Aria Bennett never believed in luck. But tonight, if luck existed, it had abandoned her entirely.
The rain fell in icy sheets, plastering her dark hair to her face as she ran down the narrow alley behind the café where she worked two jobs. Her boots splashed through puddles, her breath coming in harsh gasps. Every shadow felt alive. Every sound—footsteps, a car door, a whisper—made her heart thump faster.
She had been careful. Always careful. But one wrong turn, one careless glance, had brought her to this moment.
A scream, muffled but sharp, echoed from the street ahead. Aria froze. She knew what it was before she even saw it.
Blood. A man, sprawled on the wet asphalt, eyes wide in shock. And the other man—the one moving silently, deadly—was the devil himself.
Luciano Moretti.
She had heard his name whispered among terrified bartenders, street hustlers, and even policemen who dared not step near the Moretti empire. "The Devil's Heir," they called him. Cold. Merciless. Beautiful. Dangerous. Untouchable.
And tonight, by some cruel twist, she had seen him kill.
Her instinct screamed at her to run, but her feet betrayed her. She stood frozen behind a dumpster, drenched, heart pounding, watching as Luciano wiped the blood from his hands with a silk handkerchief, his gaze scanning the street with predatory precision.
Her breath hitched. She had to leave. She had to escape. But as she turned, a shard of glass underfoot betrayed her. A loud crunch cut through the night.
Luciano's head snapped toward her.
Aria's blood ran cold.
Those eyes—dark, stormy, and sharp enough to pierce her soul—locked onto hers.
The world seemed to shrink. Rain, blood, shadows—they all faded. It was just him, and her, and the terrible knowledge that he had seen her.
He stepped closer, each movement deliberate, silent, lethal. Aria stumbled back, heart hammering against her ribs.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice smooth, calm, yet carrying an edge that promised pain if ignored.
"I… I—I didn't see anything," she stammered, though she knew he didn't believe her. He never believed lies.
He crouched slightly, his gaze studying her like she was a puzzle he intended to solve—or a threat he intended to destroy.
"You saw everything," he said. Not a question. A statement.
Aria swallowed hard. Her mind raced. Fight? Run? Plead? She knew the answer. None would work. Not against him.
And then, without another word, Luciano moved. Faster than she could react, he was in front of her. His presence was suffocating, intoxicating, terrifying all at once. She could feel the heat of him even through the rain-soaked distance.
"Stay with me," he commanded.
Her instincts screamed. That was not a request.
Before she could protest, strong hands grabbed her arms, lifting her effortlessly. The world spun. Rain blurred her vision. She tried to scream, but no sound came out.
Inside his car, the leather smelled of power and danger. He didn't speak. He drove through the dark streets like he owned the night—because he did.
Aria's mind raced. She could not explain why she wasn't screaming at him to let her go, why her pulse didn't slow, why a tiny, terrifying part of her wanted to stay.
He parked in front of a massive mansion, gothic and imposing, lights cutting through the storm. This was the Moretti estate. A fortress. A prison. And tonight, it was her world too.
Luciano did not open the door for her. He just gestured, sharp and precise, for her to enter.
Inside, the mansion was silent, vast, and cold. The fire in the main hall did little to warm the chill that ran down her spine. Every shadow seemed to watch, every echo seemed to whisper threats.
He led her to a room at the far end of the hall. The door closed behind her with a definitive click that sounded like a coffin lid.
"You will stay here," he said, finally breaking the silence. His eyes bore into hers. "Until I decide otherwise."
Aria's stomach dropped. "I—I can't stay here!" she protested, but the words felt weak, powerless.
Luciano leaned closer, a predator studying prey. "You saw me, Aria. You cannot leave. Not tonight. Not ever if you know what's good for you."
Her name on his lips sent a shiver through her. Not from pleasure. From fear. And yet, a dangerous, unwanted thrill flickered through her chest.
He turned and left, the sound of his steps echoing like a death knell. She was alone, trapped, soaked in fear, and entirely at his mercy.
Alone, but not entirely. Because she had seen him. And he would never let that go.
The first night of her new life stretched ahead, long, dark, and endless.
And in the silence, a thought burned in her mind: I will survive this. Somehow.
Somehow, she would.
But little did she know, survival was only the beginning.