Serena Sinclair POV

The smell of vintage scotch made me gag, pulling me from sleep.

I woke up in a cold sweat, my hands clutching my stomach.

The phantom pain of the forced abortion ripped through my body.

I curled into a tight ball on my mattress, gasping for air.

In my past life, Xavier had brought me a glass of scotch to calm my nerves.

I had drunk it.

Ten minutes later, the cramping had started.

The blood soaked through my white dress.

He had stood over me, his aristocratic face completely blank.

He told me a rat did not deserve to bear his blood.

My bedroom door flew open, the crash of wood against the wall splintering the memory.

I sat up, pulling the blanket to my chest.

Natalie marched in.

She threw a black leather folder onto my bed.

"He is asking questions," she demanded, pacing the floor. Her phone was a pale rectangle in her white-knuckled grip.

"He is testing me. He asked me what his favorite drink is."

I took a deep breath, forcing my heart rate to slow down.

"The Macallan. Nineteen twenty-six."

Natalie typed furiously into her phone.

"What else? Give me something specific. Something only the two of you would know. And make it simple—I can’t keep bluffing my way through these damn ciphers. "

I swung my legs over the side of the bed.

"We met once. In the back of a tinted SUV."

Natalie stopped typing.

She looked up, her eyes wide with a sudden, ugly jealousy.

"You met him?"

"It was pitch black," I explained, keeping my voice carefully toneless.

"He never saw my face. He just wanted to hear my breathing. He wanted to know I was real."

"Perfect. I can fake that." A wicked smile curved her lips. "I will tell him I was nervous and demanded the lights stay off."

She pocketed her phone and pointed at the black folder on my bed.

"Mother found you a husband."

My stepmother, Cynthia, hated my existence; this was no act of kindness.

I pulled the folder into my lap and opened it.

A photograph stared back at me.

Gabriel Romano.

He was the Consigliere of the Romano Family.

He was known as the architect of death—lethal, brilliant, and completely unhinged when crossed.

His dark hair was slicked back, and his eyes held a cold, calculating intelligence that made the fine hairs on my arms stand on end.

"Mother thinks it is too good for you," Natalie sneered.

"But I told her it is perfect. The Romanos are ruthless. If Gabriel treats you like garbage, you might run crying to Xavier for help. That makes you a very useful pawn."

I stared at Gabriel's picture.

He was a Made Man.

He had enough power to keep Xavier away from me, and at that moment, nothing else mattered.

"When do I meet him?" I asked.

"Tomorrow. On a private Syndicate yacht," she snapped.

"Mother will chaperone. Do not embarrass us, Serena."

Natalie left the room, the door slamming shut behind her.

I traced the edge of Gabriel's photograph.

I did not care if he was a monster.

I just needed a monster whose name was not Xavier Falcone.

Serena Sinclair POV

An ocean breeze whipped my hair across my face. I pulled my silk scarf tighter around my neck and adjusted my dark sunglasses.

Gabriel Romano sat across from me on the sun-bleached deck of the private yacht. He was dressed in a flawless charcoal suit. When he poured me a cup of tea, his movements were precise, almost gentle.

"I know your status in the Sinclair Family, Serena."

His voice was soft, but the tail end of his words scraped like sandpaper across the grain of the teakwood table.

I looked at him. "Then you know I have nothing to offer you. I am an illegitimate daughter. I have no political pull."

Gabriel set the teapot down. He leaned forward. "You have yourself. That is more than enough. I consider this match an absolute honor."

I studied his face. There was no mockery, no hidden current in his expression.

"I will send my Don to your father within five days to formalize the marriage contract," Gabriel said.

I nodded. "Thank you."

At length, the yacht docked at the VIP pier. Gabriel stood and offered me his hand. I took it, his palm warm and calloused.

As I stepped onto the wooden dock, the stiletto heel of my shoe caught on a loose plank. I stumbled forward.

Gabriel caught me by the waist. His grip was firm, anchoring me against his solid chest. The sudden movement caused the wind to catch my silk scarf, which tore from my neck as my sunglasses slipped down my nose.

"Are you alright?" Gabriel asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

I looked up to answer him, but the words died in my throat.

Standing not ten feet away, surrounded by his heavily armed detail, was Xavier Falcone.

Xavier stopped dead in his tracks. His gaze, like a rusty nail, pinned itself to the nervous way I was wringing my hands—a habit the Canary had described to him in vivid detail. A visible ripple of confusion crossed his composed features.

"Who is she?" Xavier demanded, his voice a sharp sound that cut through the low thrum of the docks.

Gabriel stepped smoothly in front of me, completely blocking Xavier's line of sight. He tucked me behind his broad shoulders, a living barricade against the other man's presence.

"She is my future bride," Gabriel said, his tone dangerously calm. "She is shy around strangers. Let us go, Serena."

As Gabriel guided me away, I could feel Xavier's eyes burning into my back.

That night, back in the close air of my heavily guarded wing at the Sinclair estate, the nightmares returned.

I was locked in Xavier's penthouse. The door frame splintered as he kicked it down. He stood over me, his face twisted in rage. I was begging him to let my ashes be scattered far away from New York. I just wanted to be free.

He grabbed my face. "You will never escape this place, Serena. Even in death, you belong to me."

I woke up screaming, the sheets damp with a cold sweat.

My bedroom door was ajar, and there was a loud commotion in the hallway. A sharp ringing filled my ears, drowning out the other sounds as I rolled out of bed and pressed my back against the wall, hiding behind the heavy velvet curtains.

"Where is the scotch?" my half-sister, Natalie, was yelling at a maid.

"I gave the wooden box to the guard," the maid stammered.

Then, I heard heavy footsteps. A voice that made the marrow in my bones feel cold echoed in the corridor.

"Why are you in this wing, Natalie?" Xavier asked, and the sound of his voice seemed to lower the temperature in the corridor.

I stopped breathing. He was right outside my door.

"I was just checking on the staff," Natalie lied, her voice trembling slightly.

"You never mentioned you had a younger sister living here," Xavier pressed.

"She is a nobody, Xavier," Natalie said quickly. "An illegitimate mistake. She is not worth your time."

There was a long, agonizing pause in which I could picture with perfect clarity Xavier's dark, knowing smirk.

"Let us go, then," Xavier finally said.

Once their footsteps faded away, I stepped out from behind the curtain and looked at myself in the mirror. I saw my own sharp, defiant features looking back at me. I would marry Gabriel Romano. I would never let the Heir drag me back into the dark. But the way Xavier had looked at me on the dock—like he was trying to place a ghost—told me the dark wasn’t done with me yet.