[ S E R A P H I N E ] A mobster's son? Shit. Just like Alina said... It doesn't sound like he's exaggerating. Or just being petty, hurling accusations out of sheer jealousy. Pierre won't be saying all these things if he doesn't think he can prove any of it. So the authorities believe Ignazio is a cruel, money-hungry mafia boss. Since when? A few years ago? A decade ago? If he's been a remorseless criminal mastermind before my family even met the Tomassinis, why isn't he in prison yet? Who's protecting him and his family? Despite Pierre's taunting, I tilt my chin and manage a tight smile, my heart still pounding. “Doesn't mean I married a criminal,” I say calmly, leaning closer to him so the other customers won't hear us. I sure hope none of them understands English. Pierre raises his brows and smirks. “You want proof?” “What proof?” Evidence to convince me that Dominico isn't as innocent as I think? If Pierre does have enough proof, will he willingly hand it over wit
[ S E R A P H I N E ] The sun is still high overhead. We're ticking off the miles toward home. I don't know what he meant by "something". I just hope it's not a life-threatening emergency. My breathing turns shallow once his words sink in. So he's been spying on me all this time? Since when? Do I really look like someone who can't be trusted? Part of my gut curls at the thought. I rest my head against the window, trying to figure out what to say. What to share. What to do next. Since agreeing to be his pretend girlfriend, I often feel like I surrendered more than just my independence. But leaving this place isn’t an option. Not yet. I've promised myself that I'll get my degree before I do anything else. And I already owe Dominico a lot of money. I'm not gonna let it all go to waste just because I feel like giving up. Again. “You're not a quitter. Suck it up. You got this. You can't give up,” I keep telling myself lately. The back of my eyes turn hot. Darn. I'm trapped
[ S E R A P H I N E ] I'm running late. Crap. I have about half an hour left to get ready. The drive to campus will take 20 minutes at least, and in this weather, rush hour traffic will add ten more. I strip off my bathrobe and groan. I quickly put on my strapless bra while my hip leans against the cold sink. The morning air feels like a slap on my bare skin, biting through the thin fabric of my underwear as I start my skincare routine. My mind's a whirlwind. Just like yesterday. I'm running on four hours of sleep and barely a cup of coffee, trying my best to prioritize my tasks for today, focusing on my routine. My two-hour class starts at eight sharp, and I'm trying to ignore the gnawing worry about our flight to Montreal. Dominico's probably upstairs, still packing his stuff, busy with a work call or something else. I can almost hear the noises he's making in his room. As I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, towel-drying my hair, my phone buzzes on the granite coun
[ S E R A P H I N E ] How long is the surgery supposed to take? An hour? A few hours? I need some answers. Some reassurance. I mean, we both do. We didn't even get to see her upclose. We're not allowed in the ICU due to the isolation protocols. “Please be okay. Please. Please get better,” I whisper to myself, imagining the woman staying unconscious on the operating table. I only saw her graying short hair, barely half of her pale face, some wires, and the tubes stuck to her lean arms and torso. The head surgeon and ICU staff rushed Dominico's mother to the OR about half an hour ago without even waiting for him to give the go-ahead. I hope they're doing everything they can to improve her condition. I stand closer to Dom as the white walls seem to close in around us. We're both wearing masks, still here in Montreal, kinda stuck in this busy hallway. Just waiting. Trying to stay patient. Masked up nurses and doctors pass by without paying us any mind, their hurried steps f
[ S E R A P H I N E ]Wait for him? Why? The way he said it curdles my gut with apprehension. More anxious, bothersome feelings I don't need. Especially not now. “Take your time. I'll be in the kitchen, cleaning,” I say casually before walking out of his old room. I don't wait for him to finish his shower. Gripping my phone to my chest, I practically run down the stairs. For the next ten minutes, all I do is distract myself from thinking of him naked in bed with me. I scrub his mom's kitchen sink clean. Then her countertops. The cupboards. The dusty top of her fridge. The soaping, rinsing, and drying of the oil-stained stove and walls take a little longer. But it's fine. It's a good enough distraction. I need to stop imagining him being intimate with me. Darn it. My brain really needs a full reset in that area. I should be reading my new textbooks right now. Studying hard for another exam. Doing everything I can to keep my grades up -- not pondering the possibility of getting l
[ S E R A P H I N E ] I feel like someone just poured a ton of bricks all over me. I glance around, half-expecting Dominico to appear by the stairs any second, my heart pumping more blood and faster. I don't like how quiet and dark the rest of this house is, including the front yard. “How did you find out?” I feign a calm, almost robotic voice. Did Alina talk to Ignazio before he got arrested? “Arabella. Remember her?” Alina mutters on the other line. “Yeah.” Arabella, her 20-something blonde Italian friend. “She was in housekeeping.” “Messaged me out of nowhere. Her fiancé’s an inspector. He told her about San Pietro.” Alina’s voice wavers. “Oh. Makes sense.” “Hey. You sure about coming back here?” Coming back to Italy? “What d'you mean?” “I don't... I think, you and Dominico should stay there. For the meantime. Like a month or two.” “Here in Canada? No. I-I don't think that's gonna work.” I shake my head as if she could see me right now. “I can't just drop out
• ALL RIGHTS RESERVED COPYRIGHT © 2024 by M.Z.Mauve • DISCLAIMER • Scenes, characters, dialogues and events in this story are all invented. This story contains mature themes, profanity, violence, and sexual content not intended for young readers. All photos included in this book belong to the copyright owners. Full credits to the owners. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this story or plagiarism of any kind is prohibited by the law. | MAIN CHARACTERS | FL ••• Seraphine "Sephie" Lee Azur- 24 years old - receptionist at one of the Tomassinis' country clubsML ••• Dominico "Doni" / "Dom" Deschanel Tomassini- 29 years old - CFO of his father's new firm - founder and former CEO of a bankrupt fintech company Chapter 1 •••••••••••••••••••• [ S E R A P H I N E ] I'm a killer.I killed someone last night.Sweet old Sephie is dead. I murdered innocent little Sephie in more ways than I imagined. She died the moment I accepted the money. Gratefully. The biggest payment I'v
[ S E R A P H I N E ] "You good?" Dominico squints at me, then tosses back the whiskey in his second glass."Sì, Signore." [Yes, Sir.] The guy stares at me with furrowed brows. "Don't call me that." My heart drops at his emotionless voice. My shoulders tense up, and my cheeks feel like they're burning. "Pardon?""I'm not your boss." My gut clenches. Embarrassment heats up my throat and the back of my eyes. "Right." I try not to scowl as I put away the cleaning supplies. What the heck is this asshole's problem? Is it me? Because I didn't even try to look like I belong here? Is he disgusted by this outfit? Because I look too tacky for his refined tastes? According to some pictures online, he dated a 20-something Spanish model slash actress. Therefore he probably likes women with immaculate fashion taste.The jerk finally gets up from the stool and swigs the rest of his drink. As I keep my mouth shut, Dominico plops the empty glass back on the bar. "And I'm pretty sure you know my