Aria woke to the sound of footsteps outside her door and the faint scent of coffee drifting through the air.
For a few seconds, she didn't remember where she was the soft silk sheets, the marble walls, the skyline spilling gold light into the room. Then reality hit like cold water.
The Moretti penthouse.
The contract.
The man she was bound to.
She exhaled, pushing herself upright. The clock read 8:00 a.m. Sharp.
Dante's world, she was learning, ran on precision.
A maid knocked gently and entered without waiting for permission. "Signora Lane, Mr. Moretti requests that you be ready by seven this evening. Formal attire. The car will arrive at eight."
"What's happening tonight?"
"A dinner party, signora. In your honor."
Aria blinked. "In my what?"
"Yes, signora." The maid bowed slightly, setting a small velvet box on the dresser. "This is from Mr. Moretti. He said to wear it."
When the door closed again, Aria opened the box and stared.
Inside lay a diamond necklace, delicate but cold like frost crystallized in gold. Beneath it, a small note written in Dante's immaculate handwriting:
For tonight. Smile, even when you want to scream.
— D.M.
Her jaw tightened. Typical.
Still, she couldn't deny the craftsmanship. Every stone shimmered with silent authority, expensive, flawless, heavy. Just like him.
That evening, the penthouse transformed into a scene from a dream, or perhaps a nightmare dressed in couture.
Aria stood before the mirror in a deep emerald gown that matched her eyes. The necklace glinted at her throat like a warning. She'd twisted her auburn hair into a loose knot, tendrils framing her pale face. Elegant, poised, but there was defiance in her reflection a woman preparing for battle, not celebration.
When she stepped into the main room, Dante was already waiting.
He turned at the sound of her heels and went utterly still.
For the first time, something flickered across his expression not control, not dominance, but something rawer. Admiration, maybe. Or surprise.
"You clean up… dangerously well," he said, voice low.
Aria met his gaze. "You sound almost impressed."
"I am," he admitted. Then, after a pause, "But be careful. In my world, beauty is both armor and target."
She slipped her arm into his when he offered it. "Then I'll wear it like a blade."
The faintest smile touched his lips. "That's my girl."
Her pulse skipped, but she said nothing.
The dinner was held in one of Dante's private clubs, a rooftop paradise that overlooked the glittering heart of Manhattan. Chandeliers bathed the space in warm light, the tables draped in white silk, crystal glasses shimmering with champagne.
Every guest there belonged to a higher circle, billionaires, investors, diplomats, and men who owned more than businesses. They owned silence.
Dante's presence drew attention immediately. Conversations paused, eyes turned. The infamous Moretti entering with a woman on his arm, that alone was a headline.
He guided Aria toward the long table at the center, where several guests already sat waiting.
"Mr. Moretti." A tall man with a scar along his jaw stood and smiled thinly. "We thought you'd never show."
"Luca," Dante greeted. "Still drinking other people's wine, I see."
Luca laughed, though his eyes were sharp. "And this must be the fiancée we've heard about."
Aria extended a hand. "Aria Lane."
He kissed it lightly, gaze lingering too long. "A beautiful choice, Dante. Unexpected, but beautiful."
Dante's hand tightened slightly on her waist. "Enjoy the party, Luca. Don't overstep."
Tension flickered. Then Luca raised his glass and turned away.
Aria leaned in just enough to whisper, "Friend of yours?"
"Business associate," Dante said coolly. "And one who's testing boundaries."
"Seems like he's not the only one who enjoys control."
Dante's mouth curved. "I control what's mine, cara mia. Nothing more."
She arched a brow. "You don't own me, remember?"
He didn't reply, but the shadow of a smile stayed on his lips.
As the evening unfolded, the air thickened with power and politics. Deals whispered behind crystal glasses. Women wore smiles sharper than diamonds, men laughed with their eyes on each other's throats.
Aria played her part, the elegant fiancée, poised and untouchable. She laughed when required, smiled when prompted, all while feeling the weight of a dozen hidden gazes.
Whispers followed her wherever she went.
"That's her? The one he's marrying?"
"She's not from any known family."
"Must be for the thrill. You know how he is."
She ignored them, chin high.
At one point, she excused herself to the balcony, craving air. The city lights stretched endlessly below, a maze of glass and fire.
"Impressive, isn't it?"
She turned. Luca stood in the doorway, his scar catching the light.
"Depends what you're looking at," she said coolly.
He stepped closer, too close. "Tell me, Miss Lane, do you know who you've tied yourself to?"
"I'm starting to find out."
He smiled, slow and poisonous. "Dante Moretti doesn't love. He owns, he bargains, he breaks. You think you're different?"
Aria held his gaze. "You sound like a man who learned that lesson the hard way."
His smile faded. "Careful, darling. You don't know how dangerous he can be."
"I don't scare easily."
Luca leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "Then you'll fit right in."
Before she could answer, a cold voice cut through the air.
"Step away, Luca."
Dante's tone was calm, but lethal.
Luca turned, hands raised. "Just a friendly chat."
Dante moved between them, his presence radiating control. "The last man who tried to 'chat' with what's mine ended up missing three fingers. Care to test the odds?"
Luca's smile faltered. "Enjoy your night, Dante."
He disappeared into the crowd.
Aria crossed her arms. "You didn't have to do that."
"Yes," Dante said softly, "I did."
"You can't just threaten people..."
"In my world," he interrupted, "a threat is protection."
She stared at him, breath unsteady. "I don't need your protection."
He looked at her for a long moment, silver eyes unreadable. "You have it anyway."
The city wind tangled her hair, her pulse racing. There was something maddening about him, the way he could sound both cruel and sincere at once.
And that was when she realized: this man wasn't just dangerous. He was addictive.
Later, when most guests had gone, Dante remained at the table, swirling a half-empty glass of whiskey.
Aria approached quietly, removing the necklace and setting it down beside his hand.
"You didn't like it?" he asked.
"I'm not a trophy."
He looked up, amused. "Never said you were."
"Then stop treating me like one."
For a moment, silence. Then, unexpectedly, Dante laughed, low, quiet, real.
"You know," he said, "no one's ever talked to me that way. Not in this city."
"Then maybe it's time someone did."
He leaned back, studying her. "You keep this up, Aria Lane, and you might actually survive me."
"Who says I'm the one who needs to survive?"
Their eyes locked, fire against ice.
Something shifted between them, not just attraction, but understanding. Two storms circling each other, bound by circumstance and something deeper neither would admit.
Finally, Dante stood. "Come with me."
He led her upstairs, through a corridor lined with paintings older than most countries. They stopped before a heavy oak door.
When he opened it, Aria froze.
Inside was a hidden office, walls of steel and screens, shelves filled with documents, weapons glinting under the dim light. Maps. Ledgers. And photos pinned to a board, men in suits, faces circled in red.
It wasn't just a business empire. It was an operation.
"You wanted truth," Dante said quietly. "Here it is."
Aria stepped closer, eyes scanning the chaos. "What is this?"
"My world," he said. "The one you're marrying into."
"Mafia," she whispered.
"Family," he corrected. "Business, power, and blood. They all flow together."
She turned to him, voice shaking slightly. "And you think showing me this will make me what, obedient?"
"No," he said. "I think it will make you careful."
Her chest rose and fell. "Why trust me with this?"
He met her gaze. "Because whether you like it or not, you're part of it now. And if anything happens to me… they'll come for you next."
Her blood ran cold.
Dante stepped closer, his tone softening. "So learn, Aria. Learn how to walk through fire without burning. Because you're already in it."
She swallowed hard, her reflection trembling faintly in the glass.
"I didn't choose this," she whispered.
"Neither did I," he said. "But we both play the cards we're dealt."
Their eyes met, two trapped souls, bound by circumstance and an unspoken pull neither could deny.
And as the city burned quietly beneath the skyline, Aria realized she was no longer just bound to the devil.
She was beginning to understand him.