The night had fallen heavy, the mansion unusually quiet except for the faint hum of cicadas beyond the gates. I was restless, pacing my room, too charged after the dinner "game" to sleep. Every word the Don had said replayed in my head, circling like a storm.
That's when the knock came. Soft. Urgent.
"Who is it?" I asked, moving closer.
"It's Clara," whispered the maid. "The Don requests you in the courtyard."
I frowned. "Now?"
"Yes, miss. He said it's urgent."
Something felt wrong, but exhaustion clouded my judgment. I opened the door. Clara wasn't there. Only two men in dark suits. Before I could scream, a cloth smothered my mouth, the bitter sting of chemicals burning my nose. Darkness swallowed me whole.
I woke tied to a chair in a dim warehouse, ropes biting into my wrists. My heart hammered as shadows shifted. A man stepped forward, not the Don—but another predator in an expensive suit.
"Finally awake," he drawled. "Mrs. Luca herself. The Don's little prize."
My voice shook. "Who are you?"
He smiled cruelly. "Let's just say I'm his competition. And you, sweetheart, are the perfect weapon."
I struggled against the ropes. "He won't come for me. He doesn't care."
"Oh, he'll come," the rival said, crouching down to meet my eyes. "Men like him, they care deeply about their possessions."
"I'm not his possession."
"You keep telling yourself that."
I spat at him. "Go to hell."
His hand clenched around my jaw, forcing me to look at him. "You've got fire. No wonder he hides you away like a jewel. But soon, he'll lose you. And I'll win."
Before I could respond, a gunshot cracked through the air. The man froze. Another shot shattered the window. Chaos erupted.
Then I heard it—his voice.
"Touch her, and you're dead!"
The Don.
The warehouse doors burst open. His men stormed in, guns blazing. The rival cursed, yanking me up as a human shield.
"Let her go!" the Don roared, stepping into the light. His suit was dark, his eyes darker, fury radiating from every inch of him.
The rival laughed bitterly. "One more step and she dies."
The Don's jaw tightened. "You really think I won't kill you before you blink?"
The rival pressed a gun to my temple. "Do it, and she goes with me."
"Don't listen to him!" I cried. "Don't risk yourself!"
"Shut up," the rival snarled, tightening his grip.
But the Don didn't move. His gaze locked on mine, steady, fierce. "Do you trust me?"
My throat tightened. "What?"
"Do you trust me?" he repeated, sharper.
"I—I don't know—"
"Say it," he ordered. "Say you trust me."
Tears burned my eyes. "I trust you."
"Good," he murmured, and before I could blink, his hand shot into his jacket. One precise movement—one bullet. The rival crumpled, the gun slipping from his grip.
I stumbled forward, free, gasping as the Don caught me against his chest.
"You came," I whispered, trembling.
He looked down at me, fury and relief battling in his gaze. "I told you. You're mine."
"But you could've died," I said, voice breaking.
"So could you," he shot back. His arms tightened around me. "And I don't lose what's mine."
I pushed weakly at his chest. "Stop saying that. I'm not just a thing for you to own."
His jaw clenched, but his voice softened dangerously. "Then what are you, Aria mia? Because when I heard they took you, I nearly burned the city to the ground. Tell me that's possession."
I stared at him, speechless.
He brushed a strand of hair from my face, his hand trembling despite his composed mask. "You're more than that. More than I should ever allow myself to want. And yet… here I am, risking everything."
I whispered, "Why?"
"Because losing you terrifies me more than death."
My chest tightened, my breath caught. "Don…"
His men cleared the warehouse, dragging bodies and weapons away, but I couldn't look at them. I could only look at him.
"You don't mean that," I whispered, though a part of me prayed he did.
His eyes burned into mine. "I mean every word."
Silence stretched between us, heavy, charged.
"Don't look at me like that," I muttered, breaking the spell.
"Like what?"
"Like you care."
"Because I do," he said simply, with no hesitation.
I shook my head, tears spilling. "You're going to destroy me."
"Or save you," he countered, voice low, deadly earnest. "Maybe both."
His thumb brushed away my tear. For a dangerous moment, the world narrowed to just us.
"You should hate me," he whispered.
"I do," I breathed.
"Then why are you shaking in my arms instead of running from them?"
I swallowed hard, unable to answer.
"Because you trust me," he said, as if reading my thoughts. "Even if you don't want to admit it."
I wanted to deny it, but the truth lodged like a stone in my throat.
"Let's go home," he said finally, guiding me out of the warehouse. His grip never loosened, his presence a shield.
And for the first time, home didn't sound like a prison. It sounded terrifyingly close to safety.
Later, in the car, silence stretched between us. His hand rested on mine—not forcefully, but steady. Protective.
"Don…" I began, voice cracking. "Why did you risk everything for me?"
He didn't look at me, just out the window at the city lights. "Because, Aria, without you… the rest means nothing."
I turned my face away, heart racing, because the worst part wasn't his words.
It was how much I wanted to believe them.