Chapter 4 Blades and Black Cards
~Sera's POV ~
I hurled the crystal glass across the living room.
It crashed against the floor-to-ceiling glass wall, shattering into tiny silver beads that scattered over thirty feet of white marble. The sharp ring echoed through twelve empty bedrooms, bouncing off cold plaster before dying out in the silence.
Nobody came running. No maid, no guard, no butler. Just six thousand square feet of empty glass and steel.
I locked myself in the master bathroom, pulling my emergency medical kit off the top shelf. Setting my jaw, I unwound the blood-stiffened cloth wrapped tight around my forearm.
The skin underneath was raw, angry, and throbbing. I disinfected the wound with a sharp hiss of pain, applied a fresh layer of sterile gauze, and secured it tightly with medical tape before pulling my heavy leather jacket back on.
My phone vibrated on the marble kitchen island as I walked out.
I picked it up and tapped the video call icon without stopping my stride toward the front entrance.
Eleanor’s face filled the screen...flawless skin, severe cheekbones, surrounded by hair stylists in a brightly lit dressing room in Paris. A metallic dress glinted under the studio lights behind her. She didn't look into the camera lens; she looked at her reflection in the mirror beside it.
"The driver said you refused the airport escort," Eleanor said. Her voice came through the speaker thin and dry, like paper scraping glass. "I pay four security guards to watch the gate, Sera. You don't walk out at midnight."
I pulled my jacket collar up against the draft, my thumb digging hard into the side of the phone. "They were asleep."
"Then fire them and hire new ones," Eleanor snapped, not even blinking as a makeup artist powdered her neck. "I don't fly home once a year to manage your household. You have unlimited black cards and a five-million-dollar estate to yourself. Stop making noise."
"I don't want the estate," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, cold and flat. "I want you to show up."
Eleanor let out a short, hollow breath, finally flicking her ice-blue eyes toward the screen for half a second. "I transferred half a million to Ravencrest Academy. You start on Monday. Live like a princess, keep your mouth shut, and do not embarrass my name."
The screen went black before I could answer.
I tossed the phone onto the glass table, watched it slide across the polished surface, and hit the front door handle.
I pulled the heavy front door open, stepping out into the cold night air, leaving the empty mansion behind me for good.
Forty minutes later, I pushed open the back exit of the rink complex and hit the gravel lot, my boots grinding into the dirt.
Rain slicked the asphalt in the private lot, reflecting the dull yellow floodlights above. Right in the middle of the empty spaces sat Dante’s matte-black Dodge Charger, the engine bay still ticking with residual heat.
I walked straight up to the car, swung myself onto the hood, and sat right in the center, crossing my legs.
The hot metal warmed through my jeans. I pulled a small silver pocketknife from my jacket and tapped the blunt end against the black paint, counting the seconds.
The glass doors behind me swung open.
Dante stepped into the lot, leather jacket hanging off his shoulders, heavy boots cutting through the puddles. Kian and Jax followed a step behind, but stopped dead in their tracks the second they saw me sitting on his ride.
Dante froze. His eyes dropped to my boots resting against his front bumper, then snapped up to my face.
He didn't pull a weapon. He didn't yell. He walked up until his knees hit the front grill, right between my feet.
"Get off my car, Sera," Dante growled, his voice a low, rough rasp in the cold air.
I didn't budge. I flipped the small blade between my knuckles and looked down at him.
"You left your lecture early," I said, leaning forward until our faces were inches apart, the heat off his skin cutting through the chill. "I thought you wanted to finish our conversation."
Jax took a hard step forward. "Dante, she's mocking you..."
Dante raised one hand without looking back. "Back off. Both of you."
Jax spat on the asphalt, turned on his heel, and stalked away with Kian toward a dark SUV parked near the fence.
Dante turned back to me, his chest rising fast, his throat tight. He slammed both palms flat onto the hood on either side of my thighs, trapping me in his space.
"You've got a lot of nerve sitting on my hood after what you pulled in the tower," he whispered, his eyes dark, hard, and blazing.
I slid off the metal, my boots hitting the wet ground, landing so close my jacket brushed his chest.
"Your crew wants to put me in the ground," I said, my voice sharp and steady. "And you want to keep me close. So hand over the keys, Moretti. You're driving."
