Blood & Roses

Chapter 1 The black marble floors of Ravencroft Industries reflected Seraphina Blackwood's determined stride as she crossed the lobby, a box of exotic orchids balanced in her arms. Three months of careful planning had led to this moment—her first delivery to the executive floor, where *he* conducted his business. Dante Ravencroft. The name tasted like poison on her tongue. "Delivery for the CEO's office," she announced to the security guard, flashing the ID badge she'd earned through weeks of impeccable service to the building's lower floors. The elevator ride to the fortieth floor felt endless. Seraphina's fingers tightened on the flower box, her mother's words echoing in her mind: *The Ravencrofts took everything from us. Your father died of a broken heart after they destroyed his company.* The executive floor exuded power and wealth—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan, abstract art worth more than most people's homes. And at the end of the hall, massive double doors marked the lair of the beast himself. "Leave them with me," the assistant said, reaching for the box. "I'm sorry, but these are extremely delicate. I have specific instructions for their care that I need to convey to whoever will be maintaining them." Seraphina kept her voice professionally pleasant, though her heart hammered against her ribs. The assistant sighed. "Fine. But make it quick. Mr. Ravencroft doesn't like interruptions." The office door opened to reveal a space that screamed masculine dominance—dark wood, leather, and steel. And behind the massive desk, the man who had haunted her dreams for years. Dante Ravencroft was devastating in person. Six feet four inches of controlled power in a charcoal suit that emphasized his broad shoulders. Black hair swept back from a face that belonged on a Renaissance sculpture—all sharp angles and sensual lips. But it was his eyes that stopped her cold. Silver-gray, like winter storms, and utterly focused on her. "Sir, the florist needs to—" the assistant began. "Leave us." His voice was dark velvet over steel, never lifting his gaze from Seraphina. The door clicked shut, sealing them in together. "You're not the regular florist." It wasn't a question. Seraphina forced herself to move forward, setting the box on a side table with hands she willed not to tremble. "Flora had a family emergency. I'm Seraphina, from the shop. I'll be handling your account temporarily." "Seraphina." He tasted her name like wine, rising from behind his desk with predatory grace. "An unusual name." "My mother loved angels." The bitter irony of it almost made her laugh. Angels and demons, and she couldn't decide which one stood before her. He moved closer, and she caught his scent—expensive cologne with notes of bergamot and something darker, more dangerous. "And are you an angel, Seraphina?" "I'm just here to deliver flowers, Mr. Ravencroft." "Dante." He circled her slowly, like a wolf studying prey. "I insist all beautiful women use my first name." Her skin prickled with awareness. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to be invisible, just another service worker building trust, gathering information. Not standing here with every nerve ending suddenly alive as he invaded her space. "The orchids need indirect light and—" "I don't give a damn about the orchids." He stopped directly in front of her, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. "I'm much more interested in why you're lying to me." Her pulse skyrocketed. "I don't know what you mean." "Your hands." He caught her wrist, thumb pressing against her racing pulse. "Callused from thorns, stained under the nails with plant matter. You're a real florist. But that's not why you're here." Think. Think. "You're very perceptive." "I didn't build an empire by missing details." His grip shifted, thumb stroking along her inner wrist in a way that sent heat spiraling through her core. "So I'll ask again. Why are you here?" The truth burned on her tongue. *You destroyed my family. You killed my father.* Instead, she lifted her chin. "Maybe I wanted to see if the rumors were true." "Which rumors would those be?" His free hand came up to trace the line of her jaw, and she hated how her body responded, leaning into his touch like a flower seeking sun. "That Dante Ravencroft devours everything in his path." His smile was sharp as a blade. "Oh, angel. You have no idea." He released her abruptly, moving back to his desk. "You may go. But Seraphina?" He glanced back, those storm-gray eyes pinning her in place. "Don't lie to me again. I always collect on debts owed." She fled, her carefully constructed plan in ruins. She'd expected a monster. She hadn't expected to want him. Chapter 2 Three days passed before Seraphina returned to Ravencroft Industries. Three days of restless nights where silver eyes haunted her dreams and she woke aching in ways that filled her with self-loathing. He was the enemy. The man who had systematically dismantled her father's shipping company through hostile takeovers and cutthroat tactics, leaving them with nothing. Her father had died six months later, heart giving out from the stress and shame. "Back again?" Dante's assistant barely glanced up. "He's expecting you." The words sent ice through her veins. She hadn't scheduled this delivery. His office door swung open before she could knock. Dante stood there in shirtsleeves, tie loosened, looking like sin personified. "Right on time." He stepped aside to let her enter. "There must be some mistake. I don't have a delivery scheduled—" "Yes, you do." He closed the door, leaning against it. "Every Tuesday and Friday at 3 PM. I've requested you specifically." "You can't just—" "I can do whatever I want." He pushed off the door, prowling toward her. "The question is why you came when you knew it was a trap." Heat flooded her cheeks. "My employer insisted." "Liar." He backed her against his desk, caging her with his arms. "You came because you couldn't stay away. Just like you'll keep coming back, despite whatever revenge plot you're hatching." The blood drained from her face. "I don't—" "Seraphina Blackwood." Her name on his lips made her knees weak. "Daughter of Marcus Blackwood. Did you really think I wouldn't investigate a beautiful woman who shows up in my office with murder in her eyes?" Fight or flight instincts screamed, but she was trapped between solid wood and solid muscle. "Then why haven't you thrown me out?" "Because I find myself... intrigued." His hand came up to wrap around her throat, not squeezing, just resting there like a promise. "Tell me, angel. What was your plan? Seduce me? Find my weaknesses? Make me pay for your father's failures?" "He didn't fail." Anger gave her strength. "You destroyed him. Picked apart everything he built like a vulture." "Business is war." His thumb stroked along her pulse point. "Your father knew the rules when he played." "You didn't have to be so cruel." Something flickered in his eyes—regret? No, impossible. "Cruelty is efficient. It sends a message." "What message could possibly be worth a man's life?" His grip tightened fractionally. "That I am not to be crossed. Ever." Then his mouth was on hers, brutal and claiming. She should bite him. Knee him. Instead, she opened for him with a moan that would shame her later. He tasted like whiskey and danger, kissing her like he wanted to own her, consume her, brand her. Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer even as her mind screamed traitor. This was wrong, so wrong, but her body had caught fire and only he could tend the flames. He lifted her onto his desk, stepping between her thighs. "Tell me to stop." His mouth traced down her throat, teeth scraping sensitive skin. "Tell me you don't want this." "I hate you." But her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. "Hate and want aren't mutually exclusive." He yanked her blouse from her skirt, hands spanning her waist. "In fact, they make the most explosive combination." She yanked his head back by his hair, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Is this how you get your kicks? Seducing the daughters of men you've destroyed?" "You're the first to try for revenge." He rotated his hips, letting her feel exactly how affected he was. "I find it... stimulating." "You're sick." "And you're wet." His hand slid under her skirt, fingers tracing the edge of her panties. "Soaking through your pretty lingerie for the man you claim to hate." She gasped as he pushed the fabric aside, fingers sliding through her embarrassing wetness. "This doesn't mean anything." "No?" He circled her clit with his thumb, watching her face as she fought not to react. "Your body seems to disagree." "Bodies lie." "Words lie. Bodies never do." He slid two fingers inside her, and she couldn't stop her moan. "And yours is telling me exactly what it needs." He worked her expertly, fingers curling to hit that perfect spot while his thumb maintained maddening pressure on her clit. She was going to come on her enemy's desk, and the wrongness of it only made her hotter. "Look at me." His free hand gripped her chin. "I want to watch your face when you shatter." She wanted to deny him, but her orgasm was already cresting, unstoppable as a tidal wave. Their eyes locked as she came apart, her cry muffled against his shoulder as pleasure crashed through her. He withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing them to his mouth. "Exquisite." Reality crashed back. She'd just let Dante Ravencroft finger her to orgasm on his desk. The man responsible for her father's death. "I have to go." She scrambled off the desk, straightening her clothes with shaking hands. He caught her wrist. "This isn't over." "It never started." She yanked free and fled, the taste of him still on her lips, the feel of him branded on her skin. Chapter 3 Seraphina lasted exactly one day before returning. She told herself it was for reconnaissance. That getting close to him was part of the plan. That the dreams that left her sweating and aching meant nothing. Lies, all lies. "Cancel my afternoon meetings." Dante didn't look up from his laptop as she entered. "And hold my calls." His assistant's knowing look made Seraphina's cheeks burn, but she held her head high as the door closed behind her. "I brought the dendrobiums you requested." She set the arrangement on his conference table, proud of how steady her hands were. "Strip." The command hung in the air between them. She turned slowly, finding him watching her with those predator eyes. "Excuse me?" "You heard me." He closed his laptop, giving her his full attention. "Take off your clothes." "I'm here to deliver flowers." "No, you're here because you can't stop thinking about yesterday. About my fingers inside you, making you come harder than any of the pretty boys you've dated ever could." Heat flooded her face. "You arrogant—" "Am I wrong?" He rose, prowling toward her. "Did you touch yourself last night, angel? Did you come with my name on your lips, hating yourself for wanting the enemy?" "You're insane if you think I'm going to strip for you in your office." "Then leave." He stopped just out of reach. "Walk out that door and never come back. I won't stop you." She should go. Every rational thought screamed for her to run. Instead, her hands moved to the buttons of her blouse. "Good girl." His approval sent warmth spiraling through her. "I'm not your good girl. I'm not your anything." But she shrugged off her blouse, letting it fall. "We'll see." He circled her as she undressed, drinking in each revealed inch of skin. "The lavender lace. Interesting choice for someone who claims to hate me." She'd worn her best lingerie. For confidence, she'd told herself. Another lie. When she stood in nothing but heels and scraps of lace, he finally touched her. One finger trailing from her throat to her navel, leaving fire in its wake. "Perfection." He moved behind her, lips brushing her ear. "Now, hands on the desk." "Dante—" "Hands. On. The. Desk." She obeyed, bending forward, exposed and vulnerable. His palm smoothed over her ass, fingers tracing the edge of her thong. "Tell me, Seraphina. Have you thought about how it felt when your father lost everything?" The words were ice water on her arousal. "What?" "I'm curious." His hand left her, and she heard him unbuckling his belt. "Was he angry? Desperate? Did he beg?" "Stop." She started to straighten, but his hand pressed between her shoulder blades, holding her down. "He did beg, actually. In this very office." The whisper of his zipper made her shiver. "Offered me anything to stop the takeover. His house, his wife's jewelry. Everything but what I really wanted." "What did you want?" She hated how breathless she sounded. "Control." He pushed her panties aside, running his fingers through her wetness. "Complete and absolute control. The same thing I want from you." "You'll never have it." "Won't I?" He notched himself at her entrance, thick and hot. "You're bent over my desk, dripping for me, about to let me fuck you in the same place your father begged for mercy. Tell me I don't already own you." She should fight. Should rage. Instead, she pushed back against him, taking him deep in one stroke. His groan was guttural. "Fuck." "Is this what you wanted?" She rolled her hips, internal muscles clenching around him. "To humiliate Marcus Blackwood's daughter the same way you humiliated him?" "No." He gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, setting a punishing pace. "I want to ruin you. Want you to crave the man you should hate. Want you addicted to the feeling of my cock inside you." Each thrust drove her higher, the wrongness of it, the degradation, only adding fuel to the fire. She was sick, broken, to find pleasure in this. "That's it." His hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back. "Take it like the perfect little angel you pretend to be." "I'm not—" A particularly deep thrust cut off her words. "Not what? Not a good girl who gets wet for dangerous men? Not desperate for the enemy to fuck you until you can't remember why you hate him?" She came without warning, the orgasm ripping through her with violent intensity. He followed her over, her name a curse on his lips as he filled her. They stayed frozen for a moment, both panting. Then reality intruded, and she straightened on shaking legs. "This doesn't change anything." She couldn't look at him as she dressed. "It changes everything." He was already composed, looking like he hadn't just fucked her raw over his desk. "You'll be back tomorrow." "No." "Yes." He caught her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Because now you know the truth. You don't want revenge, angel. You want redemption. And I'm the only one who can give it to you." She fled again, but they both knew he was right. She was caught in his web now, and every struggle only tangled her further. Chapter 4 The game escalated over the following weeks. Seraphina told herself each encounter was gathering intelligence, finding weaknesses. But Dante seemed to have no weaknesses, only an endless appetite for corrupting her. He took her in his office, against windows overlooking the city, on the conference table where he conducted million-dollar deals. Each time pushed her boundaries further, darker, and each time she came back for more. "You're quiet tonight." He poured two glasses of whiskey in his penthouse apartment, the first time he'd brought her somewhere private. She stood by the window, looking out at the glittering lights. "Thinking." "Dangerous habit." He pressed a glass into her hand, standing close enough that his heat warmed her back. "What troubles you?" "Do you ever regret it? The lives you've destroyed to build your empire?" His reflection in the window showed no emotion. "Regret is for people who have the luxury of choice." "Everyone has choices." "Do they?" He set down his glass, hands coming to rest on her shoulders. "Did you choose to come here tonight? Or are you compelled by something stronger than choice?" "That's different." "Is it?" His lips brushed her neck. "We're all slaves to our nature, Seraphina. I destroy because it's what I am. You submit to me because it's what you need." "I don't submit to you." His laugh was dark. "No? Then why are you wet already, just from my hands on you? Why do you come when I call, let me do things to you that should appall that righteous anger you carry?" "Because I'm broken." The admission slipped out before she could stop it. He turned her to face him, something almost gentle in his eyes. "No, angel. You're perfect. A beautiful contradiction—all that fury and desire tangled together until you don't know whether you want to kill me or fuck me." "Both. Always both." "I know." He cupped her face, thumb stroking her cheek. "It's what makes this so exquisite. You'll never forgive me, and you'll never stop wanting me. We'll destroy each other eventually." "Then why continue?" "Because the alternative is worse." He kissed her, slow and deep. "Living without this fire, pretending we're something other than what we are. At least this way, we burn together." She set down her glass, decision made. "Then let's burn." That night was different. Slower, more intense. He mapped every inch of her body with lips and tongue and teeth, bringing her to the edge over and over before pulling back. By the time he finally entered her, she was sobbing with need. "Please." She'd given up pride hours ago. "Dante, please." "Tell me what you need." He moved with devastating control, each thrust precise. "You. I need you." The words ripped from her throat. "I hate you, and I need you, and I don't know how to reconcile those things." "You don't reconcile them." He increased his pace, driving deeper. "You accept them. Accept that you were made for this, for me. My perfect enemy, my dark angel." She shattered, the orgasm so intense her vision went white. He followed her over, her name a prayer on his lips. Afterwards, they lay tangled together, sweat cooling on their skin. She traced patterns on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her palm. "It won't last," she said quietly. "Whatever this is." "Nothing lasts." He pulled her closer. "But some things are worth the inevitable ending." Chapter 5 The fundraiser was exactly the kind of event Seraphina used to attend with her parents—before Dante destroyed their world. Now she was here as his date, wearing a gown he'd bought, diamonds he'd chosen glittering at her throat. "Smile," he murmured, hand possessive on her lower back. "You look like you're being tortured." "Aren't I?" She accepted champagne from a passing waiter. "Paraded around as your latest conquest at a party full of people who knew my father?" "You're here because I want you here." His fingers traced the edge of her backless dress. "And because you couldn't stand the thought of me bringing someone else." She hated that he was right. The thought of another woman on his arm, in his bed, made her see red. "Dante." A older man approached, eyeing Seraphina with surprise. "And Miss Blackwood. I haven't seen you since... well." Since her father's funeral. Mr. Winters had been a family friend, one of many who'd distanced themselves after the bankruptcy. "Hello, Mr. Winters." She kept her voice steady. "I must say, this is... unexpected." His gaze darted between them. "Life is full of surprises." Dante's hand tightened on her waist. "If you'll excuse us." He guided her to the dance floor, pulling her into his arms as the orchestra began a waltz. "You're tense." He spun her expertly, making her dress flare. "Did you plan that? Running into someone who knew my father while I'm here as your—what? Trophy? Whore?" His eyes flashed dangerously. "You're neither of those things." "Then what am I?" "Mine." The possession in that single word made her shiver. "And if anyone in this room thinks less of you for being with me, I'll destroy them." "Like you destroyed my father?" He was quiet for a moment, leading her through the dance with practiced ease. "Your father was a good man who made bad decisions. He leveraged everything on a deal that fell through, left himself vulnerable. If it hadn't been me, it would have been someone else." "But it was you." "Yes." No apology, no justification. Just acknowledgment. "I found his journals," she admitted. "After he died. He wrote about you. Said you reminded him of himself when he was young—hungry, ruthless, brilliant." Dante's jaw tightened. "Don't." "He said he would have done the same in your position. That's what killed him, I think. Not the loss, but understanding that he'd become weak, and weakness is death in your world." "Our world," he corrected. "You're in it now too." "Am I?" She met his gaze. "Or am I just visiting? A tourist in the land of sharks and blood?" He dipped her low, mouth brushing her ear. "You're the biggest shark of all, angel. You just haven't admitted it yet." The dance ended, but he didn't release her. Around them, couples moved on and off the floor, but they stood frozen, something shifting between them. "I need air." She pulled away, heading for the balcony. The cool night breeze was a relief after the stifling ballroom. She gripped the railing, trying to sort through the chaos in her head and heart. "Planning to jump?" Dante appeared beside her, jacket draped over his arm. "Would you stop me?" "Yes." He settled the jacket around her shoulders. "I'm selfish that way." "Why?" She turned to face him. "Why me? You could have any woman in that room. Why choose the one person who should hate you most?" "Because you do hate me." He caged her against the railing. "You hate me, and you want me, and you see me for exactly what I am. Do you know how rare that is? Everyone else sees the money, the power, the surface. You see the monster underneath and you still let me touch you." "What if I'm tired of it? The games, the push and pull, the way we tear each other apart?" "Then end it." His mouth hovered inches from hers. "Walk away. Find some nice, safe man who'll give you babies and a house in the suburbs. Live the life your father would have wanted for you." The thought made her feel empty. "And you? What would you do?" "What I always do. Work. Acquire. Destroy. Exist without living." "That's what we're doing now. Existing in this toxic dance." "No." He kissed her, soft and achingly tender. "This is living. Messy and painful and real. The only real thing either of us has." She kissed him back, tasting truth on his tongue. They were poison to each other, but sometimes poison was the only cure for a deeper sickness. "Take me home," she whispered. "Yours or mine?" "Yours. It's time I stopped running from what we are." Chapter 6 Something fundamental shifted that night. The war between them didn't end—it evolved. They still fought, still pushed each other's boundaries, but underneath ran a current of something deeper. Seraphina kept her apartment but spent most nights in his penthouse. She learned his routines, his tells. How he loosened his tie when stressed, how his eyes went cold before a particularly ruthless business move. "You're staring," he said one morning, not looking up from his tablet. "Studying." She curled deeper into his side, stealing his coffee. "I'm trying to understand how your mind works." "And what have you concluded?" "That you're not as cold as you pretend." She traced the scar on his ribs, a souvenir from a childhood in foster care he never discussed. "You use ruthlessness like armor, but underneath..." He caught her hand. "Careful, angel. You might not like what you find underneath." "I already know what's underneath." She straddled his lap, taking his face in her hands. "A man who had to become a monster to survive. Who learned that power was the only protection against pain." "Psychoanalyzing me now?" But his hands settled on her hips, thumb stroking bare skin where his shirt had ridden up. "Understanding you. There's a difference." "And do you? Understand me?" "Better than you think." She kissed him slow and deep. "You're not the only one with darkness inside, Dante. The only difference is you fed yours while I tried to starve mine." He flipped them, pressing her into the mattress. "And now?" "Now I'm learning that darkness can be beautiful when shared with the right person." He made love to her then, slow and intense, every touch a promise, every kiss a confession. They came together with mingled cries, boundaries dissolving until she couldn't tell where she ended and he began. "I have something for you," he said later, pulling a key from his nightstand. "If this is to your apartment, I basically live here already." "No." He pressed it into her palm. "It's to a safety deposit box. Everything's inside—evidence of your father's last deal, proof that he was set up by his partner. The real reason he was vulnerable to takeover." She sat up, sheet clutched to her chest. "What?" "I've had it for years. Part of my research before the acquisition." He wouldn't meet her eyes. "Your father wasn't weak, Seraphina. He was betrayed. Knowing wouldn't have changed the outcome, but..." "But it changes everything else." Tears burned her eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?" "Because you needed someone to hate. And I..." He cupped her face, thumb catching a tear. "I needed you to hate me. It was easier than admitting I hated myself for what I'd done." "You bastard." She hit his chest, but there was no force behind it. "You absolute bastard." "Yes." He pulled her against him. "But I'm your bastard now." She cried then, for her father, for the years of misdirected anger, for the twisted path that had led them here. He held her through it, this man who'd learned tenderness from her fury. When the tears finally stopped, she pulled back to look at him. Really look at him, seeing past the armor to the man beneath. "I love you." The words surprised them both. "God help me, I love you." "Seraphina—" "You don't have to say it back. I know you don't do emotions, but—" He silenced her with a kiss that said everything words couldn't. When they broke apart, his eyes were suspiciously bright. "I've been yours since you walked into my office with murder in your eyes," he admitted. "Every acquisition since then has been trying to fill the void I knew you'd leave when you finally walked away." "I'm not walking away." "You should. I'll destroy you eventually. It's what I do." "Or I'll save you." She kissed him again. "It's what I do." "Angel—" "No more talking." She pushed him back, taking control. "Show me instead." He did, worshipping her body with a reverence that bordered on religious. They made love until the sun was high, each touch rewriting their story from revenge to redemption. Chapter 7 The merger documents sat on Dante's desk like a bomb waiting to explode. Seraphina recognized the company name—her father's former partner, the one who'd betrayed him. "You're taking them over." It wasn't a question. "I am." He signed another page with sharp precision. "Does that bother you?" "Should it?" He looked up, studying her. "Most people would want revenge served personally." "I'm not most people." She moved around the desk, perching on the arm of his chair. "Besides, watching you destroy him will be satisfaction enough." "Bloodthirsty little angel." He pulled her into his lap. "What happened to the woman who wanted to destroy me for the same thing?" "She fell in love with her enemy." She loosened his tie. "Now she wants to destroy your enemies instead. Starting with anyone who hurts what's mine." "Yours?" He nipped at her throat. "Possessive." "Learned from the best." She gasped as his teeth found that sensitive spot. "Dante, you have a meeting in twenty minutes." "Cancel it." "You can't keep canceling meetings to fuck me in your office." "Watch me." He was already rucking up her skirt, fingers finding her embarrassingly wet. "Besides, this is a celebration." "Of what?" She bit back a moan as he stroked her. "Justice. Revenge. Love." He lifted her onto the desk, scattering million-dollar contracts. "Take your pick." "All of the above." She pulled him between her thighs, attacking his belt. "Now stop talking and fuck me like you mean it." "I always mean it." He drove into her in one thrust, making her cry out. "Every. Single. Time." He set a punishing pace, each thrust driving her higher. She wrapped her legs around him, meeting him stroke for stroke, their bodies speaking truths their words still struggled with. "Mine," he growled, hand fisting in her hair. "Yours," she agreed, then bit his shoulder hard enough to mark. "And you're mine." "Always." The word came out strangled as she clenched around him. "Fuck, Sera." They came together, muffling their cries against each other's skin. In the aftermath, they held each other, breathing ragged. "Your meeting," she reminded him, making no move to let go. "They can wait." He kissed her forehead, tender in the way he only was after particularly intense sex. "Everything can wait." A knock interrupted them. "Mr. Ravencroft? Mr. Winters is here. He says it's urgent." Seraphina tensed. She hadn't seen her father's old friend since the fundraiser. "Give us five minutes," Dante called, helping her straighten her clothes. "I should go," she said, but he caught her hand. "Stay. United front, remember?" Winters entered looking haggard, older than she remembered. His eyes widened seeing her there, thoroughly debauched despite their hasty adjustments. "Seraphina. I... this is unexpected." "A lot of things are unexpected lately." She kept her chin high, hand still in Dante's. "I need your help, Ravencroft." The words seemed to pain him. "You're the only one with enough power to stop what's coming." "And why would I help you?" Dante's voice was pure ice. "You stood by while I destroyed Marcus Blackwood. Some friend you were." "That's why I'm here." Winters shoulders slumped. "I... I was part of it. The setup. Harrison promised me a cut if I convinced Marcus to invest everything in that deal." The temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees. Seraphina's nails dug into Dante's palm, the only thing keeping her from launching herself at the older man. "Continue," Dante said with deadly calm. "Harrison's planning something bigger now. He's got dirt on half the financial district, planning to use it for a massive insider trading scheme. People will be destroyed. Good people." "Like my father?" Seraphina's voice could have cut glass. "I'm sorry." Tears ran down his weathered face. "I was desperate, in debt. But I've regretted it every day since Marcus..." "Since you helped kill him." She stood, Dante's hand the only anchor keeping her from violence. "You were at his funeral. You hugged me and told me he was a good man." "He was. The best. Which is why I'm here now." He looked between them. "I'll give you everything—records, recordings, proof of Harrison's schemes. All I ask is protection when it goes down." "You ask for mercy?" Dante's laugh was dark. "From the two people with the most reason to destroy you?" "I ask for justice. Real justice, not revenge." His gaze found Seraphina. "Your father would want—" "Don't." Her voice cracked. "Don't you dare invoke his name." "Give us the information," Dante said quietly. "We'll consider your request." Winters left a flash drive and fled. Seraphina stared at it like it might bite. "We could destroy him," Dante offered. "Say the word and I'll ruin him so thoroughly his grandchildren will feel it." "No." She surprised herself with the answer. "He's right. Daddy would want justice, not revenge. Use the information to stop Harrison, but Winters... let him live with his guilt. That's punishment enough." Dante studied her with something like awe. "When did you become the wise one?" "When I fell in love with the enemy." She kissed him softly. "You taught me that revenge is easy. Forgiveness is power." "I taught you that?" "You taught me many things." Her hand slid down his chest. "Including some very inappropriate office behavior." "Insatiable," he murmured, already hardening against her. "You love it." "I love you." The words came easier now, though they still surprised him. "Every beautiful, terrible, perfect inch of you." "Show me," she challenged. He did, right there on the desk covered in evidence of betrayal and redemption. It was messy and desperate and perfect, like them. Chapter 8 - Epilogue One Year Later "You can't be serious." Seraphina stared at the small velvet box on Dante's desk. "When am I not serious?" He hadn't moved from his chair, watching her with those storm-gray eyes that still made her heart race. "We've destroyed each other in a thousand ways." She picked up the box with trembling fingers. "Why would you want to make it legal?" "Because I'm a masochist." He stood, coming around the desk. "And because you've already ruined me for anyone else. Might as well make it official." The ring was perfect—a black diamond surrounded by white ones. Dark and light intertwined, like them. "It's beautiful," she breathed. "It reminded me of my angel." He took the ring, sliding it onto her finger. "Beautiful and dangerous and mine." "You know I'll make your life hell." "You already do." He kissed her, soft and sweet. "Say yes, Sera. Say you'll keep destroying and saving me in equal measure." "Yes." The word came out on a sob. "Yes, you impossible man." He lifted her onto the desk—their desk, really, for all the time she spent bent over it—and kissed her until she couldn't remember why she'd ever wanted to destroy him. "I have a condition," she said when they broke for air. "Name it." "We keep the business and personal separate. I won't be a trophy wife." "Agreed. I prefer you feral anyway." His hands were already busy with her clothes. "Any other demands?" "Just one." She pulled him closer. "Love me." "Always," he promised, and sealed it with a kiss that tasted like forever. They married six months later in his office, where it all began. Winters gave her away, a strange but fitting choice. He'd spent the year helping them dismantle Harrison's empire and building something better in its place. "You sure about this?" he asked as they waited outside the doors. "No." She smiled, adjusting her black dress—white had never been her color. "But the best things in life are uncertain." The doors opened, revealing Dante waiting by the windows, backdropped by the city he commanded. But his eyes were only for her, soft in a way that still surprised her. She walked to him alone, needing no one to give her away. She was giving herself, wholly and completely, to the man who'd destroyed her world and helped her build a better one. "Ready to make the worst decision of your life?" she whispered as she took his hands. "Already did that when I let you into my office." He brought her hand to his lips. "This is just making it permanent." The ceremony was simple, witnesses minimal. They'd never been conventional, saw no reason to start now. "Do you, Seraphina, take this man to be your husband? To love and to hate, to destroy and rebuild, as long as you both shall live?" "I do." The words came out sure and strong. "Do you, Dante, take this woman to be your wife? To possess and be possessed by, to challenge and cherish, forsaking all others?" "I do." His voice roughed with emotion. "Then by the power vested in me and the state of New York, I pronounce you married. You may kiss your bride." Dante pulled her against him, kissing her with a possession that made the witnesses blush. She gave as good as she got, claiming him equally. "Mine," he murmured against her lips. "Mine," she agreed. They signed the papers on his desk, consecrating their union in the place where they'd first collided. It was fitting, Seraphina thought. They'd built their love on the ashes of revenge, proved that sometimes the best relationships were forged in conflict. "No regrets?" Dante asked as the witnesses filed out, leaving them alone. "Never." She hopped onto the desk, pulling him between her thighs. "Now, husband, I believe we have some celebrating to do." "Insatiable wife." But he was already hiking up her dress, hands possessive on her thighs. "You knew what you were signing up for." "Thank fuck for that." He claimed her mouth, her body, her soul. They made love on the desk where her father had begged, where she'd sought revenge, where they'd found each other. It was sacred ground now, baptized in hate and redeemed by love. Later, wrapped in each other and scattered contracts, Dante traced lazy patterns on her bare shoulder. "What are you thinking?" she asked. "That your father would be proud. You took his legacy of destruction and transformed it into something powerful." "We did." She corrected, kissing his chest. "I couldn't have done it alone." "You could have. You're the strongest person I know." "Flatterer." But she smiled, feeling her father's blessing in the warmth between them. He'd have understood, she thought. Sometimes you had to burn everything down to build something better. "I love you," Dante said, still marvel in his voice at the words. "I love you too." She pulled him down for another kiss. "Now stop being sentimental and fuck your wife properly." He laughed, dark and rich. "As my lady commands." They spent their wedding night in his office, in their home, in the bed they'd learned to share. Each coupling reaffirmed what they'd always known—they were inevitable. Two forces of nature that could only be contained by each other. "No more secrets," Seraphina demanded as dawn broke. "No more games between us." "Agreed. We'll save those for everyone else." He pulled her closer. "It's us against the world now, angel." "The world doesn't stand a chance." And it didn't. Together, they were unstoppable—a perfect balance of ruthlessness and redemption. They built an empire on the foundation of their unlikely love, proved that sometimes the best revenge was a life well-lived. They still fought, still pushed boundaries, still made love like they were trying to consume each other. But underneath it all was bone-deep certainty. They were home to each other, two damaged souls who'd found wholeness in their mutual destruction. Years later, people would whisper about their legend. The florist who'd come for revenge and stayed for love. The CEO who'd found his heart in his enemy's hands. A dark fairy tale that proved love could bloom in the most unlikely soil. But in that moment, they were just Dante and Seraphina. Husband and wife. Enemies turned lovers turned partners in every sense. And they lived, if not happily ever after, then honestly ever after. Which was so much better. THE END