-----
The dining room in the Velenzo estate had always been grand—dark wood walls, a crystal chandelier casting warm light over the impossibly long table, and silverware that had never once been touched by a stranger's hand. This was where power sat to eat. Where no one spoke unless spoken to. Where tension settled like dust.
Except tonight… something had changed.
Aria sat at the center of the table, beside Damian, in her usual seat—a position none dared question. Her gown was soft ivory silk, her hair pinned up with elegant precision. She looked like a painting. An angel painted into a sinner's world.
The most trusted—Silas, Celia, and a few older lieutenants—sat close. Aria had greeted each of them warmly, slipping back into the house like she'd never left.
At the far end of the table, food filled every silver tray, untouched.
The new recruits stood stiffly along the walls. They hadn't expected to be invited in, hadn't dared sit—not with Damian in the room.
That was when Aria looked up and smiled sweetly.
"The table's too long tonight," she said, voice soft and teasing. "It's lonely when it's not full."
The men blinked.
She turned to them with a gentle nod. "Come. Sit with us."
Silence.
They hesitated, awkward glances exchanged. One cleared his throat, another looked to Silas for guidance. But it was Damian they were truly waiting for. He hadn't spoken. Hadn't even looked at them.
He simply picked up his glass of wine.
No glare. No warning.
And that alone felt like permission.
Slowly, uncertainly, the new recruits took their seats—eyes lowered, movements stiff. One mumbled a thank you. Another nearly dropped his fork.
Celia leaned toward Silas and muttered under her breath, "Here we go again."
Silas didn't reply. Just sipped his wine with a faint sigh.
Dinner continued.
But Aria, of course, didn't eat quietly.
She leaned closer to Damian, resting her chin on her hand, her voice sweet and syrupy. "You know, I forgot how broody you look when you're chewing."
Damian didn't react. He cut into his steak with practiced calm.
"Do you even enjoy your food anymore," she added, "or has your soul finally withered completely?"
One of the new recruits choked on his drink.
Another glanced up in absolute horror.
Damian didn't lift his eyes from his plate. "Keep talking, and I'll have the kitchen serve your dessert in the dungeon."
Aria gasped—faux dramatic. "Kinky."
Celia didn't even blink. "And there it is."
The room was split—old members chuckling behind their wine glasses, while the new ones sat like statues, utterly stunned.
She turned to one of the younger recruits. "What's your name?"
"L-Lucas."
"Lucas," she purred, smiling. "Tell me—do you think your boss here looks like he'd kill a man over a misplaced spoon?"
Lucas went pale. "I—uh—"
Damian set his knife down with a soft clink.
"Aria."
She turned, all innocence. "Yes, Damian?"
His eyes locked with hers.
No anger.
No amusement.
Just the kind of heat that made even the chandelier lights flicker.
"Behave."
Her lips curved slowly. "Define that."
The old guards shared a look, silently counting down in their heads.
Three…
Two…
One…
Damian stood from his chair.
Aria squeaked—this time real—and pushed her chair back in a flash.
"I'm going," she said, laughing as she moved from the table. "I'm going."
She slipped out of the dining hall with a grace only she possessed, leaving stunned recruits and a smirking Celia behind.
Silas shook his head. "She never learns."
Celia lifted her glass. "No. And he never makes her."
Damian sat back down, not saying a word.
But the corner of his mouth?
It curved—barely, dangerously.
And everyone knew:
Dinner at the Velenzo estate had never felt more alive.
---