Aria
Elsewhere, Aria Salvi pulled the thin blanket up to her father's chin and gently smoothed the grey hair back from his fevered forehead.
He used to be strong—fit, vibrant, always laughing, even when the bills piled high. But now he was a fragile shell of the man she'd once known.
The hospital machines hummed low around them, the air thick with antiseptic.
"Just rest, Papa," she whispered, forcing a smile.
He didn't reply.
He hadn't spoken in days.
The door creaked open, and the doctor stepped in, his white coat rustling and a sympathetic expression on his face.
"Miss Aria, may I speak with you in my office?"
She nodded, brushing away a tear as she followed him out of the room, gently closing the door behind her.
Inside the office, the doctor gestured to a chair.
"Please, sit." She did, heart pounding.
"It's been a week since your father was diagnosed with acute organ failure," the doctor said gently. "We've searched the country, but the only specialist available on such short notice is in India. The surgery will cost over five billion dollars."
"Five… billion?" Aria repeated, stunned.
"Yes. I know it's overwhelming, but your father doesn't have much time. If you want to save him, arrangements need to be made quickly."
She nodded numbly. "Thank you, Doctor."
As she left the office, her legs carried her aimlessly down the hallway. She couldn't bear to return to her father's bedside—not yet.
Five billion dollars.
She had no savings.
No help.
No options.
She sank onto a hallway bench, chest tightening.
Her eyes fell on a card left behind on the seat. Frowning, she picked it up.
Moretti Corporation. Elite Contracts. Discretion Guaranteed.
A number gleamed on the back in raised silver ink.
She tucked it into her coat without thinking and pulled out her phone to apply for another loan.
Rejected again.Tears burned her eyes.
She reached into her coat pocket for her bus pass… and pulled out the card again.
Moretti.
She didn't remember putting it there.
But her hands trembled as she stared down at the name.
""The name sounds really familiar."
Could it be him? Aria thought as she walked home, her steps slower than usual.
Once she got inside, curiosity pushed past hesitation. She dialed the number from the card.
A woman's voice answered coldly, "Moretti Estate. 12 p.m. tomorrow. Be ready."
Aria blinked. "Wait—how do you know my address?"
"Don't bother about that. Just be on time."
The line went dead.
Was this… fate?
*****
The car ride was silent.
Not even the driver, a man in a black suit with unreadable eyes, spoke as the sleek Mercedes hummed through the city and out toward the hills where the Moretti estate loomed like a myth.
Aria's fingers twisted in her lap. Her only decent dress clung too tightly to her ribs—she hadn't eaten since yesterday. All night she had wondered if she'd made a mistake. Now, with every mile, she was sure of it.
Aria stared at the opulent marble floors of the Moretti estate, her fingers clenching the straps of her bag. She had been summoned—no, commanded—to meet Alessio's father, Vittorio Moretti.
The gates parted automatically. Beyond them: a sprawling mansion of stone and glass, guarded by more men in black. Not a house—a fortress.
She was escorted through grand hallways without a word, led past intimidating portraits and cold marble until they stopped in front of a dark wood door.
The man knocked once.
"Enter."