Aria watched from the back seat, her reflection flickering in the tinted window. The mask in her lap shimmered faintly, gold filigree laced with emerald stones, light enough to wear, heavy enough to mean something.
She adjusted it, catching her own gaze in the glass.
A stranger stared back.
"Stop fidgeting," Dante said beside her, his voice smooth as whiskey.
"I'm trying to breathe under this thing," she replied.
"It's a masquerade. The point is not to be recognized."
"Except everyone will recognize you."
He smirked. "That's part of the game."
His hand brushed her wrist, deliberate, grounding. "Remember, Aria. Smile when they talk. Listen more than you speak. If anyone asks about us..."
"I'm the fiancée. You're the devil. And this is the kingdom you built on blood and charm."
His lips twitched, almost smiling. "You're learning."
"Try not to sound so proud of me."
"I'm proud when someone survives," he said quietly.
Before she could answer, the driver opened the door.
Music and laughter spilled out like perfume.
The ballroom was a dream made of sin.
Crystal chandeliers cast fractured light over gold-veined floors. Men in tailored suits and women in silk masks moved like predators disguised as art. Every gesture, every glance, carried a price.
Dante's hand found the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd. Whispers followed.
That's her.
The new fiancée.
The girl who caught the devil.
Aria ignored them, keeping her chin high.
They reached the head of the staircase, where Dante paused.
The crowd below shifted, waiting.
He leaned close, his voice brushing her ear. "Breathe. You're safe."
She wasn't sure she believed him.
Then he led her down, every step echoing through the room like a declaration.
At the base of the stairs, a man greeted them, tall, silver-haired, his mask black as oil.
"Dante," he said, voice smooth, accent thick with power. "It's been too long."
"Marco," Dante replied. "Still hosting sins disguised as charity?"
Marco smiled, showing perfect teeth. "At least my sins wear silk. Yours wear bullets."
The two men clasped hands, their grip too tight to be friendly.
"And this," Marco said, turning to Aria, "must be the woman who tamed you."
"Temporarily," Dante said dryly.
Aria extended a hand, her emerald eyes cool. "Aria Lane."
Marco kissed her knuckles lightly. "Welcome to the family, bella. You'll find we all wear masks, some more willingly than others."
His gaze lingered too long before he turned away, leaving the scent of danger behind.
Hours passed in a blur of champagne and silk.
Aria moved through the crowd, every step shadowed by Dante's watchful gaze. She played her part perfectly, polite, poised, unreadable.
But beneath the music and laughter, something was off.
Men huddled in corners whispering too softly. Guards moved in patterns that weren't random. A subtle current of tension rippled beneath the glitter.
She caught Matteo's face once, unmasked, half-hidden near the balcony, his eyes on her.
He nodded slightly, then disappeared into the crowd.
Her pulse quickened.
"Enjoying yourself?"
Aria turned. Dante stood behind her, holding two glasses of champagne.
"Define 'enjoying,'" she said, taking one.
He studied her expression. "You see it, don't you?"
"The tension?"
He nodded. "Tonight isn't about dancing. It's about power."
"And what power are you fighting for?"
He smiled faintly. "The kind that keeps you alive."
Before she could respond, Marco approached again, this time with two other men in tow.
"Dante," Marco said, "we were just talking about the expansion deal in Naples. Perhaps your fiancée would like to hear how business works in our world."
Dante's jaw flexed. "She doesn't need to."
"Oh, but she should," Marco said smoothly. "If she's to wear your ring, she should understand what it costs."
The words hung sharp between them.
Aria stepped forward before Dante could stop her. "And what does it cost?"
Marco smiled thinly. "Everything that makes you human."
Dante's hand found hers, protective, warning. "That's enough."
Marco raised his glass. "To the devil's bride. May she last longer than the last one."
The world tilted slightly.
Aria blinked. "What did you just say?"
Marco smiled, eyes gleaming behind his mask. "Ah, didn't he tell you? Dante's last fiancée had an unfortunate accident. Tragic, really."
"Marco," Dante said softly, too softly.
The air around them changed. Conversation died. Music faltered.
Aria could feel it, a storm gathering behind Dante's calm.
"Careful," Dante said, his tone silken and lethal. "You're standing on a very thin line."
Marco only laughed. "Still so dramatic."
He turned away, but Dante didn't move. His hand on her waist tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Is it true?" she whispered.
He didn't answer.
"Dante..."
"Not here," he said, eyes scanning the room. "We're leaving."
They made it only halfway to the exit before the lights flickered.
Then the sound came, sharp, distant, unmistakable.
Gunfire.
Screams erupted. Glass shattered. The chandelier swayed dangerously overhead.
Dante's arm was around her before she could think, dragging her down behind a marble pillar.
"Stay down," he ordered, voice low but calm.
"What's happening?"
"An ambush."
"From who?"
He peered around the corner, his jaw set. "Marco invited more than guests tonight."
Security guards rushed through the chaos, returning fire toward the upper balcony. The music had stopped, replaced by shouting and the crash of overturned tables.
Aria's heart hammered. "We have to get out..."
"I said stay down."
"Dante..."
A bullet struck the pillar beside her head, sending marble dust into her hair. She froze.
Then he moved fast, precise. In one fluid motion, Dante drew a gun from his jacket, firing two rounds toward the balcony. The return fire ceased.
He glanced at her. "Still think I'm just a businessman?"
"Remind me not to argue again," she breathed.
He helped her to her feet. "We're leaving."
They moved through the chaos, his hand locked around hers, guiding her through the screaming crowd. The air smelled of gunpowder and perfume.
At the far end of the hall, Matteo appeared, waving them toward a service door.
"Go!" he shouted.
They sprinted through the corridor, footsteps echoing. Behind them, sirens wailed.
When they burst out into the cold night air, the city lights seemed unreal, too clean, too distant.
Dante's car waited at the curb. They climbed in, the door slamming shut as the driver sped off.
Only then did Aria realize her hands were shaking.
She turned to him. "Who were they?"
"Enemies," he said quietly. "Old ones."
"And Marco?"
"An enemy wearing a friend's mask."
She stared at him. "You knew this could happen."
"I suspected."
"And you still brought me."
He looked at her, eyes silver and cold. "Because if they wanted to test me, I needed them to see what they'd risk touching."
"Me?"
"You," he said simply.
Silence filled the car, heavy as gravity.
"Tell me about her," Aria said finally. "The woman Marco mentioned."
Dante's gaze flickered away. "Not tonight."
"I deserve to know."
"Deserve?" He laughed once, bitterly. "In my world, no one deserves anything. We take what we can before someone takes it from us."
Aria turned toward the window, the city flashing by in streaks of gold. "Then maybe your world needs a new set of rules."
"Maybe," he said. "But you'll have to survive it first."
Back at the penthouse, the silence between them felt louder than the gunfire had.
Aria walked to the balcony, still trembling slightly. The necklace he'd given her that first night glimmered in the glass, a reminder of every chain she couldn't see.
Behind her, Dante poured two glasses of whiskey.
He handed her one. "You were calm back there."
"I didn't have a choice."
"You did. Most people freeze."
"I'm not most people."
"I know," he said softly.
She met his gaze. "Someone inside betrayed you."
He nodded once. "And I'll find them."
"And when you do?"
"I'll bury them."
Something in his tone chilled her, not because it was cruel, but because it was absolute.
"Does it ever end?" she asked quietly. "The blood, the danger, the pretending?"
"No," he said. "It only changes faces."
Aria set her glass down. "Then maybe it's time to change the game."
Dante studied her for a long moment, then smiled, slow, dangerous, almost proud.
"You really are going to be the death of me, cara mia."
"Or the reason you finally live," she said, voice steady.
The city lights flared behind them, painting gold across glass and shadow. Two figures caught in the storm, the devil and his bride, bound by power, drawn by something deeper neither dared name.
And somewhere in the darkness below, another pair of eyes watched from the street, unseen.
A single message blinked across a phone screen:
"The girl survived. Next time, she won't."