One
Seraphina
The red dress clings to every inch of me like it was stitched onto my skin. Silk, blood-colored, low in the back, the slit rising scandalously high on my thigh. My hair falls in dark waves, my lips are painted the same sinful shade as my dress, and I’ve never felt so exposed in my life.
Alessio says he’s taking me to The Palermo tonight—his family’s club. It’s supposed to be an honor—a rite of passage. I’m the girlfriend of the heir. The woman he says he wants forever with.
But the stories I’ve heard? They don’t sound like fairy tales.
They sound like confessions whispered in the dark.
Things people aren’t supposed to survive.
“Girl,” Camilla smirks as she walks into my room, heels in one hand, hair wild and sexy. “You look like something men sin for.”
I force a smile. “You think it’s too much?”
“No.” Her grin widens. “I think it’s perfect. He won’t be able to keep his hands off you. About time they brought us to the infamous Palermo. I heard there’s a whole underground level. Chains. Voyeur rooms. Watching rooms. Dark shit.”
Cam is dating Cosimo, Alessio’s cousin. She thrives on chaos.
I press my hands to my belly, trying to calm the storm inside. “His father might be there tonight.”
Her eyes flash. “The Don?”
I nod.
“People talk,” she shrugs. “You’ll be fine. You’re sweet and hot and innocent. Exactly the kind of thing men like him like.”
Her tone shifts. Like there’s something darker beneath that statement.
The club is a cathedral of sin.
From the moment we step through the blacked-out doors, the air is thick with sex, smoke, and power. Alessio holds my hand tight, like he’s afraid I’ll run. Or worse—like he knows something I don’t.
Men in suits nod at us as we pass. Naked women dance in suspended cages, twisting under red lights like they were born to tempt. Moans bleed into the bass-heavy music. My throat goes dry.
“This is normal?” I whisper.
Alessio leans in. “Yeah, just fun, a place to unwind.”
He guides me up marble steps toward the VIP lounge: dark leather booths, thick velvet curtains, low lighting. There are only a few men here, but they all feel heavy like gods in tailored suits.
And at the center of them sits a man who makes the others feel small.
Emilio Palermo.
He doesn’t rise immediately. He watches. Eyes like obsidian, unmoving, studying me like a threat—or prey.
Finally, he stands.
“Seraphina,” Alessio says, his voice thinner than usual. “This is my father.”
Emilio steps forward slowly, like a predator in no rush. Every eye in the room flicks to us.
“My son’s finally brought you,” he says. His voice is deep. Rough. Velvet wrapped around a blade. “He said you were beautiful. He undersold it.”
He takes my hand.
Not gently. Not respectfully.
His thumb drags across my wrist. Then my pulse.
“You’re magnificent,” he says, low enough that only I hear. “Too many women for a boy.”
My body tenses, heart pounding. I yank my hand back, trying to laugh it off.
“N-nice to meet you, sir.”
He tilts his head, eyes devouring me slowly. “Don’t call me sir. That’s for the bedroom.”
My breath hitches.
I blink. Alessio chuckles nervously and steers me toward the booth.
Cam’s already straddling Cosimo, tongue in his mouth. She waves casually as if we’re not surrounded by men who could end lives with a nod.
Alessio sits beside me, brushing hair from my shoulder. “What can I get you to drink, baby?”
“Whisky,” I say, sharper than intended. “No ice.”
He nods and steps away.
And then Emilio is beside me again. Closer this time. His thigh brushes mine, and I feel it like electricity under my skin.
“You shouldn’t be left alone in a place like this,” he murmurs. “Not when you look like that.”
I turn toward him slowly. “You mean like your club?”
He smiles. It’s not kind.
“No, carissima. I mean, when there are men who know how to use a woman. Men who’d teach you what it means to be worshipped.”
My lips part, but I don’t speak.
“You’ve never been touched right,” he adds, voice gravelly now. “Not yet. He kisses you like a boy who’s afraid to break his toy.”
“Alessio is good to me,” I say, defensively. But weak. It doesn’t even sound like I believe it.
Emilio leans closer, his breath against my cheek. “Good. Not great. Not brutal. Not the kind of man who tears your soul open and makes you thank him.”
I can’t breathe.
I can’t move.
“Your body’s too honest, Seraphina,” he says with a dark smile. “Look at you. Legs crossed. Spine tight. Nipples hard under that silk.”
My eyes widen.
He chuckles, low and sinful. “You’re soaking through your panties just from the idea of it, aren’t you?”
A sound escapes me—more breath than voice. I try to look away. He catches my chin and turns me back to him.
“You feel that?” he whispers. “That ache between your thighs? That’s not for my son.”
I shake my head once. “You’re sick.”
“No. I’m awake. You’re the one who’s been sleepwalking.”
Alessio returns with two glasses, and Emilio’s hand drops like it was never there. I sit frozen while Alessio slides a drink in front of me and pours more into his own.
“Camilla wants to dance,” Cosimo says, standing. “Come on, cousin.”
Alessio hesitates but stands. “You want to come?”
I nod quickly. Anything to move. To escape the heat crawling across my skin.
Camilla pulls me to the dance floor. The lights swirl above us like halos in hell.
Alessio wraps behind me. His hands slide around my waist, his hips pressing into me from behind.
But my eyes… they find him.
Emilio.
Still in the booth. Watching.
His drink was untouched. His gaze was dark and hungry.
I move more. Harder. Pressing back into Al like I’m possessed. I drag his hands up my body, to see what Emilio will do.
He shifts forward in his seat—one elbow on his knee. Mouth parted slightly. His tongue drags slowly along the edge of his teeth like he’s imagining them sinking into my throat.
My pussy clenches.
I shouldn’t want this.
But I do.
Alessio kisses my neck. My hands rise, fingers tangling in his hair—but my eyes never leave Emilio.
He owns me from across the room.
Camilla grins at me, mouthing, " What the fuck is happening?
I can’t answer.
Because Emilio lifts his drink finally, sips once, then sets it down. His lips move around the glass, and I swear I read the words:
Mine.
