Aria sat on the edge of the bed, her hands wrapped tightly around a steaming cup of tea. Not that she'd drunk a sip.
Her fingers were still trembling.
The room smelled like smoke and gunpowder. The hallway outside had been scrubbed clean, but she'd seen the red stains — the bodies being dragged away, the hushed whispers from guards.
They'd come for her.
Just like Luca said they would.
She didn't want to admit it, but the only reason she was still breathing was because he had been in the room.
With her.
Her enemy. Her captor.
Her protector?
No. She shook the thought out of her head.
This wasn't protection.
This was possession.
The door opened.
She didn't look up. She didn't have to. She felt him.
Luca's presence filled every inch of space before he even spoke.
"Drink the tea," he said quietly.
"I'm fine."
"You're shaking."
"I'm not."
"You are."
He crossed the room and crouched in front of her. His hair was damp again. A fresh bandage peeked out from beneath his shirt collar. She wondered if he was even capable of pain.
His fingers gently curled around her wrists.
She flinched.
But he didn't pull away.
"I told you this would happen," he said. "That you'd be targeted."
"You said it like a threat," she murmured.
"It was a promise."
She finally looked at him.
"I didn't ask for this war."
"No one ever does," he said. "But you're in it. As long as my enemies know you're in my bed, they'll keep coming."
"Then maybe I shouldn't be in your bed."
His expression darkened.
"You'd rather die than be claimed by me, is that it?"
"I'd rather be free."
"Freedom in this world is a myth," he said. "You only choose who cages you."
"And you think you're the better cage?"
"I think I'm the only one who won't let them tear you apart."
Her breath hitched.
It wasn't just the words. It was the way he said them — low, controlled, with something bitter beneath the calm. Like a man who had seen the worst of the world and decided to become worse to survive it.
He stood.
"I'm increasing security. You won't leave the villa without guards. Not even to breathe."
"You're locking me down again."
"I'm keeping you alive."
"Same difference."
"You think you're clever, Aria," he said, walking to the window. "But you still don't get it. You being here — in this house, in this war — changes everything."
"How?"
"Because now I have a weakness," he said without turning. "And men like me aren't allowed to have those."
By nightfall, the house was crawling with soldiers. Black suits. Loaded weapons. Stone-cold eyes.
Aria couldn't walk down a hallway without someone shadowing her.
She tried to slip into the garden. Three men followed.
She asked to visit the library. They scanned the room first.
She asked to be left alone. They said nothing, but didn't move.
Her world shrunk to the size of Luca's walls.
A beautiful prison.
At dinner, she refused to speak. He didn't push.
But when she reached for the wine, he caught her wrist again.
"No alcohol."
She blinked. "I need something to calm my nerves."
"Not while they're trying to kill you."
"What do you want from me, Luca?"
He leaned back in his chair. "Loyalty."
"You can't force loyalty."
"I can force everything else."
She set her glass down harder than necessary. "So what now? I smile, wear your rings, attend your events like a good little mafia queen?"
He stood slowly.
"No."
Then he walked around the table and stopped beside her.
"You stop pretending," he said softly. "And you start surviving."
That night, he didn't join her in bed.
She lay alone, staring at the ceiling, expecting him to return — to crawl into bed like a silent shadow, to breathe beside her and burn her with his presence.
But he never came.
And somehow, that felt worse.
The next morning, she demanded answers.
"Who attacked us?" she asked, stepping into his office.
Luca looked up from a file, eyes narrowing slightly. "You shouldn't be here."
"It's my life too, isn't it? Or do I only count when I'm wearing red dresses and heels?"
He said nothing.
She walked closer.
"Tell me."
He sighed and set the file down.
"Someone from the Bratva."
"The Russians?"
He nodded. "Your brother made a lot of promises. Left a lot of broken ones. When I took over his dealings, I inherited his enemies."
"And they want revenge."
"They want blood. They want to make me look weak by taking what's mine."
Her stomach turned.
"So I'm bait?"
"You're a statement," he said. "They take you, they humiliate me. If I protect you, they know I'll spill oceans of blood for you."
"Which makes me valuable."
He stood and walked to her slowly.
"It makes you mine," he said, lifting her chin.
"I'm not a pawn."
"No," he said. "You're the queen. And queens survive by standing beside their king. Not behind him."
That night, she sat beside him at dinner again.
Silent. Watching.
He didn't try to touch her.
But his words from earlier kept echoing.
You're the queen.
She didn't want this war.
She didn't want him.
But she was here. And if she had to survive in this world of blood and violence...
Maybe it was time she stopped being the frightened girl with trembling hands.
And became the woman who could stand beside a monster.