The Unwanted Fiancée Is A Legend

Seraphina Vitiello POV

The pulsing beat of the bass faded into a muted throb against my eardrums.

My vision tunneled. The world dissolved until the only thing existing in the universe was the green stone resting against her skin.

"Give. It. Back." I ground out each word.

Roxy rolled her eyes, a gesture of casual cruelty.

"God, you’re pathetic. It’s just a rock."

She unclasped the chain, dangling it in the dim, smoky light like a trophy.

Dante stood, sensing the sudden, sharp shift in the atmosphere.

"Seraphina, don't make a scene," he warned, his voice low. "I’ll write you a check. How much is it worth? Five grand? Ten?"

I looked at him, my gaze burning with a cold, absolute hatred.

"You can't buy blood, Dante."

Roxy held the pendant over the unforgiving concrete floor.

"Oops," she smirked.

She let go.

Gravity seemed to take an eternity.

I lunged, desperate, but the distance was an unbridgeable chasm.

The jade hit the floor.

It didn't just crack.

It obliterated.

The delicate lotus carving exploded into a dozen jagged green fragments.

To me, the sound of the stone shattering was louder than a gunshot. It was the sound of a heart stopping.

A heavy silence suffocated the room.

Even the soldiers went still. They knew. Destroying a family heirloom was a line you didn't cross. It was a declaration of war.

I stared at the ruin.

My mother’s smile. Her sacrifice. Her memory.

All broken on a dirty club floor by a woman who meant nothing.

Something inside me snapped.

No, not snapped. It died.

The leash I had worn for three years—the submission, the silence—disintegrated into ash.

I didn't think.

I just moved.

I closed the distance between us in a blur of lethal intent.

Roxy didn't even have time to flinch.

My hand wrapped around her throat, driving her back against the nearest pillar with a sickening thud.

Her eyes bulged, panic flooding her gaze.

The glass she was holding fell, shattering in sympathy with the jade.

"You broke it," I hissed, my face inches from hers, my voice a quiet promise of violence.

I tightened my grip, feeling the pulse flutter wildly beneath my thumb.

I saw fear replace the arrogance in her eyes. Good.

"Hey!" Dante shouted.

He grabbed my shoulder, his fingers digging in, trying to haul me off.

"Get off her, you crazy bitch!"

He yanked me back.

I spun, using his own momentum as a weapon.

I broke his grip with a sharp, calculated twist of my torso—muscle memory from the underground fight pits taking over.

Dante stumbled back, genuine shock flashing across his face.

He lunged at me again, grabbing my wrist to restrain me.

His heavy signet ring cut into my skin, drawing a line of bright crimson.

That was the catalyst.

I didn't cower.

I didn't cry.

I swung my free hand.

The slap echoed through the club like the crack of a whip.

My palm connected with his cheek with enough kinetic force to snap his head to the side.

The entire room gasped. The sound sucked the air out of the space.

No one hits a Capo.

Especially not a woman.

Dante touched his cheek, his eyes wide, struggling to process the stinging reality.

"You..." he stammered.

I stepped back, my chest heaving, the adrenaline singing in my veins.

"I am not your servant, Dante," I said, my voice trembling not with fear, but with unadulterated rage. "And I am not your victim."

I knelt down.

Ignoring the blood dripping from my hand to mingle with the dust, I picked up the largest shards of the jade.

The sharp edges bit into my fingers, slicing skin, but the pain felt grounding.

It was real. It was the only real thing in this room.

I stood up, clutching the broken pieces against my heart.

Dante was still frozen, his face flushing a deep, humiliated red.

I looked at him one last time, etching his face into my memory for later.

"You wanted fire, Dante?"

I stepped over the broken glass.

"You just struck the match."

I walked out of the club, leaving a trail of blood drops on the floor like breadcrumbs.

Outside, the cold night air slapped my face, sobering and sharp.

I didn't go to my car.

I walked into the deep shadows of the alley, letting the darkness swallow me.

I pulled out my phone, the screen glowing in the gloom.

I typed a message to the only person who could fix what had been broken.

Not a jeweler.

A Fixer on the dark web.

"I need a rush job," I typed. "Jade restoration. Tonight."

I hit send.

I looked up at the indifferent night sky.

The Vitiello girl was dead.

The Ghost was born.