Page 1 of Intrigue (Dark Syndicate #4)

Selene

Five years ago.

I always thought my first heartbreak would come gently. Something inevitable, something I could brace for.

How many times did he swear I was his forever? How many times did I believe him?

I used to believe love was the safest place in the world. That if you gave your heart fully, that someone would hold it carefully. But what no one tells you is that love doesn’t protect you. It’s the equivalent of handing that someone a knife and daring them to use it.

There’s this tightness in my chest, a gnawing emptiness that feels like it’s swallowing me whole. I keep telling myself this isn’t real, that I’m not trapped in this nightmare, that what I am currently witnessing is just an illusion.

This can’t be real, this agony, this devastation.

Florence at this time of the night beyond the courtyard walls is all laughter spilling from piazzas and music floating through the narrow streets. It’s a night for lovers and whispered promises. For the kind of reckless dreams he’d once pressed against my skin.

But I am not a lover tonight. I am a fool with my heart in my hands, bleeding out at the feet of the man who swore to protect it.

I see her draped over him like she belongs there, fingers tracing his chest, lips skimming his jaw.

And he lets her. A stranger with dark hair like mine, wrapped in a bright red dress.

His hand rests at her waist, his face buried in her stupid tresses, tilting her head just enough to whisper something against her mouth.

She laughs and I swear I feel it more than hear it.

I stand frozen, my boots scuffing against the uneven stone, the stiff heat pressing my shirt to my back. Ivy twists up the walls and catches in the moonlight that spills over Alessandro Vescovi and this girl. This drunken, swaying mess with her skirt bunched up and his fingers between her thighs.

Heat slices through my chest, and I dig my nails into my palms hard enough to form crescents.

“Sandro,” I choke out, stepping forward despite my trembling legs, the pebbles crunching ominously beneath me.

“What are you doing?” My voice breaks in a feeble attempt to cling to the remnants of what we once had.

A part of me hopes he’ll snap out of this nightmare, see me, and realize what he’s about to lose.

He pulls his hand free, slowly, and wipes it on his jeans, then he turns his head, looks at me, and my stomach twists. Ice-blue eyes, impassive. A stranger wearing his face.

The girl at his side stumbles back, her skirt still bunched, lipstick a crooked smear. She giggles loudly and sings songs. “Oh, crap, you’re in trouble.”

“Be quiet,” Sandro mutters, pushing her aside gently. She sways, grabs the fountain’s edge, and hiccups, still grinning. He looks at me, eyes leveled but full of something, regret, maybe, or just irritation. “Selene, why are you outside this late? You should go back inside.”

I step closer, my boots scraping louder. “Go inside? I just caught you with your hands all over her, and I should just leave?”

She laughs again, leaning toward him. “Aw, the little princess is pissed. Did not know she was a clingy one, Sandro.”

“I said quiet,” he repeats, voice calm and nudging her back. He faces me fully now. “You should have known this wasn’t going to lead anywhere. Your father would never have allowed it. This is for the best.”

My chest clenches. “So, I don’t get a say?”

His silence before he replies is worse than any answer.

“You don’t have a choice. This is how it was always meant to be. What happened between us never should have. My loyalty is to Don and no one else.”

The words land like a slap. “So that’s it? You were just playing around? Everything we did, everything you said to me, none of it was real?”

He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling like this conversation is more exhausting than the betrayal sitting between us.

“I got carried away.”

A hollow laugh breaks from my throat. “Carried away? You’re telling me the nights we spent together, the things you swore to me, were just, what? A lapse in judgment?”

He looks past me, and I continue.

“If this is about what my father’s friends said the other day about me getting married, you know it’s a joke, right?” My voice shakes, but I push forward. “They were drunk, running their mouths. That’s not real, Sandro. You and me, we—”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding my eyes like a coward. “You were a childish distraction, Selene.” His words come slowly, almost indifferent, but they land like a knife between my ribs. “Something stolen in the dark, never meant to survive the morning. So grow up.”

My breath snags. “Tell me it is not true,” I say, closing the gap until I am right in front of him, close enough to smell her cheap perfume mixing with his sweat. “Tell me you did not just—”

“Stop,” he cuts in, softer than before, but still harsh and tired. “It is over. You need to see that.”

The breath I pull in tastes like iron.

He’s lying. He has to be. This isn’t him. This isn’t the boy who kissed me breathless in the alley behind my father’s estate, who tangled his fingers in my hair and promised me forever. Except maybe forever never belonged to people like us.

I should have seen it from the beginning.

But how could I when it felt so good to doubt it.

Like my first time, three months ago, with his hands peeling my dress up in this same alley, his mouth hot and desperate on mine, his body pressing me into the brick until I shattered around him, whispering his name like a prayer.

My legs shake now, remembering, and I hate how much I still want him.

Sandro knows that better than anyone.

I push at him, my palms hitting his chest, but he barely moves and just catches my wrists, holding them loosely.

“You promised me,” I say, voice shaking as I twist free, heat sparking where his skin brushes mine.

“Just last night, right here, you promised we’d leave this behind. Was that just another lie too?”

He lets go and steps back, rubbing his neck. “I say a lot of things I don’t mean. You should not have believed me.”

The girl pipes up. “You didn’t tell me she’d be so delicate, Sandro. Was to be expected, she's just a kid.”

“Back off,” I snap at her, then turn to him. “I almost didn’t believe it. But I heard whispers outside my bedroom, Sandro. One of father’s men said they saw you with someone. I came to confirm, and this is what I get?”

“Fuck, Selene. You want the truth? Fine. I am not your savior. Never was. I said it all to get into your pants and that’s it. You were a good lay, took a while to convince you to give it up but it was worth every second.”

“You are a liar,” I say, louder, stepping back. “Last week, you had me against that gate and said I was your whole world. It didn’t feel like I was just a lay. What happened?”

He flinches, just a twitch, but it is there. “That was then,” he says, quieter. “This is now. I’ve come to my senses.”

My face burns as another memory hits. I still feel him, those nights sneaking out, meeting here, his hands shoving my jeans down, lips bruising my neck, his cock stretching me open as I clung to him, my first, my only.

“We belong together, I don’t care how wrong this is,” he had growled with every hard thrust, kissing me passionately, our bodies slick and pressed tightly.

“You and me forever baby, screw what your father thinks.” I had arched into him, desperate and dumb, swallowing every word.

Now he stands there with her juices on his fingers and I just feel sick.

“You are full of shit,” I say, voice rising. “A coward who cannot even own it.”

“Call it what you want, I’ve said my piece. Now go.”

The girl has a snide grin on her face. “Yeah, take a hike, sweetie. He is busy now.”

“Shut your fucking mouth.” I move to her but Sandro steps between us, hand up.

“Selene,” he says, almost pleading. “Walk away. Please.”

I stumble back, shaking my head. “No.” The word is small, useless against the ruin spreading through my chest. “No, you don’t get to do this. You were my first, Sandro, I trusted you.”

He drags his hand down his face, like I’m exhausting him. Like this, us, everything has been some great burden he’s finally free of. “I already have.”

I move past him, my boots pounding stone as I head for the archway. “You are nothing,” I yell back. “You and her, choke on each other.”

“Hey!” she calls with a laugh. “Do not be a sore loser!”

I keep going, forcing the gate open, metal screeching in my ears. “Fuck you both,” I shout, my voice echoing. My hand shakes when I cut it on a sharp edge, blood dripping from my palm, but I do not stop.

Lies. Every touch, every word, just a game to keep me close. My mother used to warn me about love before she died, about the way it twists through your ribs like a knife, but she never told me it could gut you clean through.

Guess I should have taken her pointers seriously.

I turn on my heel, my steps uneven but moving. Away. As far from this moment as I can get.

He doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t even come after me.

I make it three steps before my fingers shake too hard to be fists anymore, before my throat closes around the ache building there.

I love him. I loved him. And now I’ll bury that love so deep even he won’t find the ashes.

Sandro was my secret rebellion, my stupid lifeline, and he has cut it all like it meant nothing. I need out, and I know where to push.

I storm up the hill to the villa, chest heaving and tears stinging my eyes.

The Marconi estate looms ahead with marble steps, heavy doors, and the weight of my father’s name etched into every corner.

I storm through the entrance, boots slapping the tile, and find him in his study, cigar smoke curling around his chair.

Don Marconi looks up, gray hair slicked back, eyes narrowing as I barge in.

“Selene,” he says, voice gravelly, setting his drink down. “What is this noise?”

“I’m leaving,” I say, planting my hands on his desk, my blood smearing the polished wood. “Tonight. I want out of this city, out of your world.”

He leans back, regarding me with cool indifference. “You’re not a prisoner.” He takes a slow drag of his cigar, then exhales. “You were already set to leave soon. Your aunt Valeria is expecting you.”

I scoff. “That’s not leaving. That’s being shipped off like a problem you’re sick of handling.”

He studies me for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly, then exhales another plume of smoke.

“Valeria has been instructed to train you because she sees what I’ve struggled to find.

A potential worth shaping. She’ll mold you into a woman fit to stand beside powerful men, a woman capable of wielding influence, not wasting herself chasing childish fantasies. ”

“You think this is punishment?” He almost smiles, dark amusement beaming across his face. “No, Selene. I’m offering you purpose. Your mother never understood that. She was always weak, soft, and worthless. I refuse to let you follow her pathetic path.”

“So you’re selling me off like cattle to one of your allies? Another chess move?”

His expression doesn’t change, but contempt seeps into his voice.

“Valeria will ensure you’re ready. She’ll harden your edges, smooth your flaws.

I won’t allow you to disgrace the Marconi name with your reckless impulses and misguided youthful exuberance.

” He taps ash into the tray, eyes piercing mine.

“Perhaps you should take notes from Sandro, seeing as he is like a brother to you. He wouldn’t mind giving you a few pointers.

He understands loyalty, duty. He embraces the life he’s been given, rather than running from responsibility. ”

I ignore the ache I feel when I hear his name. “What if I don’t want any of it? What if I just want to leave for real?”

He lets out a short, dry laugh. “Where would you go? You think the world outside this house is any safer? That you can live without the name that’s protected you your whole life?” He shakes his head. “You’d last a week before someone tried to use you as leverage against me.”

“Then maybe I’ll learn to protect myself.”

His smile is humorless. “You can learn that, too. Valeria will make sure of it.”

I want to scream. I want to flip his desk and shatter his crystal glass against the wall. Instead, I force myself to breathe, to swallow the rage burning up my throat. “And if I refuse?”

He sighs, like I’m being exhausting. “Then I make you. You might hate me for it, but you’ll thank me one day, when your place is secured beside someone worthy of our empire.”

I shake my head, stepping back. “You don’t get to control my life forever.”

“No,” he agrees. “But today, I still do.”

Silence stretches between us. I despise him, I despise how effortlessly he maneuvers me like a pawn. But confronting him now would be useless.

So I nod slowly, forcing steel into my spine. “Fine.”

He studies me a moment longer, then gives a curt, satisfied nod. “Good. I’ll arrange for your flight to leave at dawn. Do not disappoint me.”

I turn sharply, boots echoing loudly against marble as I stride from his study. He believes he’s won, believes I’ll bend to his twisted will. But he’s wrong. I may be going to my aunt Valeria, but I won’t be another puppet.

I am going to become something else entirely.