Page 43 of Blood Heir

Vittoria sat comfortably across from me, a glass of wine in hand, lips pursed in that familiar expression of thinly veiled boredom. Emilia hovered by her side like a smug shadow, practically buzzing with sick satisfaction. Cassian stood near the window, tense, his jaw locked.

And Fioretta—

Fioretta stood before me. Her chest heaved, but not from anger. From heartbreak.

Her hands trembled at her sides, but her voice—when it came—cut clean through the tension. “How long did you know?”

Her eyes stayed locked on mine. Glossy with tears, wide and broken.

My throat closed. I tried to move toward her, to reach her, but she took one step back, shrinking from my touch like I burned her.

“Answer me, Serevin.”

The room narrowed. The air thickened around us, though no one spoke. Not Cassian. Not Emilia. Not even Vittoria.

I forced the words out, voice low. “Always.”

She blinked, as though struck.

“Before we married?” she whispered.

Shame weighed my shoulders. I lowered my eyes, nodding once, barely able to breathe.

Her breath hitched. A bitter laugh bubbled from her throat—small at first, but sharp. Her hands wiped at her face, as if clearing the evidence of what she no longer wanted to feel.

That’s when Vittoria finally broke the silence.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she sighed, swirling her wine. “Don’t make a scene. You married into this family as a spy. You’re not fooling anyone with this wounded act. You spun your little web and simply got caught in it.”

Fioretta didn’t even glance at her. It was as though no one else in that room existed. Only me.

And I saw it—something breaking inside her. Something sharp, something cold.

Her lips pressed together, steadying. Her shoulders squared. She exhaled slowly, regaining that frightening composure she could summon when pushed too far.

She turned her gaze to Vittoria then, her voice suddenly calm. “You two—get out of my house.”

Vittoria blinked, stunned, as though the command were too absurd to register. “Excuse me?”

Emilia scoffed, crossing her arms, tilting her head in defiance. “I live here.”

Fioretta’s lips pulled into a smile—an unhinged thing that didn’t reach her eyes. Her fingers moved, reaching behind her, pulling out the small black pistol tucked beneath her belt.

The metal glinted under the chandelier’s soft glow.

The room froze.

The muzzle pointed forward, unwavering.

And then—

The memory snaps.

“Boss!”

Cassian’s voice yanks me back into the present like a sudden slap.

I turn sharply. His face is pale, his breath quick, his hands open like he’s unsure how to begin.

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