The drive back to the Moretti estate was suffocating. Dante didn't speak, his jaw clenched, his knuckles white around the steering wheel.
Aria sat rigid, arms folded across her chest, every word Lucien had said echoing in her skull. Does she even know what those eyes mean?
By the time they pulled into the long driveway, she felt like she would explode.
Dante opened her door, guiding her out with his usual protective grip. But this time, she wrenched her arm free.
"Don't," she snapped, spinning to face him in the shadows of the estate's grand entrance. "Don't touch me until you tell me what the hell that was back there."
His storm-grey eyes darkened, his voice dangerously low. "Not here. Inside."
"No," she hissed, the anger cracking through her fear. "I'm done being paraded like some fragile doll while everyone else whispers around me. You're hiding something, Dante. And your charming little friend made sure I knew it."
Lucien's smirk flashed in her memory, those silver eyes burning.
Dante's jaw worked, silent fury trembling through him. He yanked the door open and dragged her inside, slamming it shut.
The estate was quiet, the air thick with unspoken things. Aria stood at the center of the foyer, refusing to move, refusing to back down.
"Talk," she demanded.
Dante's hands flexed at his sides, like he wanted to punch the walls. "You don't understand the danger, Aria—"
"Then make me understand!" she cut in, her voice sharp, trembling with both rage and desperation. "Matteo is dead. Men are hunting me in the streets. And now I find out that not only does your enemy share the same cursed eyes as you—but apparently I do too! What does it mean, Dante?"
The silence between them throbbed.
For the first time, he looked away.
Aria's chest tightened. That tiny, subtle crack in his armor terrified her more than any gun, any bullet. "Dante…" her voice softened, almost breaking. "Please."
Finally, he met her gaze. His storm-grey eyes were tormented, blazing with secrets.
"Those eyes," he said hoarsely, stepping closer, "are a bloodline. A mark that binds us to power, and to death. Mine. Lucien's. And now yours."
Her breath hitched.
"What kind of power?" she whispered.
His expression hardened again, walls slamming back into place. "The kind that gets people killed."
Her stomach dropped. "Matteo."
Dante flinched. Just barely—but enough.
Aria staggered back a step, cold shooting through her veins. "Oh my God. You knew. You knew Lucien had something to do with his death."
His eyes locked onto hers, haunted, desperate. "Aria, listen to me—"
But she cut him off, tears burning in her eyes. "Don't you dare tell me to listen when you've been lying to me since the day we met."
Dante's fists curled, his storm-grey gaze flashing with a mix of rage and helplessness. "I kept it from you because if you knew, they'd use you, Aria! The Valerios would gut you open for answers you don't even have. You don't understand the war you've just been dragged into."
Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. She took a shaky step closer, lifting her chin, even though her voice trembled. "Then teach me, Dante. Stop treating me like a pawn. Stop protecting me with silence. Because silence won't save me."
The words hung between them, sharp and fragile as glass.
For a heartbeat, Dante's mask cracked again—pure torment in his eyes. Then, suddenly, he grabbed her face, his grip desperate, his forehead pressed against hers.
"You have no idea what you're asking of me," he growled, voice low and raw.
Aria's tears slipped free, but she didn't look away. "Then show me."
The moment burned—rage, grief, desire, secrets. Neither of them moved, both trapped in a storm only they could feel.
But above them, somewhere in the dark, Lucien Valerio's smirk lingered like a ghost.