My Husband Asked For A Second Wife (Serafina and Matteo) novel Chapter 16

Serafina

I step into Father’s office still buzzing from my mortifying book incident. Nothing like being caught red-handed reading upside down to really cement your reputation as a competent mafia heiress.

“He didn’t sign it, Dad.”

Father looks up from his paperwork, reading glasses perched on his nose like some kind of scholarly mob boss. “It’s alright. He’ll sign it eventually.” He sets down his pen. “Will you be able to attend a meeting for me?”

“What meeting?”

“The quarterly council. Every family will be there.”

My stomach does a little flip that has nothing to do with morning sickness. “Every family?”

“Every family that matters. The Torrinos, the Russos, the Castellanos, the Benedettos and more.” He leans back in his chair. “You’ll be representing the Dorians.”

“Representing how, exactly?”

“By being there. By showing them that the Dorian name isn’t just a memory.” His expression goes serious. “They need to see you, Serafina. They need to understand that we’re back.”

“And what am I supposed to do besides look pretty and try not to embarrass myself?”

“Listen. Watch. Learn.” He stands, walks to the window. “I’ll teach you everything eventually—the alliances, the territories, the unspoken rules. But for now, just be present. Be proud. Be a Dorian.”

“No pressure.”

“There’s always pressure. The question is whether you let it crush you or forge you into something stronger.”

Great. Philosophy from a dying mob boss. Just what I needed.

“When is this meeting?”

“Tonight. Seven o’clock. The Meridian Hotel, downtown.”

“Tonight?” My voice cracks like a teenager. “That’s not much notice.”

“Welcome to the family business. Nothing’s ever planned, everything’s urgent, and everyone’s trying to kill you.”

“Comforting.”

“You’ll be fine. Just remember—you’re not Serafina Moretti anymore. You’re not even Serafina Verrelli. You’re Serafina Dorian, and that name opens doors and closes coffins.”

“Bianca.” I keep my voice steady even though my heart is doing gymnastics. “What are you doing here?”

“Business, darling. Same as you.” She glides closer, moving like a predator in designer heels. “Though I have to say, you look… different. More confident. It’s almost like you think you belong here.”

“I do belong here.”

“Do you?” Her smile sharpens. “Because last I checked, you were nobody from nowhere. Dorian name or not, you’re still the same little girl who let us walk all over her for three years.”

“People change.”

“Some people do.” She examines her manicured nails. “Others just get better at pretending.”

Before I can respond, the conference room doors open and a man in an expensive suit gestures for us to enter.

“Ladies,” he says, “the council is ready for you.”