Aria had seen betrayal before.
But this one bled differently.
Ivanna's treachery was just the surface—she could feel it. Like a splinter under her skin. A bigger truth was lurking underneath.
Someone else was feeding her father information.
Someone closer.
Much closer.
⸻
The estate had turned paranoid overnight. Guards questioned each other. Luciano barely slept. Every hallway felt like a trap, every silence stretched into suspicion.
Aria trusted no one—not even herself.
She moved like a shadow, eyes scanning, ears listening.
She asked Enzo for all communication logs, physical access records, even facial recognition results from the fire night.
It was there she saw it.
One visitor.
Cleared by Luciano himself.
A woman with a long braid and dark glasses.
Luciano's mother's old nurse.
Except the nurse had died two years ago.
Aria's blood ran cold.
She stormed into Luciano's office, throwing the printed footage onto his desk.
"You let her in."
Luciano looked up, confused.
"I didn't approve that."
"You did. Biometric stamp. Voice code. Retinal scan."
He went pale.
"…I didn't approve it."
Aria stared at him. "Then who did?"
Luciano was quiet for a long time.
Then, barely audible, he said:
"There's one other person who has access to all my authorizations."
Aria froze. "Who?"
⸻
Luciano's jaw clenched.
"My cousin. Marco."
The name hit like a cold slap. Marco—his consigliere. His blood. The man Aria had laughed with at the wedding reception. The man who'd once called her sorella.
"I trusted him," Luciano said.
"Then he's the leak," Aria replied.
Luciano stood, pacing. "I need proof."
"You don't need proof when the fire's already burned half your house down," Aria snapped.
He slammed his palm on the desk. "He's family!"
She stepped closer, voice low and lethal.
"So was my father."
⸻
They found Marco in the underground garage.
He didn't run.
Didn't flinch.
Only raised a brow as the guards surrounded him.
"Really?" he said, smirking. "You're arresting me?"
Luciano didn't say a word. Just stared.
Marco's expression shifted when Aria approached.
"You don't get it," he said softly. "You think this is about betrayal?"
"What is it about then?" she asked.
Marco's eyes darkened. "Survival. The old way is dead. Your father—he saw what's coming. Luciano's playing king on a crumbling throne."
Luciano moved before Aria could stop him—fist to jaw. Marco hit the floor hard, blood spattering the marble.
"No trial," Aria said coldly. "Put him in the dark with Ivanna."
⸻
That night, Luciano sat on the edge of their bed, head in his hands.
"You think this ends with Marco?" he asked quietly.
"No," Aria replied, sitting beside him. "It ends when they believe we'll burn everything down to stop them."
He looked at her. "Even your father?"
She met his gaze. "Especially him."
There was no softness left in her voice.
No doubt.
Only steel.
⸻
The next day, Aria took over the war room reconstruction.
She chose the blueprints. She reprogrammed the security. She handpicked the five men and women who would replace Luciano's shattered inner circle.
Loyalty. Skill. Brutality.
It wasn't enough to build a fortress anymore.
She needed an empire.
⸻
Later, as dusk fell over the estate, Aria stood alone in the new control room.
A screen lit up.
A security breach.
One name:
Nico Virelli.
A ghost.
Luca's best friend. A man thought dead in the first war.
He was alive.
And walking into the lion's den.
⸻
The camera zoomed in on Nico's face as he passed through the front gates.
Aria's heart stopped.
In his hand—was Luca's old rosary.
And around his wrist?
Luciano's mother's charm.
The one stolen the night of the fire.