Aria couldn't sleep.
The silence of the Moretti estate pressed in on her like a coffin. She paced the length of her room, arms wrapped tight around her chest, replaying every word Dante hadn't said.
Was it you that night, or Lucien… or is there another silver-eyed freak?
The question still burned on her tongue. And his silence—God, his silence—was worse than any answer.
A sharp crack shattered the quiet. Glass breaking.
Her heart stuttered. It came from downstairs. From him.
She slipped out of bed, barefoot, the marble floor cold beneath her skin as she crept through the corridors. The house loomed, ancient and endless, shadows clinging to every corner.
Aria paused at the top of the staircase. The faint glow of lamplight spilled from the library door. Voices. Low. Dangerous.
She edged closer, each step careful, breath shallow.
"…when she finally learns what you've done," a smooth, mocking voice whispered, "whose side will she choose?"
Lucien.
Her pulse roared in her ears. She pressed against the wall just outside the doorway, straining to listen.
Silence followed. Heavy. Suffocating. Then—Dante's voice, dark and venomous:
"Say her name again, and I'll put a bullet between your eyes."
Aria's stomach dropped. The air vibrated with tension, like two predators circling in a cage.
Lucien's laugh slid like oil through the doorframe. "Ah, but you won't. You never could finish what you start, brother. Not with Matteo… and not with me."
The floor tilted beneath her. Matteo.
Aria's hand shot to her mouth, stifling the gasp clawing up her throat.
She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be hearing this. But her legs refused to move.
Through the narrow crack of the door, she caught a glimpse of them: Dante, shirt bloodied from his hand, fury carved into every line of him; Lucien, lounging as if the threat of death was merely a game.
Her chest ached, torn between the man who'd broken her world open and the shadow with silver eyes who seemed to know too much.
The weight of their secrets pressed against her, suffocating, until she thought she might drown right there in the hallway.
And then—Lucien's gaze flicked to the door.
Straight to her.
Aria froze.
His silver eyes glittered with amusement, lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. But he said nothing.
Not a word.
He let the silence expose her instead.
Lucian's smirk lingered in the air long after he left, like poison. The heavy door of the library clicked shut, and Dante stood frozen, his hand still bleeding into the broken glass.
Aria had been watching.
She'd followed the sound of voices, her chest tight, her instincts screaming that the walls of this house were closing in with secrets.
When Lucian brushed past her in the hall, he didn't even look surprised to see her. He only leaned in, close enough for her to feel the chill of his breath.
"Careful, dolcezza," he murmured, silver eyes glinting. "The answers you're chasing might ruin you."
And with that, he slipped into the shadows, leaving her spine prickling with unease.
Her hand trembled against the doorknob before she pushed into the library. The smell of whiskey, blood, and rage hit her like a wave.
Dante was at the desk, his broad shoulders rigid, fists braced against the wood. He didn't turn when she entered.
"Why was he here?" Aria's voice cut through the silence.
No response.
She stepped closer, eyes catching the blood dripping from his palm. "What did he mean, Dante?" Her tone cracked with something between fury and fear. "Is it true? Was it you that night… or Lucian? Or is there another silver-eyed monster I should be preparing myself for?"
Dante's head tilted slightly, but he never looked at her. Not once.
The silence was a blade pressed to her throat.
When he finally moved, it was only to walk past her, his shoulders brushing hers. No words. No answers. Just the raw scent of blood and smoke trailing behind him as he left her standing in the ruins of the truth.
Her chest heaved. And for the first time since Matteo's death, Aria wondered if she was safer in the dark… than in Dante Moretti's light.