The morning after felt deceptively calm. The storm had passed, sunlight streaming through the mansion's tall windows as if the world had decided to grant them a reprieve. Aria awoke still tangled in Luca's arms, his steady heartbeat beneath her cheek, the scent of him clinging to her skin. For a moment, she let herself believe that everything was different now, that his confession, their kiss, the way he had held her like she was salvation, had changed the game.
But peace in Luca DeLuca's world was an illusion.
By noon, the house buzzed with tension. Guards whispered in corners, phone calls ended abruptly when she entered rooms, and the Don himself had disappeared into meetings without explanation. Aria tried to shake the unease, telling herself paranoia was just a side effect of sleepless nights. Until she walked past the study.
The door was cracked open. She froze when she heard voices, Matteo's low drawl and Luca's sharper, clipped tone.
