Chapter 17 Seraphine
The silence in Dante’s office stretched long enough for my nerves to start buzzing. Not from fear — from the weight of everything I’d just laid out between us.
The truth wasn’t small.
And neither was he.
I finally broke the silence. “Everything else I’ve compiled — timelines, maps, witness statements… they’re all at my place.”
Dante didn’t hesitate. “Then let’s go.”
I blinked. “You want to go to my apartment?”
“Yes.”
My pulse jumped — not because I was scared, but because the idea of him standing in my doorway felt too intimate, too charged, too soon.
I crossed my arms. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable letting you inside yet.”
He exhaled once, slow, like he was trying not to push me. “Seraphine, I’m trying to help.”
“You’re also a very powerful man who just asked to get inside my home.”
His lips twitched. “Fair.”
But I still didn’t move toward the door.
My eyes narrowed. “Speaking of my home… the flowers. You sent them.”
He didn’t deny it.
“I did.”
“And the second set too?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The question hung between us like smoke.
Finally, he stepped closer — not touching me, but close enough to feel the heat rolling off him.
“I sent them because I wanted to apologize,” he said quietly. “For the way I reacted when I first saw you at Obsidian Veil.”
“That wasn’t an apology,” I countered. “That was territorial.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed. “I don’t apologize easily.”
“No kidding.”
He looked away for a moment, then back at me. His voice dropped into something darker.
“When I saw you give that rose to the man at the coffee shop…” He paused. “It irritated me.”
“Irritated?” I raised an eyebrow.
His gaze locked on mine. “I don’t share.”
The words hit me low in my stomach.
I shouldn’t have liked that.
But I did.
More than I wanted to admit.
“So you sent another bouquet?” I challenged. “All black roses, by the way. Bit dramatic.”
“Maybe.” He stepped closer. “But you threw them away before you even read the second note.”
“I read it.”
“And?”
“And it sounded… possessive.”
“It was,” he said.
I stared at him. “You do realize that sounds like stalking.”
His mouth curved, slow and sharp. “And that turns you on.”
My breath hitched — not because he was wrong, but because he was right.
Perfectly, dangerously right.
I swallowed. “You’re very sure of yourself.”
“Only when I’m right,” he murmured.
I forced myself to step back, creating space and sanity. “I’m not ready for you to be in my house.”
His expression didn’t crack. He just nodded once, slowly.
“I said I’d help you,” he said. “And I meant it. But I won’t push past a boundary you set.”
The restraint in his voice did something to me. Something that felt alarmingly like trust.
“I can send you some of the files,” I said. “If you give me your email.”
He reached into his pocket and slid a card across the desk. Heavy cardstock. Embossed black. His email was printed in silver beneath his name.
Of course it was dramatic.
I took it, tucking it into my purse. “I’ll send you the basics tonight.”
“Good,” he said. “Start with everything involving the victims and Onyx.”
“That’s all I have right now,” I admitted. “Just missing women and the last place they were seen alive—which happens to be your club.”
He didn’t flinch.
“You shouldn’t be surprised,” I added, “if police come knocking on your door for answers.”
His voice went low. “No one in this city knocks on my door unless they’re ready to deal with the consequences.”
“Well,” I said lightly, “then maybe they’ll send someone who isn’t afraid of consequences.”
His eyes darkened, studying me like I was something he wasn’t sure whether to devour or protect.
“Are you?” he asked.
“Afraid?” I shook my head. “Not of you.”
He looked at me for a long moment, something simmering behind his eyes.
Then —
“Email me the files,” he said. “Tonight.”
“I will.”
“And Seraphine?” His voice dipped lower. “Don’t go anywhere alone. Not until I know who’s moving pieces around you.”
I raised a brow. “Is that an order?”
“It’s a warning.”
“And what if I ignore warnings?”
A small, dangerous smile curved his mouth.
“Then I’ll just have to stop you myself.”
Heat shot straight through me — inconvenient, infuriating, addictive.
I turned toward the door before he could read it on my face.
“I’ll message you later,” I said.
“And I’ll be waiting.”
His voice followed me out — low, dark, and entirely too confident.
The music hit me the moment I opened the door — bass thrumming like a heartbeat through the floors, violet lights shimmering down the stairwell ahead of me.
I gripped the railing and descended the first flight.
Halfway down the second, the club manager nearly collided with me.
He held out a sleek black card like it was radioactive.
“Your VIP access, ma’am,” he muttered.
Ma’am.
Interesting choice, considering the way he’d looked at me earlier.
I took the card slowly.
“Thank you,” I said, because even though I was furious, I wasn’t raised by wolves.
He nodded stiffly… then power-walked away so fast it was almost comical. Like he thought I was contagious.
I couldn’t help the low scoff that slipped out.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Nice to meet you too, dickhead.”
I pushed through the front doors and stepped into the cool night air. The lights of the club glittered behind me, the sign for Elemental Veil glowing like a bruise on the street.
I headed down the sidewalk toward my apartment, heels clicking, city humming, mind racing.
When I reached a corner where the streetlamp flickered dimly, I pulled out the VIP card and turned it over.
The front was gorgeous — embossed black, silver lettering, clean and elegant.
But the back…
Oh, the back.
In silver foil, bold and unmistakable:
VOID
I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
Stared.
Blink.
Blink.
Then—
“That. Fucking. Asshole.”
A couple walking past gave me a startled look and hurried away.
I held the card up to the streetlight again just to be sure.
Nope.
Still there.
Still giant.
VOID.
I could practically hear Dante’s rich, smug voice in my head:
You’re not ready for that level yet.
I don’t share.
You walked into my territory.
I stuffed the damn card into my purse with a sharp exhale.
“Oh, he thinks he’s funny,” I hissed, resuming my march toward home. “He thinks he’s cute.”
The warmth in my chest was not irritation.
Nope.
I was not acknowledging that.
I turned down my street, muttering under my breath like a crazy person.
“What kind of overbearing mafia-king psycho gives someone a voided VIP card on purpose? Who does that?”