The Serenity estate glittered like a palace, every chandelier and marble tile screaming of old money. But even within these walls of refinement, a shadow crept closer—the shadow of Dante Moretti.

Engines growled down the long driveway as a black Maserati and a second luxury car pulled up. From the first stepped Dante himself, thirty years old, sharp in a black suit. He carried himself with the ease of a predator who knew the whole room was already his. Behind him came two men in their forties—loan sharks like him, his oldest allies. Their presence was silent, but their reputation spoke louder than words.

Servants opened the door and froze the moment he crossed the threshold. Everyone knew the stories. At his own mansion, Dante’s staff lived in terror, not because of accidents or harsh discipline—but because their master enjoyed their suffering. He broke bones for amusement, forced maids to crawl across marble floors, humiliated them until they wept. It was said that when Dante grew bored, the screams of his servants became his entertainment.

And yet, Gabrielle Serenity’s father had invited this man into his world.

The study smelled of cigar smoke and polished wood. Gabrielle’s father stood behind a heavy desk, calm but cautious. He and Dante had been “friends” for years—business friends. Dante moved money the hotels couldn’t touch publicly, silenced rivals when legal routes failed, and offered protection that no police officer could guarantee. It was a friendship forged in convenience, but dangerous nonetheless.

“Dante,” her father said smoothly, forcing a smile. “It’s been too long.”

Dante smirked faintly, his dark eyes scanning the room before settling on the older man. “I don’t come unless it matters.” He sat, uninvited, his friends remaining at the door like watchful predators. “I’m here for Gabrielle. I want her hand in marriage.”

The mother stiffened instantly, outrage flashing across her face, but her husband stayed composed. He knew Dante’s reputation too well. He had heard the whispers—not only about the blood Dante spilled on the streets, but about what he did behind the gilded gates of his own mansion. Torturing his maids, punishing butlers for dropped glasses, turning his household into a personal theater of cruelty. And now this man wanted his daughter.

“You don’t waste time,” the father said carefully. “She’s nineteen. You’re thirty. The world will talk.”

Dante leaned forward, his smirk hardening into something sharp. “The world always talks. Let them. You know me, old friend—I don’t care about their chatter. I came out of respect. With or without your blessing, Gabrielle will be mine. But I thought it polite to give you the chance to shake my hand first.”

His two companions shifted behind him, one cracking his knuckles, the other scanning the corners of the study with a faint, knowing grin. The mother’s lips parted, ready to protest, but the father raised a hand to silence her. He stared at Dante, weighing loyalty, fear, and the strange bond they shared.

“You’re a dangerous man, Dante,” the father said slowly. “You torture your own staff for amusement. I’ve heard the stories—every servant in your house lives in terror of you.”

Dante chuckled darkly. “And yet, none of them ever leave. Do you know why? Because they know there’s no safer place. They bleed for me, and they survive because of me. I rule with fear, yes—but fear is loyalty’s truest form. Would you rather your daughter be with some polished coward who cheats behind her back? Or with me—where she’ll be untouchable?”

The father’s silence was heavy. He knew there was no winning against Dante—not in business, not in family. Finally, he set his glass down and met Dante’s gaze.

“You came to me as a friend,” he said quietly. “So I’ll give you my answer as a friend. If Gabrielle chooses this path… then I won’t stand in the way