Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

Seraphina Vitiello POV

The door groaned open, the sound of grinding metal echoing against the concrete walls.

Light flooded in, harsh and sudden, blinding me.

I was huddled in the corner, my lips blue and my body shaking uncontrollably.

Dante stood in the doorway.

He was dry now, immaculate in a fresh suit.

He looked at me with undisguised disgust.

"Get up," he said.

I tried. But my legs wouldn't work; they were numb, dead weight beneath me.

He sighed, impatient.

He walked over and hauled me up by my arm with zero gentleness.

My frozen limbs screamed in protest as the blood rushed back too quickly.

"Have you repented?" he asked.

I looked at him.

His eyes were hard as flint.

"Yes," I whispered. My voice was a broken croak.

"Good. Because tonight is the engagement gala. You will be there. You will smile. And you will apologize to your sister."

He dragged me out of the morgue.

He didn't offer me a jacket.

We went back to the estate in silence.

Once inside, I went straight to my room.

I took a scalding shower, trying to scrub the smell of death off my skin.

My skin turned raw and red, but I still felt cold inside.

After drying off, I walked to my closet.

I pulled out a shoebox from the back shelf.

It held everything.

A dried flower from the safe house garden.

A bloody piece of gauze I had saved from when I tended his wounds.

A photo I had taken of him sleeping, his eyes bandaged.

I looked at them.

Trash.

It was all just trash.

I took the box to the trash chute in the hallway.

Dante was walking by just as I approached. He stopped.

"What is that?" he asked.

"Garbage," I said.

I opened the chute.

I tipped the box.

The memories tumbled down into the darkness.

I heard them hit the compactor three floors down with a final thud.

"Better to get rid of the clutter," Dante said, adjusting his cuffs indifferently. "You're leaving for London in two days anyway."

"Yes," I said, my voice hollow. "Just clutter."

I went back to my room and dressed.

I chose a black dress.

Long sleeves to hide the bruises from where the soldiers had grabbed me.

A high collar to hide the mark from my father's ring.

I looked like a widow.

I went downstairs to the ballroom.

It was filled with the elite of the criminal underworld.

Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead. Champagne towers caught the light.

Isabella was in white. Of course.

She looked like an angel.

My father tapped his glass.

Silence fell over the room.

"We are here to celebrate the union of the Vitiello and Moretti families," he announced.

Cheers and applause erupted.

Dante stepped onto the stage. He took the microphone.

He looked at Isabella with a possessiveness that made my stomach turn.

"Isabella is the light of my life," he said, his voice smooth. "She saved me when I was in darkness."

He turned to her and pulled out a ring box.

A massive diamond sparkled inside.

"Marry me, Isabella."

"Yes!" she screamed.

She kissed him.

The crowd roared.

I stood in the back, hidden near the kitchen doors.

I watched the man I loved promise his life to the woman who wanted to harvest my organs.

I felt a strange sense of peace.

The hope was dead.

And with the death of hope, the pain finally stopped.

I was just a ghost now.

And ghosts don't cry at their own funerals.