Chapter 3
Serafina's POV
A debilitating downward pressure hit my abdomen, and warm amniotic fluid instantly soaked my dress.
"Cass! Don't leave!" I clawed at the iron bars until my nails bled. "I’m in labor! Get a doctor now!"
Cassian stopped. He turned around, his eyes void of warmth. "Send the nurse in."
A woman in a white coat walked in carrying a medical kit.
"Give her the injection," Cassian ordered coldly.
"Don't touch me!" I kicked viciously at the door, terror gripping my heart. "Forcing those drugs will kill the baby! Please take me to a hospital, Cassian!"
"Hold her down." Cassian checked his watch and turned away mercilessly. "Until Valentina delivers the heir safely, this bastard cannot be born."
The icy needle was forced into my vein. The drug hit me violently. A massive surge of bright red blood mixed with the amniotic fluid beneath me.
"Ahhhh!" A violent contraction hit. I could feel the baby's head crowning at the birth canal.
"Get back in there!" The nurse, her face twisted maliciously, literally shoved the crowning baby's head back inside with her bare hands!
Screaming, I collapsed into a puddle of my own blood and blacked out completely.
When I opened my eyes again, my torn dress was glued to my legs by sticky, dried blood.
Valentina Marchetti stood over me in the dungeon, draped in an expensive mink coat, looking down from her high horse. Behind her stood the demonic nurse who had murdered my baby.
"We had no bad blood..." I rasped, lying broken on the floor like a discarded ragdoll. "Why would you do this to me?"
Valentina let out a sharp, condescending scoff.
"No bad blood? Rina, you’re just a worthless, orphaned mutt. Did you really think you could marry the Ferrante heir?" She nudged a clot of blood near my face with the tip of her stiletto. "It’s your fault your labor kicked off ahead of time. We had to give you drugs to hold back the birth, but your baby was so weak it died in your stomach."
"D-dead...?"
"Of course it's dead." Valentina crouched down, her eyes full of venomous mockery. "If that dead fetus rots inside you, you'll be dead from infection in a few days too. Oh, and by the way, guess who ordered the medication? Your beloved Cassian. All I did was whisper a few words in bed, and he was so disgusted by you he couldn't wait to kill the bastard blocking our marriage!"
Looking at her smug face, my tears abruptly stopped.
My father, Viktor Volkov, would never gift my mother’s necklace to the Ferrante family for no reason. He must have assumed Cassian was asking for it for me.
A bone-chilling resolve completely replaced my weakness. Leaning against the bloodstained wall, I stood up and flashed an icy smile at the woman before me.
"Valentina, you and Cassian must be dreaming of having the Russian Godfather, Viktor Volkov, attend your wedding, aren't you?"
She flinched, but raw greed and ambition flickered in her eyes.
"Since he's already willing to gift you such priceless rubies," I said, wiping the blood from my mouth, perfectly baiting her desires, "why not send a formal invitation to Russia, inviting Don Viktor in person? With his backing, it would elevate both your families to unreachable heights."
"At least you have a brain." Valentina stood up proudly and barked an order to the guards. "Keep an eye on her. Let her rot in this dungeon until my wedding is over!"
Cassian's POV
Half a month later, it was my wedding day.
"Cassian. After today, the Ferrante and Marchetti families will be fully united," Lorenzo Marchetti raised his champagne glass, his eyes flashing with a hunger for power.
I was just about to drink when the deafening roar of engines shredded the peaceful atmosphere.
Fierce winds ripped the white roses from the lawn. Several massive, heavy-duty black helicopters circled above the wedding venue.
"What's going on?!" I frowned, instinctively reaching for the gun inside my jacket.
My right-hand man, Marco, scrambled through the crowd, his voice cracking out of pure shock: "Boss! It’s Don Volkov's daughter! She's personally here representing the Volkov family!"
The lawn erupted in chaos. The mafia leaders at the venue gasped in sheer disbelief.
"My God, the Volkov heiress actually showed up?"
"Just how powerful are the Ferrantes and Marchettis right now, to actually move the Russian Mafia Princess?!"
Under everyone's terrified, awestruck gaze, the lead helicopter landed dominantly at the end of the red carpet. The cabin door slid open.
A foot clad in a red-soled stiletto stepped out first. Followed by a midnight-black velvet gown with a thigh-high slit.
When the woman descended the stairs, flanked by dozens of heavily armed Russian guards, all the blood drained from my body. My breathing shattered.
Porcelain skin, grayish-blue eyes. None of the blood and grime from the dungeon, none of the docile submissiveness she used to wear. And around her neck rested the very priceless red ruby necklace I had flown to Moscow to beg for!
She looked down at the wedding from her pedestal, breathtakingly cold and lethal, like a queen with the power of life and death.
Frozen in place, I stared at the woman I had locked away, my voice trembling uncontrollably:
"Rina...?!"
