Blood and Roses

Chapter 1 The scent of blood mixed with roses would haunt Seraphina Rossi for the rest of her life. She'd been arranging white orchids for the Benedetti wedding when she heard the crash from the alley behind her flower shop. Years of living in Little Italy had taught her to mind her own business, but the second crash—followed by a guttural scream—made her fingers freeze on the delicate petals. Through the gap in her back door, she saw him. Dante Cavaletti. Everyone in the neighborhood knew his name, whispered it like a prayer or a curse depending on which side of his favor you fell. Six feet of lethal grace in a perfectly tailored suit, currently pressing a man's face into the brick wall with one hand while the other wielded a knife that caught the dim alley light. "You thought you could steal from my family?" His voice was velvet over steel, cultured and controlled even as he drew the blade across the man's cheek. "That takes either incredible stupidity or impressive balls. Which is it, Antonio?" Seraphina's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. She should look away. She should run. But something about the methodical precision of his movements, the complete lack of emotion on his devastatingly beautiful face, held her transfixed. Antonio whimpered, blood streaming down his face. "Please, Dante, I'll pay it back—" "Too late for that." Dante's blade moved again, and this time Antonio's scream echoed off the alley walls. "You know what I find interesting? You didn't just steal money. You stole product. My product. Do you know what was in those shipments?" "I didn't know—I swear—" "Liar." The word was soft, almost gentle, which made it infinitely more terrifying. Dante released Antonio, who crumpled to the ground. "Look at me." Antonio raised his head, and even from her hidden position, Seraphina could see the terror in his eyes. "You have two choices," Dante continued, cleaning his blade on a pristine white handkerchief. "You can die quickly, or you can die slowly. The quick death comes with one condition—you tell me who you were selling to." "I can't—they'll kill my family—" "I'll kill your family." The threat was delivered as casually as discussing the weather. "But if you cooperate, I'll make it clean. Professional. They won't suffer. If you don't..." He crouched down, and whispered something that made Antonio sob. Seraphina's foot shifted, knocking over a metal bucket. The clang seemed to echo through the entire city. Dante's head snapped up, his eyes—dark as midnight and twice as dangerous—locked directly onto hers through the crack in the door. For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then his lips curved in a smile that was pure predator. "It seems we have an audience, Antonio." He rose with fluid grace, never breaking eye contact with Seraphina. "How rude of me not to introduce myself properly." Run. Every instinct screamed at her to run. But her legs had turned to water, her lungs forgetting how to draw breath as he approached her door. "I know you're there, fiore." The endearment—flower—shouldn't have made her shiver. "Why don't you come out and we can discuss what you think you saw?" Seraphina finally found her voice. "I didn't see anything." His laugh was rich, dark chocolate laced with arsenic. "Lying doesn't become you. Open the door, or I'll open it myself. You have five seconds." Her hands shook as she reached for the lock. Running would only make things worse. Men like Dante Cavaletti didn't let witnesses walk away. Her only chance was to convince him she was no threat. The door swung open, and suddenly he was there, filling her doorway with his presence. Up close, he was even more devastating—sharp cheekbones, full lips, and those eyes that seemed to see straight through to her soul. The blood on his suit should have made him monstrous. Instead, it only emphasized the dangerous beauty of him, like a fallen angel painted in crimson. "Seraphina Rossi." Her name on his lips was a caress and a threat. "The florist with the face of a Botticelli and the unfortunate habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time." "You know who I am?" "I know everything that happens in my territory." His gaze traveled down her body with deliberate slowness, taking in her dirt-stained apron, the way her dark hair escaped from its bun, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. "Including the fact that you make the most beautiful arrangements in Little Italy. My mother adores your work." "Your mother?" The words came out as a squeak. "Mmm. The white roses you did for her birthday were exquisite." He stepped closer, and she caught his scent—expensive cologne mixed with leather and something darker, more dangerous. "Almost as exquisite as you." "I should—I need to close the shop—" "No." The single word stopped her cold. "What you need to do is come with me. We have things to discuss." "I told you, I didn't see—" His hand shot out, fingers tangling in her hair as he yanked her head back. The move should have hurt, should have terrified her. Instead, heat pooled low in her belly, a treacherous response she couldn't control. "Rule number one, fiore—don't lie to me." His breath fanned across her face. "I can see your pulse racing here." His thumb pressed against her throat. "I can smell your fear...and something else. Something much more interesting." Seraphina's face flamed. "Let me go." "Eventually." He released her hair but didn't step back. "After we come to an understanding. You see, I have a problem. There's a man bleeding in your alley who knows things he shouldn't. And there's a beautiful woman who saw things she shouldn't. I need to solve both problems tonight." "Are you going to kill me?" The question emerged steadier than she felt. His smile was slow, wicked. "Now why would I do that? Kill the woman who makes my mother smile? She'd never forgive me." His fingers traced her jawline, the touch feather-light but somehow more intimate than if he'd kissed her. "No, I have much better plans for you." Chapter 2 The ride in Dante's black SUV felt like being swallowed by the night itself. Seraphina sat rigid in the leather seat, hyperaware of him beside her, of the driver who kept glancing in the rearview mirror, of the gun she could see outlined beneath Dante's jacket. "Where are you taking me?" "Somewhere we can talk privately." He was scrolling through his phone, the screen's glow highlighting the sharp angles of his face. "Without interruption." "What about—" She swallowed. "What about Antonio?" "Being handled." The casual dismissal sent chills down her spine. A man's life reduced to a minor inconvenience, dealt with by underlings while the boss moved on to more interesting prey. They pulled up to a brownstone in the Upper East Side, all understated elegance and old money. Nothing about it screamed 'mob headquarters,' which somehow made it more unsettling. Dante's hand settled on her lower back as he guided her inside, the touch burning through her thin cardigan. The interior was all dark wood and leather, masculine and sophisticated. He led her to a study lined with books, a fire crackling in the hearth despite the spring warmth outside. "Drink?" He moved to a crystal decanter, pouring amber liquid into two glasses without waiting for her answer. "I don't think alcohol is a good idea right now." "On the contrary." He pressed the glass into her hand, fingers lingering against hers. "I find it helps with difficult conversations." Seraphina took a sip, the whiskey burning a path down her throat. "Is that what this is? A conversation?" "Among other things." He settled into a leather chair, gesturing for her to take the one across from him. When she remained standing, his eyes narrowed. "Sit, Seraphina. Despite what you witnessed, I'm not a complete barbarian. I don't torture women in my study." "Just in alleys?" His laugh was genuine this time. "You have spine. I like that. Most people are too terrified to speak freely around me." "Should I be terrified?" "Probably." He studied her over the rim of his glass. "But you're not. Not entirely. That's what makes you so interesting. That, and the way you looked at me in that alley. Like you were seeing a monster and wanting to touch it anyway." Heat flooded her cheeks. "I don't know what you mean." "Don't you?" He set down his glass and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Your pupils dilated. Your breathing changed. Your body betrayed you, fiore, even as your mind screamed danger. I've seen fear in all its forms, and what I saw in your eyes wasn't just fear." "You're imagining things." "Am I?" He rose in one fluid movement, stalking toward her with predatory grace. "Let's test that theory." Seraphina backed up until she hit the bookshelf, trapped between leather-bound volumes and two hundred pounds of lethal male. He braced his hands on either side of her head, caging her without touching. "Your pulse is racing again." His voice dropped to a whisper. "But you're not trying to run. Why is that?" "Because you'd catch me." "True." His head dipped, lips barely grazing her ear. "But that's not why." Every nerve in her body stood at attention, torn between self-preservation and a desire she didn't want to name. He was everything she should run from—violent, amoral, dangerous. But the heat of him, the controlled power, the way he looked at her like she was a puzzle he needed to solve... "This is insane," she breathed. "The best things usually are." His hand came up to cup her face, thumb tracing her bottom lip. "Here's what's going to happen, Seraphina. You're going to come work for me." "What?" She tried to jerk away, but he held her fast. "My mother's birthday party is next month. Two hundred guests, all expecting perfection. You're going to design the flowers." "I have my own shop—" "Which sits on territory I control, paying protection to my family." His thumb pressed harder against her lip, and she fought the urge to bite it. "Consider this a special commission. You'll be well compensated." "And if I refuse?" His smile was sharp as a blade. "Then I'd have to reconsider my generous decision to let you walk away from what you saw tonight. Witnesses are bad for business, fiore." "That's blackmail." "That's business." His hand slid into her hair, tilting her head back. "But I prefer to think of it as opportunity. You'll work closely with me over the next month. We'll get to know each other better. And perhaps we can explore this...tension between us." "There's no tension—" He cut her off by pressing his body against hers, every hard plane fitting against her curves like they were made for each other. "Lie number two. Shall I prove you wrong?" His mouth hovered over hers, not quite touching, the promise of a kiss that would change everything. Seraphina's hands came up to his chest, whether to push him away or pull him closer, she didn't know. "I know what you are," she whispered. "Do you?" His lips brushed hers, the faintest contact that sent electricity shooting through her veins. "And what am I, Seraphina?" "A killer. A criminal. Everything I've been taught to stay away from." "All true." Another brush of lips, teasing, tormenting. "And yet here you are, trembling in my arms, wanting me to kiss you despite knowing exactly what these hands have done." "I don't—" He silenced her with his mouth, the kiss nothing like the gentle teasing of moments before. This was possession, pure and simple. His tongue swept past her lips, claiming, conquering, making her head spin and her knees weak. She tasted whiskey and danger and something uniquely him that made her moan into his mouth. When he pulled back, they were both breathing hard. Her lips felt swollen, branded by his touch. "One month," he said, voice rough. "You design flowers for my family. You let me protect you from any blowback from tonight. And we see where this goes." "And if I still say no?" His hand tightened in her hair, sending sparks of pain-pleasure through her scalp. "Then I'll have to find other ways to convince you. And I promise, fiore, I can be very persuasive." Chapter 3 The first week working for the Cavaletti family taught Seraphina three things: Dante's mother, Isabella, was a force of nature who ruled her family with an iron fist wrapped in a velvet glove. The Cavaletti compound was a fortress disguised as a mansion. And Dante watched her constantly, his dark gaze tracking her movements like a predator studying prey. She tried to focus on the flowers, creating design after design for Isabella's approval. White roses and baby's breath for elegance, deep purple orchids for drama, touches of gold ribbon to complement the ballroom's décor. But concentration proved impossible with Dante's presence a constant distraction. He'd appear without warning, sometimes saying nothing, just observing as she worked. Other times, he'd offer commentary that had nothing to do with flowers. "You bite your lip when you're concentrating," he murmured one afternoon, making her jump and nearly drop the orchid she was wiring. "It's distracting." "Then don't watch me." "Impossible." He moved closer, ostensibly examining her work but really invading her space, surrounding her with his scent and heat. "Everything about you is distracting. The way you tuck your hair behind your ear. The little furrow between your brows when something isn't quite right. The soft sound you make when you're satisfied with an arrangement." "Stop." Her voice came out breathier than intended. "Stop what?" His fingers traced the stem of a rose, the gesture somehow obscene. "Stop noticing you? Stop wanting you? Stop imagining all the ways I could make you come undone?" Heat pooled between her thighs, her body's treacherous response to his words. "This is inappropriate." "Everything about us is inappropriate." He plucked the orchid from her trembling fingers. "You're too good, too pure for my world. I should have let you go that night, should have found another florist for my mother. Instead, I brought you into my home, my life, knowing exactly how this ends." "How does it end?" His eyes darkened to black. "With you in my bed, screaming my name, marked by my hands and mouth until everyone knows you belong to me." The orchid crushed in her grip. "I don't belong to anyone." "Not yet." He backed her against the work table, caging her with his body. "But you will. Every day you're here, every moment you spend in my presence, you're falling deeper under my spell. I can see it in your eyes, feel it in the way your body responds to mine." "You're arrogant." "I'm right." His hand cupped her neck, thumb pressing against her racing pulse. "Shall I prove it? Shall I lift you onto this table and show you exactly how your body betrays your protests?" "Your mother—" "Is at her weekly lunch with the family wives. We're completely alone, fiore." His lips brushed her jaw. "Just you, me, and all this delicious tension you pretend doesn't exist." A throat cleared from the doorway. "Boss, we got a problem." Dante didn't move, didn't even look at the man who'd interrupted them. "Handle it, Marcus." "It's about Antonio's connections. They're asking questions about the girl." Now Dante turned, his body shifting to shield Seraphina from view. "What kind of questions?" "The kind that come with threats. They know someone witnessed the hit. Word on the street is they're looking for her." Ice flooded Seraphina's veins. She'd known there would be consequences, but the reality of being hunted, targeted... "Double the security detail," Dante ordered. "Nobody gets within three blocks of her shop or apartment without my knowledge." "Already done. But boss, if the Torresi family is involved—" "I'll handle the Torresis." The ice in his voice made her shiver. "Nobody threatens what's mine." Marcus nodded and disappeared. Dante turned back to her, his expression shifting from lethal to something almost tender. "You're safe," he said simply. "I protect what's mine." "I'm not yours," she protested weakly. "Aren't you?" He crowded her again, but this time she felt the protection in it, the way his body formed a barrier between her and the world. "You've been mine since the moment you watched me work and didn't run screaming. Since you looked at the monster and saw something worth saving." "I don't want to save you." "Liar." The word was soft, almost affectionate. "Number three, I believe. You look at me like I'm a wounded animal you want to heal. But I'm not wounded, fiore. I'm exactly what I choose to be. The question is whether you can accept that." "And if I can't?" "Then I'll seduce you until you can." His mouth found her throat, lips and teeth and tongue working in concert to drive her mad. "I'll worship every inch of your body until you crave my darkness as much as I crave your light. I'll ruin you for other men, brand you with my touch until you can't imagine anyone else's hands on you." She gasped as he sucked hard on her pulse point, definitely leaving a mark. "Dante—" "Say it again." His voice was rough, desperate. "Say my name like that, all breathy and needy." "We can't—" "We can. We will." He lifted his head, and the raw hunger in his eyes stole her breath. "But not here. Not now. When I finally have you, it won't be a quick fuck against a table. It'll be in my bed, where I can take my time, where I can make you come apart again and again until you understand that you've always been mine." He stepped back abruptly, leaving her clutching the table for support. "Finish the arrangements. Marcus will drive you home when you're done." "Where are you going?" His smile was pure predator. "To have a conversation with the Torresi family about their interest in my florist. Don't wait up, fiore. This might get messy." Chapter 4 The news reached her through whispers at the local market. Three members of the Torresi family were found dead in their social club, execution-style bullets to the head. The message was clear: touch Dante Cavaletti's property, and pay the price. Seraphina's hands shook as she arranged roses in her shop, unable to focus on anything but the knowledge that three men were dead because of her. Because Dante had claimed her as his. The bell above her door chimed, and she looked up to find him standing there, still in the same suit from yesterday, though now she noticed the faint spatter of blood on his collar. "You killed them." It wasn't a question. "Yes." He moved toward her with measured steps, giving her time to retreat if she chose. She didn't. "Does that horrify you?" "It should." "But?" She set down the roses, meeting his gaze directly. "But all I feel is relief that they can't hurt me. What does that make me?" "Human." He stopped just out of reach, and she realized he was letting her make the choice to close the distance. "You're allowed to value your life above theirs, Seraphina. You're allowed to be grateful for protection, even when it comes from a monster." "You're not a monster." "No?" He tilted his head, studying her. "I killed three men last night without hesitation or remorse. I've killed dozens more over the years, some who deserved it, some who were simply in my way. I traffic in drugs and guns and anything else that makes money. I am exactly the monster your mother warned you about." "Then why do I want you so badly it hurts?" The words hung between them, her confession changing everything. His control visibly frayed, hands clenching at his sides. "Say that again." "I want you." She took a step closer. "I've wanted you since that night in the alley, watching you move with such lethal grace. I've dreamed about your hands, your mouth, the way you look at me like you want to devour me whole. It's wrong and dangerous and completely insane, but I can't stop thinking about you." "Seraphina." Her name was a prayer and a warning. "If you keep talking, I'm going to lose what little control I have left." "Good." She closed the final distance between them. "I'm tired of control. I'm tired of being good and safe and proper. I want to know what it feels like to be claimed by Dante Cavaletti." His control snapped. One moment she was standing, the next she was lifted onto the counter, his mouth crashing down on hers in a kiss that seared her soul. This wasn't the controlled seduction of before—this was raw need, desperate hunger, two people surrendering to the inevitable. His hands were everywhere, tangling in her hair, gripping her waist, sliding up her thighs. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer, needing to feel every hard inch of him against her. "Not here," he growled against her mouth. "Not for our first time." "I don't care—" "I do." He pulled back, both of them panting. "I meant what I said. When I finally have you, it'll be in my bed, where I can worship you properly. Where I can take you apart piece by piece and put you back together again." "Then take me there." His eyes flared with triumph. "Pack a bag. You're staying the night." "Just one night?" "Every night, if I had my way." He helped her down from the counter, hands lingering on her waist. "But we'll start with one and see if you still want me in the morning." An hour later, Seraphina found herself back in Dante's brownstone, but this time he led her upstairs to his private domain. His bedroom was masculine luxury—dark colors, rich textures, a bed that looked big enough to get lost in. "Second thoughts?" he asked, watching her take in the space. "No." She turned to face him. "But I need you to understand something. I'm not doing this because you protected me or because I'm afraid of you. I'm doing this because I want to, because despite everything my rational mind tells me, I've never wanted anyone the way I want you." "And I need you to understand something." He moved toward her slowly, giving her time to change her mind with every step. "Once you're in my bed, you're mine. Not for a night, not for a week, but mine. I don't share, I don't do casual, and I don't let go. Ever." "That sounds like a threat." "It's a promise." He stopped in front of her, hands framing her face. "I'm selfish and possessive and violent. I'll want to mark every inch of you, claim you so thoroughly that you'll feel me for days. I'll be jealous of every man who looks at you, every moment you spend away from me. I'm not a good man, Seraphina. I'm not even trying to be. But I'll worship you like the goddess you are, protect you with my life, and burn the world down before I let anyone hurt you." Her heart raced at his words, at the dark promise in them. "Show me." His hands went to the buttons of her dress, movements slow and deliberate. "Once I start, I won't stop. Not until I've tasted every inch of you, not until you're screaming my name, not until you understand that your body was made for mine." "Please." The word escaped as a whisper. Her dress pooled at her feet, leaving her in simple white lingerie that made him groan. "Like an angel," he murmured. "My perfect, innocent angel about to fall." "I'm not that innocent." "Compared to me, you're pure as snow." His hands skimmed over her body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. "But that's about to change." Chapter 5 Dante worshipped her like a man at prayer, hands and mouth mapping every curve, every sensitive spot that made her gasp and arch beneath him. He took his time, ignoring her pleas for more, determined to drive her to the edge of madness before giving her what she needed. "So beautiful," he murmured against her skin. "So perfect. Do you know how many nights I've imagined this? Having you spread out on my bed, flushed and wanting, begging for my touch?" Seraphina could barely form words, lost in sensation as his mouth moved lower, teasing, tormenting. "Dante, please—" "Please what?" He looked up at her from between her thighs, the sight making her clench with need. "Tell me what you want, fiore. I'll give you anything, everything, but you have to ask." "I want you inside me," she gasped. "I want to feel you, all of you." His control finally shattered. He surged up her body, claiming her mouth in a kiss that was all dominant possession as he finally, finally joined with her. The sensation of him filling her, stretching her, completing her, made them both groan. "Mine," he growled against her throat. "Say it." "Yours," she gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move. "Only yours." What followed was a claiming in every sense of the word. Dante took her with a possessive intensity that should have frightened her, but only made her want more. He was relentless, driving her from one peak to another, whispering dark promises and praise in equal measure. "That's it, baby," he encouraged as she shattered around him for the third time. "Take what you need. Take everything." When he finally let himself follow her over the edge, it was with her name on his lips like a prayer. They collapsed together, sweat-slicked and breathing hard, bodies still intimately connected. "Stay," he murmured against her hair. "Not just tonight. Move in with me." "Dante—" "I know it's fast. I know it's crazy. But I need you here, where I can protect you, where I can have you in my bed every night." He lifted his head to look at her. "Where I can love you the way you deserve." Her heart stopped. "Love?" "Did you think this was just lust?" His hand cupped her face with surprising genterness. "I've been half in love with you since you stood in that alley, terrified but unable to look away. Fully in love with you since you looked at me, knowing what I am, and chose me anyway." "I love you too," she whispered, the truth of it settling into her bones. "God help me, but I do." "Then stay. Be mine, officially. Let me put my ring on your finger and my name next to yours. Let me wake up to you every morning and fall asleep inside you every night." "Your mother will have opinions about you marrying a florist." "My mother adores you. She's been planning our wedding since the first time she saw how I looked at you." He kissed her softly. "Say yes, Seraphina. Say you'll be my wife, my queen, my everything." "Yes." The word came out on a laugh that turned into a moan as he began moving inside her again. "Yes to all of it." "Good," he growled, picking up the pace. "Because I'm never letting you go." Epilogue - One Year Later Seraphina Cavaletti stood in the garden of their new home, watching her husband direct his men in hanging the fairy lights she'd requested. Six months of marriage hadn't dimmed his protective streak—if anything, it had intensified, especially now. "Higher on the left," she called out, hand resting on her slightly rounded belly. Dante's gaze immediately found her, scanning for any sign of distress. "You should be sitting." "I'm pregnant, not broken." "You're carrying my heir." He stalked toward her, abandoning his men to figure out the lights themselves. "That makes you precious beyond measure." "Just your heir?" She raised an eyebrow. "Not your daughter?" His hands settled on her belly, face softening in a way only she got to see. "My princess. Who will be just as fierce and beautiful as her mother." "And if it's a boy?" "Then he'll learn to worship women from the start." He pulled her close, nuzzling her neck. "Beginning with his mother, who brought light into his father's darkness." "You're not that dark anymore." "No?" He nipped at her pulse point. "I killed two men last week for looking at you too long at the charity gala." "You did not." "No," he admitted with a grin. "But I thought about it. Extensively." She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I love you, you possessive psychopath." "And I love you, my darling wife." He kissed her deeply, still able to make her knees weak with desire. "Now, about these lights..." "They're for your mother's birthday dinner tomorrow. I want everything perfect." "It will be." He pressed his forehead to hers. "Just like you. Just like us. Just like our life together." As the sun set over their garden, Seraphina marveled at how a chance encounter in a bloody alley had led to this—a love that was dark and consuming and absolutely perfect. She'd fallen for a monster and discovered he was actually her salvation. And she wouldn't change a single moment of it. THE END