Chapter Two
Aria Bellanti never thought she'd step foot inside Villa De Rossi without a gun in her hand or a death warrant in her pocket.
The gates loomed like iron fangs as the black car swept through the estate's long, winding drive. Stone lions lined the path, their cold eyes watching her as though they knew she didn't belong.
But that was the point.
She wasn't here to belong.
She was here to decide if she'd survive.
Luciano had summoned her—no, invited her to discuss the marriage. The message had been as polished as his tone: No guards. No pressure. No threats. Just a conversation.
Aria didn't believe a word of it.
The car stopped at the grand entrance. A butler opened the door before her driver could.
The air smelled like jasmine and money.
A man in black silk slacks and a dark mandarin-collar shirt stepped out of the shadows just inside the marble foyer. He moved with unsettling stillness.
"Miss Bellanti," he greeted, voice smooth, but sharp. "Welcome to Villa De Rossi. I'm Vincent Vale—Luciano's consigliere."
"Bodyguard? Spy? Butler?" Aria asked, not hiding her suspicion.
"All three," he replied, not missing a beat. "Please, this way."
He didn't touch her. Just turned and led her down a gilded hallway where the floors gleamed like glass and the chandeliers dripped crystals overhead. The walls were lined with paintings—scenes of ancient battles, crowned kings, and betrayal carved into oils.
This was not a home. This was a throne.
At the far end of the corridor, tall double doors opened on their own. Vincent stepped aside without a word.
Inside, Luciano waited.
He was seated at a long, obsidian dining table, dressed in charcoal-gray slacks and a crisp black shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He looked like temptation distilled—relaxed, but dangerous.
"Aria," he said, standing.
She took a breath, stepped in, and waited for the doors to close behind her before speaking.
"I'm not here to say yes."
He nodded. "Then let's begin with the reasons you want to say no."
Her brow lifted. "You mean besides the fact you're my dead brother's rival, I think you're hiding something about his murder, and this entire arrangement feels like a velvet-lined cage?"
Luciano gave a small smile. "Honesty. I respect that."
"I don't need your respect," she snapped.
"You will," he said softly. "Not because I demand it. Because this world we live in is already sharpening its knives. We either hold them together—or stab each other alone."
She crossed her arms. "Talk terms."
Luciano gestured toward the table. A stack of leather-bound files lay there, untouched. "Marriage contract. Business alliances. Distribution rights in the East quarter. I'll cede fifty-one percent control to you in any joint venture."
Aria narrowed her eyes. "Why are you giving me power?"
"Because power is the only thing you trust."
She stared at him. "And what do you get?"
Luciano walked around the table and stood in front of her, too close, his voice low. "Your name. Your loyalty. Your fire."
He paused. "And maybe your forgiveness—someday."
Flashback: Luca's Last Warning
Suddenly, her mind reeled back to the last time she'd seen Luca alive.
They had stood on the balcony at Bellanti Manor. He had poured two glasses of dark red wine and handed her one without speaking.
When she asked what was wrong, he'd only said:
"If anything happens to me, don't trust anyone. Especially not the ones who offer protection."
He hadn't mentioned Luciano. But he didn't need to.
Back in the Present
Aria stepped away from Luciano's nearness.
"You say you didn't kill him. Then prove it."
Luciano's expression flickered—just for a second. Then he nodded once.
"I can show you something. But you need to be ready."
"I've been ready since the day I buried my brother."
He walked to a locked drawer in the cabinet behind him and pulled out a sealed folder. Inside was a single photograph.
Aria's hands trembled as she took it.
It was grainy, blown up from security footage—but unmistakable.
A man was standing over Luca's body.
Not Luciano.
Someone else.
A familiar face.
Her breath left her in a sharp gasp.
"That's one of ours," she whispered.
Luciano's voice was grave. "Yes. One of your father's inner circle. Paid off, I suspect. Which means if you're looking for betrayal… You don't need to marry me to find it. It's already in your house."
The floor tilted beneath her.
Before she could respond, the door burst open.
Vincent stepped in, eyes like ice.
"We have a problem."
Luciano turned. "What kind of problem?"
Vincent's gaze slid to Aria. "Someone's leaked her location. There's chatter—old enemies. Bellanti blood has value. Especially unprotected."
Aria's pulse spiked.
Luciano didn't hesitate. He turned to her, voice calm but firm.
"You're staying here tonight."
Her eyes widened. "No. I didn't agree—"
"This isn't a request," he said, stepping closer. "It's the only way to keep you alive."
Thunder cracked outside. Aria's gaze locked with his.
Trapped. Protected. Claimed.
And worst of all…
Intrigued.
She didn't know if she was stepping into safety—or a far more elegant kind of prison.
But one thing was clear:
The Devil wore silk.
And she was now sleeping under his roof.
Aria Bellanti never thought she'd step foot inside Villa De Rossi without a gun in her hand or a death warrant in her pocket.
The gates loomed like iron fangs as the black car swept through the estate's winding drive. Every detail reeked of wealth and war—the hand-carved statues, the hedges trimmed into weapons, the stone lions flanking the path like sentinels.
She could feel eyes on her already.
Her jaw clenched.
No matter how polished the invitation, this was enemy territory.
Luciano De Rossi had invited her here under the guise of "negotiation." No guards. No pressure. Just a conversation.
But Aria knew better.
The De Rossi never did anything without calculating the cost.
As the car came to a halt before the sprawling mansion, the driver wordlessly opened the door. A tall man in black silk slacks and a matching shirt stepped forward from the grand entryway.
His movements were precise, almost too smooth—like a blade before it sinks into flesh.
"Miss Bellanti," he said with a nod. "I'm Vincent Vale, consigliere to Mr. De Rossi. He's expecting you."
"Let's not keep the devil waiting," she muttered.
Vincent smiled coldly. "He hates when guests arrive late."
He turned without another word, guiding her into a foyer that gleamed like a palace. Aria's heels echoed against the marble floor, and the air smelled of fresh jasmine…and danger.
The walls were lined with gilded frames—paintings of ancient wars, Roman emperors, and betrayals carved into oils. This wasn't a home. It was a throne.
Everything about the De Rossi empire screamed legacy. Power. Control.
The opposite of freedom.
"Do you often greet your guests with silent treatment?" she asked coolly as they passed a corridor of flickering sconces.
Vincent gave her a sidelong glance. "Only the ones who walk in like they're already planning how to escape."
She didn't answer.
He wasn't wrong.
Luciano's Study
At the end of the corridor, a pair of tall mahogany doors creaked open.
Inside, Luciano De Rossi stood by the window, his back to them. The sunlight cast him in stark shadow—broad shoulders in a perfectly tailored black shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal ink and veins.
When he turned, he moved with the controlled elegance of someone born to command.
"Aria," he said.
His voice was the same as the first night—deep, smooth, dangerous.
"I'm not here to accept your proposal," she said.
"I'd be disappointed if you did."
He gestured to the long table set in the center of the room. Crystal decanter. Two glasses. A stack of black folders.
Negotiation. De Rossi-style.
Aria sat but didn't touch the drink.
Luciano joined her across the table, eyes unreadable.
"Let's begin with your objections," he said.
She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "You're ruthless. My brother didn't trust you. And my instincts scream this is a trap."
"And yet you're here."
She glared. "Because you made sure I had no choice."
Luciano's jaw ticked, but his voice remained composed. "I gave you a door. You walked through it."
"Don't twist it," she snapped.
"I won't." He slid a folder toward her. "That's the contract. You'll have full access to the terms. Fifty-one percent control of joint operations. Dual veto rights."
Her eyes narrowed. "Why give me power?"
"Because you won't stay if you don't have it."
Luciano's Leverage
"You want my loyalty," she said.
"I want your name," he corrected. "And your fire."
A beat.
"And I want peace."
Aria opened the folder, scanning through business ventures, distribution channels, and shared holdings in New York, Sicily, and Dubai.
It was an empire…on paper.
"And in return?" she asked, eyes flicking up to his.
Luciano leaned forward. "You become untouchable. The war ends. And your enemies… become mine."
"You want to save me?" she scoffed.
"No," he said. "I want you alive."
Revelations from the Past
Luciano rose and walked toward a wall-mounted safe. A keypad blinked. She watched as he retrieved a slim leather folder.
"I didn't kill Luca," he said.
Aria's breath caught.
Luciano laid a photograph in front of her—grainy security footage from the night her brother died.
It wasn't him in the frame.
It was Antonio Riva.
Luca's most trusted lieutenant. A Bellanti loyalist.
One who had vanished right after the funeral.
Aria's stomach twisted. "This is impossible."
"I traced the payment. Offshore. Funneled through a shell linked to your father's accounts."
Aria felt the walls close in. "No. My father wouldn't—"
"He might not have ordered it," Luciano said quietly. "But someone inside your house did. And they're still there."
A soft knock interrupted them.
A tall woman in her thirties stepped in. Dark red hair swept into a twist. Crimson lipstick. Killer heels. She looked like a walking razor.
"Sorry to interrupt," she said with a feline smile. "I didn't realize negotiations involved so much… chemistry."
Aria bristled.
Luciano remained unfazed. "Aria, this is Bianca Moretti. She oversees our European operations."
Bianca's eyes flicked over Aria like she was a poorly wrapped gift.
"So this is the future, Mrs. De Rossi," she said silkily.
"No one's agreed to anything," Aria snapped.
Bianca smirked. "Of course not. We all know Luciano prefers to win his battles in bed."
"Bianca," Luciano warned.
Bianca raised a hand. "Just saying hello."
But the message was clear.
This world was full of women like Bianca. And none of them wanted Aria in it.
The Threat Unveiled
Minutes later, Vincent reappeared—this time with urgency in his posture.
He walked straight to Luciano. "We have a situation."
Luciano tensed. "What kind?"
"Her location's been leaked."
Aria stood. "What do you mean leaked?"
Encrypted channels. Someone put a price on your head. And we intercepted three potential ambushes already." Vincent turned to Luciano. "I suggest she stays under protection until we neutralize the threat."
Luciano looked at Aria, tone flat.
"You're staying here."
"I'm not sleeping under your roof—"
"It's not a request," he said. "It's survival."
That night, Aria stood at the window of the guest suite overlooking the gardens. She could hear the distant sounds of guards moving, dogs barking, and security alarms humming.
Luciano had placed her in the east wing—lavish, but cold.
She wrapped her arms around herself, staring into the dark.
A shadow moved behind her.
She spun around, ready to strike.
Luciano.
"The door was unlocked," he said. "Bad habit."
She glared. "Is this part of the charm routine?"
"No," he said, stepping closer. "It's part of keeping you alive."
He paused, something flickering behind his eyes.
"You still think I'm the enemy."
"I know you are."
Luciano reached out—but didn't touch her.
His voice was soft.
"I didn't kill Luca, Aria. But I might be the only one left who cares that he's gone."
Then he turned and walked out.
Leaving her in silence.
And her heart—beating just a little too fast.