The mansion was colder when we returned.
It wasn't just the marble beneath my feet or the draft sneaking through the grand windows. It was something heavier. Something thicker in the air. A suffocating pressure that wrapped around my chest like invisible hands.
Luciano hadn't spoken a word since dragging me back from my spectacularly failed escape. No smug remarks. No gloating. Not even a warning. Just silence—sharp, heavy silence that weighed more than any threat.
I sat stiffly on the velvet chaise in his office while he paced behind his desk like a lion, jaw locked, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Not just with us.
With everything.
The heavy double doors burst open without a knock. A man—mid-forties, broad-shouldered, with a jagged scar running from his temple to his jaw—stormed in. Two of Luca's guards followed, tense, hands twitching near their weapons.
"We've got a problem," the scarred man growled, tossing a black envelope onto the desk. It slid across the polished surface, stopping inches from where I sat.
Luca's eyes narrowed. "What is this?"
"From the Romano family," the man spat, as though the name itself was poison.
My pulse jumped.
Even I knew who the Romanos were. Rivals. Enemies. A family as old and dangerous as the DeLucas—if not more so in some circles. My father used to call them vultures with fangs.
Luciano opened the envelope with deliberate slowness. A single photograph slid out—glossy, fresh. He held it up, examining it under the office light.
I craned my neck to look, then wished I hadn't.
It was me.
Taken from the gas station during my attempted escape. Candid. High resolution. A perfect shot of me slipping out of the catering van, sunglasses on, cap pulled low, but unmistakably me.
And attached to it, a note.
"She's more valuable than you think. Trade her… or bury her."
My blood turned to ice.
Luciano crumpled the photo, his jaw ticking so hard I thought his teeth might crack. He tossed it into the fireplace, watching the edges curl and blacken.
"Those sons of—" The scarred man started, but Luca cut him off with a sharp wave.
"Get everyone on high alert," Luca ordered, voice low, cold, lethal. "No one in or out without my clearance."
The man nodded, disappearing with the guards.
Luciano turned to me then.
And for the first time since I'd met him… I saw fear.
Not the screaming, panicked kind.
No.
This was calculated. Controlled. But fear, nonetheless. The kind that made powerful men dangerous.
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing. "You have no idea what you've done."
I shot to my feet, fists clenched. "Me? What I've done? I tried to survive! This isn't my—"
"You exposed yourself." His voice cracked like a whip. "And now they know. They know exactly how valuable you are."
"Valuable?" I threw my hands up. "I'm not valuable to anyone. I'm just—"
"You're the last Valencia," he snapped. "Do you understand what that means?"
"No! And I don't care. I didn't ask for this."
Luca's hands slammed down on the desk. "You are collateral. Leverage. A bargaining chip. In this world, bloodlines are currency. And you, Aria… you just became a blank check."
My knees weakened. "No. No. This can't—"
"It can." His voice softened, not kindly but grim. "The Romanos will either kidnap you to force my hand or kill you just to send a message."
I stumbled backward. "You can't be serious."
"Oh, I'm very serious."
The room spun. The edges of my vision blurred. My father's debts. His betrayal. And now… now I was a target not just for Luca but for every rival who wanted to bleed him dry.
This isn't happening.
I pressed trembling fingers to my temples. "There has to be another way. I can leave the country. Change my name—"
Luca's bitter laugh stopped me cold. "You think passports and airports stop people like the Romanos? You think you can outrun the shadows of this life?" He shook his head. "There's only one way to make you untouchable."
His eyes locked on mine. Silver. Piercing.
"Become mine."
The words hit harder than any slap.
"Marry me, Aria. Right now. Publicly. Officially. Once you're my wife, touching you becomes a declaration of war."
My throat closed. "I… I can't. I—"
"Yes. You can." His voice softened, but it was the softness of silk hiding a blade. "This isn't just about debt anymore. This is survival. Yours… and mine."
I backed toward the door, shaking my head violently. "No. No, there has to be another way. Anything else."
A phone rang, slicing through the tension. Luca snatched it off his desk.
"What?" His voice was ice.
I couldn't hear the reply, but the change in his expression told me enough. His jaw tightened. His knuckles whitened. His gaze flicked toward me—sharp, assessing—before narrowing.
"Handle it," he said and hung up.
He turned to me, expression graver than before. "That was the gate security."
My heart climbed into my throat. "What?"
"They found a package addressed to you."
Every cell in my body screamed don't ask, but the words spilled out anyway. "What kind of package?"
He walked to the fireplace, staring into the flames. "A finger."
The room tilted. "Wh-what?"
"A severed finger," he said, voice devoid of emotion. "Wrapped in black silk. No note this time. But we know what it means."
I staggered back until my spine hit the wall. My knees gave out, and I slid down, hands over my mouth.
"Oh my God. Oh my God…"
"They're escalating." Luca's gaze was cold but not cruel. Strangely… protective. "This is a warning. Next time, it won't be a finger. It'll be your head."
Tears burned the backs of my eyes. "Why… why are they doing this?"
"Because you are the daughter of Alessandro Valencia. Because your father sold secrets to men worse than me. Because your blood has value. And because they know forcing my hand starts with forcing yours."
I shook my head. "I didn't choose any of this."
"No." Luca's voice softened. "But you can choose how it ends."
Silence.
Heavy. Crippling.
I stared at the floor, at the intricate marble patterns that felt like a metaphor for my life—twists, turns, no clear way out.
I could refuse. Keep running. Keep hoping. And one day… end up in a ditch with my throat cut.
Or I could marry him.
A devil I knew.
A devil who, for all his ruthlessness, had offered me protection instead of a bullet.
My voice cracked when I spoke. "If I say yes… what happens?"
Luca knelt in front of me—not like a man proposing, but like a man offering a deal with the devil. "You become untouchable. The Romanos won't lay a finger on you. No one will. You'll live here, under my roof, with my protection. You'll attend public events as my wife. And after one year… if both sides agree… you can walk away."
I lifted my chin, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. "And if I say no?"
His gaze darkened. "You die."
The final nail.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
One year. One year. One year.
Slowly… shaking… I nodded.
"Fine."
The word felt like a betrayal. Like surrender.
But also… salvation.
"I'll marry you."
Luca didn't smile.
He didn't gloat.
He simply stood, offering his hand.
"Good," he said softly. "You've made the right choice, dolcezza."
I slid my trembling fingers into his.
The moment our palms touched, the weight of the decision wrapped around me like invisible chains.
This is it.
My freedom wasn't being taken from me.
I was handing it away.