back. "She checks her phone constantly. Refreshing to see how many likes and comments."
"Exactly. She craves validation. That's her weakness. If you remove her audience, you remove her power." He taps another photo. "Trevor?"
"He always looks around to make sure people are watching before he does anything."
"Good. He needs witnesses to feel strong. Catch him alone and he's nothing." Dante slides another photo forward. "Your father?"
My chest tightens. "He... he drinks. Every night. Exactly three glasses of whiskey."
"Control," Dante says. "He measures everything to maintain his perfect image. So what happens if you make him lose control publicly?"
"He falls apart," I whisper.
"Exactly." Dante's eyes gleam with approval. "You're learning fast. Now tell me—what's my tell?"
I study him carefully. His perfect posture. His emotionless mask. The way his hands stay perfectly still except—
"Your left hand," I say slowly. "When you're actually feeling something, your left hand twitches. Just barely. Like you're fighting to keep it still."
Shock flashes across his face before he hides it. "No one's ever noticed that before."
"I've had three years to study you," I say. And it's true. When you're someone's victim, you learn to read their every mood, every sign of danger.
"Then you know," he says quietly, "that my hand is twitching right now."
I look down. He's right. His left hand trembles slightly against the desk.
"Why?" I ask.
Instead of answering, he pulls out another photo. This one's old, faded. A beautiful woman with dark hair and kind eyes.
"My mother," he says. "Elena Moretti."
I freeze. Elena. The same name as the woman who gave me the envelope. His aunt. His mother's sister.
"She was murdered when I was eight," Dante continues, and his voice cracks slightly. "My father's enemies targeted her because they knew she was his weakness. They killed her to hurt him."
"That's horrible," I whisper, and I mean it. Even if he's lying about everything else, the pain in his voice right now is real.
"My father told me it was my fault," Dante says, staring at the photo. "That if I'd been stronger, less emotional, less attached to her, they wouldn't have targeted her. That loving her made me weak and got her killed."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" He looks up at me, and for the first time, I see the broken eight-year-old boy hiding under the cold mask. "I couldn't save her. I was too young, too weak, too useless. I watched her die and couldn't do anything."
Before I can stop myself, I reach across the desk and take his hand. The one that's trembling. "You were eight years old. It wasn't your fault."
His fingers curl around mine, holding tight. "But I won't fail you," he says fiercely. "I couldn't save her, but I won't let anyone hurt you again. I promise."
The moment stretches between us, heavy with things neither of us can say. His thumb brushes across my knuckles, sending electricity up my arm.
This is dangerous. He could be manipulating me right now. Using his mother's death to make me trust him.
But what if he's not? What if he's telling the truth?
"Dante—" I start.
The office door crashes open. Phoenix bursts in, wild-eyed and breathless.
"We have a problem," he pants. "A big one."
Dante drops my hand immediately, mask sliding back into place. "What happened?"
"Elena," Phoenix says, and my blood turns to ice. "Dante's aunt Elena. She just got arrested. Campus security found her in the old chapel twenty minutes ago. She had files on her—documents about all our fathers. About some murder from twenty years ago."
No. No no no.
"What kind of documents?" Dante's voice goes deadly calm.
"Everything," Phoenix says. "Photos, recordings, evidence. The police are involved now. They're investigating all five of our fathers for murder."
Dante's face goes white. "Elena wouldn't—she's been hiding for years. Why would she suddenly—"
His eyes snap to me. Sharp. Suspicious.
"Sera," he says slowly. "Where exactly did you go when you left earlier?"
My heart pounds so hard I can barely breathe. "The chapel. I told you."
"Why the chapel specifically?"
"I needed to think and—"
"Elena was in the chapel," Dante interrupts, standing up. His voice is still calm, but there's something terrifying underneath it. "You were in the chapel. She gets arrested with evidence she's kept hidden for twenty years." He moves around the desk toward me. "Did you see her?"
I should lie. I should deny everything. But Dante's watching me with those sharp eyes that see through everyone's masks.
"Yes," I whisper.
The temperature in the room drops twenty degrees.
"What did she give you?" Dante asks quietly.
"Nothing."
"Sera." His voice is a warning now. "What did Elena give you?"
My hand moves to my jacket pocket without meaning to. Dante sees it. His jaw tightens.
"Show me," he orders.
"No."
"SHOW ME!"
The mask is completely gone now. This is raw Dante—angry, scared, desperate.
Phoenix moves to block the door. Like he thinks I might run.
With shaking hands, I pull out the envelope. Dante snatches it and tears it open. His face goes from white to gray as he flips through the photos. The evidence. The proof of what our fathers did.
When he gets to the last photo—the one of teenage him looking at files about my mother's murder—he stops breathing.
"Sera," he says, and his voice sounds broken. "I can explain."
"Explain what?" I step back. "That you knew? That you've known about my mother's murder for three years? That everything you told me earlier was a lie?"
"It's not what you think—"
"Then what is it?" I'm yelling now. "Tell me the truth, Dante! Did you know my mother was murdered?"
The silence is deafening.
"Yes," he finally whispers.
The world tilts sideways. Even though Elena told me, even though I saw the proof, hearing him admit it destroys something inside me.
"Did you know your father was involved?"
"Yes."
"Did you know my father was involved?"
"Yes."
Each answer is a knife to my chest. "How long have you known?"
"Since I was fifteen. My father showed me the files when he explained why I had to help torture you. He said your mother discovered their secret and had to be eliminated. He said your father blamed you for her death as a cover story. That we needed to keep you broken and distracted so you'd never start investigating." Dante's hands shake as he grips the photos. "I didn't want to do it. But my father said if I refused, he'd kill you too. Just like your mother. So I agreed. I tortured you to keep you alive."
"That's insane!" I scream. "You tortured me to protect me?"
"I know it sounds—"
"It sounds like another lie!" Tears stream down my face. "You're still manipulating me! This is just another game!"
"It's not a game!" Dante moves toward me, desperate. "Everything I told you earlier was true! My guilt is real! My feelings are real! I just—I couldn't tell you about your mother because—"
"Because you're a coward," I finish coldly.
He flinches like I hit him.
Behind him, Phoenix looks between us nervously. "Guys, we have bigger problems right now. If the police have Elena's evidence, they're going to question all of us. We need to figure out—"
"Get out," I tell Dante.
"Sera, please—"
"GET OUT!" I grab the envelope and shove him backward. "All of you! Out!"
"We need to talk about this!" Dante tries to reach for me, but I slap his hand away.
"There's nothing to talk about. You lied. You all lied. This whole thing was just another way to control me!"
I run for the door, but Phoenix blocks it. "You can't leave. Not with that evidence. If you go to the police—"
"Then what?" I challenge. "You'll hurt me? Kill me like you killed my mother?"
"We didn't kill anyone!" Phoenix insists.
"But your fathers did! And you've been protecting them!"
I shove past Phoenix and run. Behind me, I hear Dante calling my name, but I don't stop. Can't stop.
I run through the halls, the envelope clutched to my chest. Students stare as I pass, but I don't care anymore.
I make it outside and pull out my phone with shaking hands. I need to call someone. The police. A lawyer. Anyone who can help me figure out what to do with this evidence.
But before I can dial, strong hands grab me from behind.
I scream and fight, but whoever has me is too strong.
"Stop struggling," a familiar voice hisses in my ear.
I freeze.
That voice. I know that voice.
The person spins me around, and my blood turns to ice.
My father stands in front of me, his face twisted with rage. Behind him are two large men in suits I don't recognize.
"Hello, Seraphina," he says coldly. "I believe you have something that belongs to me."
He rips the envelope from my hands.
"No!" I lunge for it, but one of the suited men grabs my arms, holding me still.
My father flips through the evidence, his face getting darker with each photo. When he's done, he pulls out a lighter.
"Please don't!" I beg. "That's proof! Proof of what you did!"
"Exactly," he says, and sets the entire envelope on fire.
I watch through tears as twenty years of evidence burns. My mother's justice turns to ash in his hands.
When there's nothing left but smoke, my father steps closer. "You've been a problem since the day you were born. Your mother was going to take you and leave me. So I handled it. And now you're trying to expose me? After everything I've sacrificed?"
"You killed her," I whisper. "You killed my mother."
"She gave me no choice." His hand moves to his pocket. When it comes out, he's holding a syringe. "Just like you're giving me no choice now."
Terror floods through me. "What are you doing?"
"What I should have done eight years ago." He nods to the men. "Hold her still."
I scream and fight as my father approaches with the syringe. "HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!"
But we're behind the building. No one can hear me.
The needle gets closer to my arm. My father's face is emotionless. Cold.
He's really going to do it. He's going to kill me.
"I'm sorry, Seraphina," he says. "But you know too much."
The needle touches my skin—
And then my father's head snaps back violently. Someone tackled him from behind.
Dante.
The other three Dark Angels appear like shadows, attacking the suited men. Killian moves like violence incarnate. Ezra fights with cold precision. Phoenix is pure chaos.
Within seconds, all three men are on the ground.
Dante has my father pinned, his fist raised. "You were going to kill her," he snarls. "Your own daughter."
My father laughs. "Like you care. You're just using her, just like I did."
"No." Dante's voice is deadly quiet. "I'm nothing like you."
He pulls back his fist—
"STOP!" I scream.
Everyone freezes.
I walk forward on shaking legs and look down at my father. The man who killed my mother. Who tried to kill me. Who sold me to monsters to cover his crimes.
"Don't kill him," I say.
Dante looks at me in confusion. "Sera—"
"Don't kill him," I repeat. "Because I want him to suffer. Death is too easy. Too quick." I kneel down next to my father and smile. The same cold smile I learned from watching Dante. "I'm going to destroy you slowly. Publicly. Completely. You're going to lose everything—your business, your reputation, your freedom. And you're going to know it was me who did it."
My father's eyes widen with something that looks like fear.
Good.
I stand and turn to Dante. "The evidence burned. But Elena recorded everything, right? She said there were recordings."
"On a USB drive," Phoenix says, pulling out his phone. "But Elena had it with her when she got arrested. The police have it now."
My heart sinks. "So it's over. We have no proof."
"Actually," a new voice says from the shadows, "you do."
A woman steps into the light. She's maybe sixty, with sharp eyes and an expensive suit. She's holding a briefcase.
"Who are you?" Dante demands.
"My name is Margaret Chen," she says. "I'm a federal prosecutor. And I've been investigating your fathers for fifteen years." She looks at me. "Elena contacted me this morning. She knew she'd be arrested when she gave you that evidence. It was a distraction. While campus security focused on her, she had already sent me everything. Every document, every recording, every piece of proof."
Hope flares in my chest. "You mean—"
"I mean I have enough evidence to put all five of your fathers away for life," Margaret says. "Murder, conspiracy, fraud, racketeering—the list goes on. Elena's arrest was part of the plan. And your father attacking you just now?" She holds up her phone. "I recorded everything. Attempted murder of a minor. That's life in prison right there."
My father's face goes white.
Police sirens wail in the distance, getting closer.
Margaret looks at me with something like respect. "Elena told me you were ready to fight back. She was right. Your testimony, combined with the evidence, will destroy all of them."
The police arrive. They put my father in handcuffs. The suited men too.
As they drag him away, my father looks back at me. "You'll regret this," he hisses. "They'll come after you. All of them. The other fathers. Their families. You've just made yourself a target."
"Let them come," I say. And I mean it.
When the police leave, I turn to face the Dark Angels. All four of them stand in a line, watching me.
"You saved me," I say quietly.
"We told you," Dante says. "We won't let anyone hurt you again."
"Even though I have evidence that could destroy your fathers too?"
Silence.
"Yes," Killian says finally. "Even then."
"Our fathers are monsters," Ezra adds. "They deserve whatever's coming."
"We chose you," Phoenix finishes. "Over them. Over everything."
I look at Dante. "You lied about my mother."
"I did," he admits. "And I'll regret it for the rest of my life. But everything else—my guilt, my feelings, my promise to protect you—that's real."
"How do I know?"
"You don't," he says simply. "You have to choose to trust me. Or not."
The envelope is gone. The evidence is with the FBI. My father is going to prison. Everything is changing so fast I can barely process it.
"Margaret said my father's arrest will make me a target," I say. "That the other families will come after me."
"They will," Dante agrees. "Which is why you need us more than ever."
"Or," Ezra says softly, "you turn in the evidence about our fathers too. End all of this. Be safe."
He's offering me an out. They all are.
I could destroy all five families. Send their fathers to prison. Be free of everything.
But I'd also lose the only people who understand me. Who are teaching me to be strong. Who saved me tonight.
"I need time," I say finally. "To think. To decide what to do next."
"Fair enough," Dante says.
We start walking back toward the main building. I'm exhausted, terrified, and more confused than ever.
My phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number:
"Congratulations on surviving round one. But your father was just the beginning. The real game starts now. We're coming for you, Seraphina. And this time, your Dark Angels won't be able to save you. – The Five Families"
Attached is a photo. It's me from tonight, fighting my father. Someone was watching. Someone photographed everything.
I show the text to Dante. His face goes hard.
"They know," he says. "The other families. They know you're the one who exposed Marcus."
"What do we do?" I ask.
"We prepare for war," Killian says grimly.
"All of us," Phoenix adds. "Together."
I look at my phone again. At the threat from people I don't even know. At the beginning of something much bigger and more dangerous than I ever imagined.
My father is in prison. But four more monsters remain.
And they're all coming for me.