Aria woke with a gasp.
She was warm, dry, and very much alive. The pain in her ribs was still there, pulsing dully under her skin, but her body no longer felt like it was in pieces. Her eyes adjusted slowly to soft amber light filtering through the room, illuminating the modern edges of a penthouse that could only belong to someone powerful… and dangerous.
The sheets beneath her were silk. Real silk. The air smelled faintly of eucalyptus and leather. Her coat was gone. Her boots too. Someone had cleaned the blood off her skin and bandaged her ribs. Her chest tightened.
She hated the feeling of being taken care of.
It always came with a price.
Aria sat up carefully, fighting a sharp tug of pain on her side. She scanned the room. Minimalist furniture. Expensive art. No personal photos, no signs of warmth. The space was beautiful but cold. Like the man who brought her here.
Dominic.
That was the name she overheard one of the men mutter when they helped her into the building. A name that carried weight. She didn't know who he was exactly, but something told her she was sleeping under the roof of someone no one dared cross.
The door creaked open.
Aria's eyes snapped toward the figure that entered. A woman. Tall, with jet-black hair pulled into a sleek bun, wearing a gray cashmere sweater and tailored pants that looked like they belonged on a Vogue spread. Her heels clicked softly on the marble floor.
"Good. You're awake," she said coolly, carrying a tablet in one hand. "I'm Dr. Eva Roman. Dominic asked me to keep an eye on you."
Aria instinctively pulled the blanket tighter around herself. "I didn't ask for a doctor."
"No," Eva said, setting the tablet down on a side table. "But you were unconscious, bleeding internally, and had three cracked ribs. So forgive us for ignoring your pride."
The woman was clinical. Detached. But efficient. She wasn't the type to fake kindness. Aria appreciated that at least.
"What time is it?"
"Almost noon. You've been asleep for sixteen hours."
Aria blinked. "Sixteen…"
Eva crossed her arms. "You had a mild concussion. It's a miracle you made it through that alley. If Dominic hadn't found you—"
"Why did he?" Aria interrupted, her voice sharper than she meant. "He's not exactly the type to hand out rescue missions."
Eva's expression didn't shift. "You'll have to ask him yourself."
"And where exactly am I?"
"You're in his home."
Of course. The coldness. The silence. The impeccable taste. She should've known. Nothing here felt lived-in, just… owned.
Before Aria could ask more, Eva turned to leave.
"You're free to go," she said, pausing at the door. "But I wouldn't recommend it. You won't get very far with that injury. And Dominic doesn't like loose ends."
The door clicked shut behind her.
Loose ends.
What the hell had she gotten herself into?
She managed to stand after a few more minutes, teeth clenched as pain rippled through her side. The silk robe draped over the chair by the bed fit her loosely, which meant someone had taken the time to guess her size.
Creepy.
But it was better than walking out half-naked.
She padded barefoot through the hallway, trying to remember the path she'd been carried through last night. The penthouse was massive. Marble floors. Gold trim. Floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the skyline like artwork.
She found him in the living room, sitting on a black leather couch with a drink in one hand and a phone in the other. Dominic Moretti.
He didn't look surprised to see her.
"I see you survived," he said without looking up.
"Was that ever in question?"
Dominic set the drink down and met her eyes. "You were barely breathing."
Aria stayed near the edge of the room, like stepping too close would pull her into something she couldn't escape. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing tattooed forearms. He looked like sin in a boardroom.
"What do you want from me?" she asked.
"Nothing."
She laughed, dry and hollow. "Right. You just bring home strangers and patch them up out of the goodness of your heart."
"No," Dominic said. "I bring home people who interest me."
That made her heart stutter.
"I'm not a pet project."
"No," he said again, slower this time. "You're a survivor. I respect that."
She didn't know how to respond. The way he looked at her—it wasn't predatory. It wasn't pity either. It was like she was a puzzle he hadn't figured out yet. And Dominic Moretti didn't strike her as the type to leave puzzles unsolved.
"Do I at least get a warning?" she asked. "About who exactly I've gotten in bed with?"
His lips twitched. A smile that wasn't kind.
"You're not in my bed," he said, "and if you were, you'd know it."
Her face flushed, but she didn't look away. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction.
"I run businesses," he added. "Some legal. Some… not so much."
"Mafia?"
He didn't answer. He didn't have to.
The silence was louder than any confession.
"I should go," she said, backing toward the hall.
"Where?" he asked.
She hesitated.
Dominic stood slowly, walking toward her with the patience of a man who had never rushed a day in his life. He stopped inches from her, his voice low.
"Go if you want. But whoever hurt you is still out there. I can promise you, they'll try again. And next time, I won't be around to catch you."
Her chest tightened.
"I don't need protection."
He leaned in, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath.
"Everyone needs something, Aria. Especially when they're lying to themselves."
Before she could respond, a voice echoed from the hall.
"Dom. We've got a problem."
Aria turned to see a man entering. Broad-shouldered. Tatted. Dressed in black. He glanced at her but didn't speak.
Dominic's face hardened.
"Give me a minute," he told Aria.
She watched him disappear down the hall, the other man following close behind.
She knew two things then.
One: she was far from safe.
Two: she might not want to be.
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