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( Aria's point of view )
I never thought my freedom would be stolen by the kiss of a man.
I was in a ballroom attending a wedding. In this wedding was a gathering of elite people who looked like royalty but they had enough blood on their hands. To everyone else, I was Aria Valenti, the diamond of the Valenti family. They saw me as the silent, dutiful daughter. But to myself, I was a ghost halfway out the door.
My thigh holster pressed uncomfortably against my skin beneath the green gown I was wearing. I didn't care about the drinks or the noises the people made. My mind was on the encrypted drive hidden in my clutch, containing the last few thousand dollars I needed to disappear forever from this city I so much hated.
"Don't look so bored, Aria," my father, Lorenzo Valenti's voice came from beside me. He gripped my elbow just a little too hard. "Smile. We are here to show strength, not your teenage depression."
"I’m twenty-one, Father. And it’s hard to smile when I’m surrounded by people who would kill me for a seat at your table," I hissed while flashing a fake grin at a passing senator.
"That is the world you were born for," he replied with his eyes scanning the room. "I’m going to get a cigar. Stay in sight. If you disappear again, your friend Elena will find her flower shop burned to the ground by morning."
Typical Dad. The threat hit me like a blow. Elena was my only tie to the world of the living, the world I loved filled with people who didn't kill for a living. I watched my father walk away, my heart pounding heavily. I needed to find a way out but I was trapped by his words in a cage made of gold.
I went toward the balcony to get some air. That's when I saw Dante Moretti. The famous Dante Moretti.
He was standing near the staircase, looking like a god in a room of mere mortals. Handsome man, tall, with dark.
But something was off. I could tell with the way he was scanning the room with the panic look on his face.
Then I saw why.
A woman in a red dress was moving like a peacock toward him. She was so beautiful. This was Isabella, the woman who had famously broken Dante Moretti’s heart and leaked his family’s secrets to the feds two years ago.
The large room suddenly became a graveyard and people were expecting something to happen.
Dante Moretti, the heir to the Moretti empire, the rivals my father hated most, looked like he’d rather be facing a firing squad than Isabella. He looked around wildly then his eyes stopped when he saw me.
I shouldn't have made eye contact with him because in my world, eye contact is an invitation to war.
Before I could blink, he was moving. He moved through the crowd towards me like he was a predator until he was inches from me. The smell of tobacco came with him.
"Help me," he whispered with pain in his voice.
"What?" I started to say, but the word was cut off.
He grabbed my wrist and with a sudden, forceful tug, he pulled me and we were chest against chest.
I gasped with my hands instinctively finding his shoulders to push him away, but he was like a wall.
"Just two minutes," his breath touching my lips. "I’ll pay you... I'll pay you anything."
Then, he hurriedly kissed me like he was waiting to for decades. I never knew he had nothing left to lose. My first instinct was to reach for the knife on my thigh and gut him right there. I was a Valenti meaning nobody would dare touch me without my permission.
But as he was kissing me, i felt the sheer desperation in him. He wasn't trying to assault me, he was hiding behind me from the woman who wanted to destroy his pride.
I felt someone stop behind him. Isabella. I could practically hear her heart hardening.
"Dante?" she called angrily with disbelief. "What is this?"
Dante didn't pull away. Instead, he deepened the kiss, his hands rubbing my wrist and my back, pulling me so close I could feel my breasts on his body.
Slowly, I relaxed my hands on his shoulders. If I caused a scene, my father would come running, and a war would start in the middle of a wedding. If I played along, maybe I could use this Moretti brat for my own escape.
I kissed him back. A biting kiss. Then I was certain I was as dangerous as he was.
When he finally pulled away, he didn't let me go. He kept his arm rounded firmly around my waist, anchoring me to his side. He turned to Isabella, his face with arrogance in his face.
"Isabella," he said with a steady voice. "I didn't see you there. I was a bit... distracted."
Isabella’s face squeezed. Her eyes were placed suddenly on me, full of venom. "And who is this? Another one of your little flings to try and forget me?"
Dante gripped me tighter. I could tell he was flinching on the inside. I couldn't have that. If I was going to do this, I was going to win.
I leaned my head against Dante’s shoulder and looked Isabella up and down with the bored expression I’d spent years perfecting. "I’m the woman who replaced the girl you used to be," I said with a voice more poisonous than hers. "Dante doesn't talk about the past. He’s too busy enjoying the present."
Dante’s head sharply turn toward me with shock in his eyes. He hadn't expected me to speak or play along. Isabella looked like she wanted to slap me, but she couldn't, not with half the Mafia underworld watching. She turned and stormed away with her heels clicking on the marble floor.
"You can let go now," I said softly, trying to pull away from Dante's hold. "The show is over, Moretti."
"Wait," he whispered, his eyes on mine. "Who are you? I’ve never seen a girl fight like that with just words."
"I'm your worst nightmare," I said, finally breaking his grip. "And you owe me. You owe me big time."
I turned to leave, thinking the drama was finally over.
"Well, well," a voice resonated. "I leave my daughter alone for ten minutes and she finds herself in the arms of a Moretti."
I felt sick in the stomach.
My father was standing there with an unreadable face, flanked by four of his most loyal soldiers. Behind him was Dante’s uncle and the rest of the Moretti leadership were approaching.
This was the moment where blood usually started flowing.
"Lorenzo," Dante said, stepping in front of me with a tall posture. His protective instinct kicked in even though he barely knew my name. "This isn't what it looks like."
"Isn't it?" My father stepped closer, his eyes locked on Dante. "I saw the kiss, boy. The whole room saw it. You just claimed a Valenti daughter in front of the Commission.
Boy, that isn't a distraction in our world. That’s a declaration."
"Father, please" I started, but he held up a hand.
"Silence, Aria," he interrupted. He looked at Dante’s uncle, Silvio Moretti. "Silvio. It seems our families have been at each other's throats for too long. My daughter and your nephew seem to have found a... common interest."
Silvio, a man known for being even more calculating than my father, nodded slowly. "It would certainly solve the shipping dispute in the north. A merger of blood is stronger than a merger of paper."
I felt like I couldn't breath anymore. No. This couldn't be happening.
"Wait a minute," Dante said, raising his voice. "I was just"
"You were just announcing your engagement," my father interrupted showing a cruel, triumphant smile across his face. He looked at the crowd, raising his glass. "To Dante Moretti and Aria Valenti! The wedding will be held next Sunday at the Valenti estate. May this union bring peace to our streets."
A cheer went up from the guests with relief and excitement.
I looked at Dante. He looked like he’d been hit by a friggin train. He looked at me, and for a second, I saw on his face, the desperation I’d seen before.
"Sunday?" I whispered with bitterness in my tongue.
My father leaned in with his cigar breath "You wanted to play games, Aria. Now you’ve played yourself right into a cage. The real one. Don't even think about running. I’ve doubled the guards on Elena’s shop. You will marry the Moretti, or you will watch everyone you care about burn."
He walked away, leaving me standing in the middle of the ballroom with a man I didn't know, bound by a kiss I didn't want or ask for.
Dante turned to me, with eyes of guilt and fury. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't know he was watching."
"Sorry doesn't fix my life, Moretti," I replied with rage. I reached out and grabbed his tie, pulling him down to my level. "You wanted a fiancée? Congratulations. You just got a wife who is going to make your life a living hell."
I let go of him and walked toward the exit, holding my head high even though my world just crumbled. I had only seven days to find a way out. Seven days to hack the Moretti accounts and steal enough to disappear, and leave this life behind for good.
But as I reached the doors, I turned back. Dante was still standing there, watching me with an intensity that made my skin crawl.
My father didn't just give me a husband, he gave me a death sentence. And I was going to make sure I wasn't the only one who died.
(Aria's Point Of View)Mikhail slams Kira into the van’s metal wall hard enough to make the first aid kit rattle off its shelf, his forearm pressed to her throat, his face blank of every emotion except cold, burning rage. Kira, the woman who spent two weeks pretending to be his dead sister Natasha, just smirks up at him, blood trickling from the cut on her lip where he backhanded her ten seconds prior. She does not look scared. She looks proud of how thoroughly she fooled all of us.“Tell me how long,” Mikhail says, his voice so flat it barely carries over the distant wail of sirens. “Tell me how long you practiced her laugh, her stories, the way she used to twist her hair when she was nervous. Tell me how long you let me grieve a woman I thought was finally home.”Kira laughs, a rough, breathless sound. “Every second of every day for two years. I watched old home videos your mother hid in a storage unit until I could recite them in my sleep. I practiced twisting my hair until my wris
(Aria's Point Of View)I slam the van door so hard the side mirror rattles, and yell for Mikhail to get his head in the game before we lose Elena for good. He flinches, his knuckles white where he grips the steering wheel, his face still tight with the raw high of taking Clara down ten minutes prior. We did not even have time to catch our breath before Isabella’s warning cut through the comms, and now we are flying down back roads at ninety miles an hour, the tires kicking up clouds of red dirt behind us, racing to reach the safe house before the traitor does.Dante sits pressed tight to my side, his good arm slung around my shoulders, his phone pressed to his ear as he barks coordinates to Agent Marks. The safe house is a remote log cabin half an hour outside the city, tucked between thick stands of pine, off the power grid, no cell service for three miles in any direction. Viktor picked it out himself three weeks prior, had his most trusted men stock it with supplies and reinforce t
(Aria's Point Of View)The fake key drive digs into the meat of my palm as I sit in the back of the unmarked van, the plastic warm from being clamped in my fist for the last twenty minutes. The comms unit tucked in my ear hums soft and quiet, Isabella’s voice cutting through the static every few seconds with position updates for Mikhail and Alexei, who are perched on the warehouse rooftops surrounding the meeting point. Viktor’s extraction team is parked three blocks away, engines idling, ready to move the second I give the word.I run a finger along the hilt of the knife taped to my ankle, the one Elena slipped me in the hospital, and press my free hand light to my stomach. The baby flutters once, soft and steady, a quiet reminder of exactly what I am fighting for. Clara thinks I am here to cave. She thinks I will hand over the keys to save Dante and run, too scared of losing him to think through the consequences. She does not know I have not survived this long by choosing only one t
(Aria's Point Of View)Viktor slams the hospital room door hard enough to rattle the water pitcher on my nightstand, then pulls a dented flask from the inside of his leather jacket and pours half its contents into the lukewarm coffee the nurse left an hour ago. He does not offer me any. He does not even say hello first. He just takes a long, burning sip and leans back against the wall, his face carved from the same cold stone I saw the day he first told me I was Petrov blood.I hold up my government issued phone so he can see the text and the photo of Dante in his orange jumpsuit, his face tired but unbroken. The threat glows bright on the screen, sharp and unapologetic.“They know about the keys,” I say. My voice is steady, even though my hands are still shaking a little from the shock of seeing it. “They know I encrypted the family records. They know only three people in the world can unlock them. And they are using Dante to get to them.”Viktor’s jaw tightens so hard I can see the
(Aria's Point Of View)The first thing I register is the beep. Steady, high, unrelenting, drilling straight into the throbbing ache at the back of my skull. The second is the smell: sharp, chemical antiseptic, the faint sweetness of old flowers on a nearby table, the familiar undercurrent of Elena’s lavender hand cream that must have rubbed off on my jacket when we hugged after the rescue.I try to lift my hand to touch the bump on my head, and my fingers catch on thin cotton hospital sheets and an IV line taped to the inside of my wrist. My eyes flutter open, and the room swims for a second before settling into sharp, too-bright focus. Pale blue walls, a heart monitor beside the bed, a window covered in thin vertical blinds that let in streaks of weak afternoon sun.My first coherent thought is for the baby.I fumble with the thin hospital gown, pressing my palm flat to my stomach, waiting for some sign that something is wrong. A soft, familiar flutter answers me, small and faint but
(Aria's Point Of View)The stairwell door slams open against the concrete wall, and the smell of cordite and burnt wiring hits me so hard I gag. The control room is a wreck, server cabinets overturned, bullet holes pocking every surface, the big central screen glowing bright red with the core overload countdown. Four minutes and forty one seconds. The numbers tick down so steady they might as well be the beat of my own heart.Nikolai stands in the middle of the room, one hand fisted in the collar of Allegra’s lab coat, the other pressing a gun to her temple. Two of his men flank him, their rifles raised, their faces blank and professional. Allegra has a cut slashing across her forehead, blood dripping down her cheek onto the front of her coat, but her chin is held high, her eyes sharp and unyielding. She does not look like a woman about to die. She looks like a woman who has been waiting sixteen years for exactly this moment.Nikolai smirks when he sees me, the same pale green eyes he







