The air between them was heavy, thick with something that neither of them could quite put into words, though it charged the silence with a dangerous electricity. Aria stood in the dim hallway just outside her room, the shadows of the sconces flickering against the marble walls, casting firelight across Lorenzo's face. His expression was unreadable, torn between command and something that felt perilously close to hesitation. She should have stepped back, should have turned away, but her feet betrayed her, keeping her rooted in place as though some invisible chain bound her to the gravity he exuded. His eyes, dark as storm clouds, held hers with unrelenting force, and she felt her breath catch as he took a deliberate step closer.
The scent of him hit her first—smoke, leather, the faint trace of expensive cologne, and something more primal that belonged to no fragrance but to him alone. His presence wrapped around her like fire, too hot, too consuming, impossible to escape. Every instinct screamed at her to retreat, but her body did the opposite, leaning infinitesimally closer, drawn into the storm. The world outside seemed to still, sound retreating until there was nothing but her pounding heartbeat and the low hum of his breathing, steady, measured, as though he were fighting something inside himself.
"You think you hate me," he said softly, his voice rough, his words a brush of heat against her ear though he had not yet touched her. "And maybe you do. Maybe you should. But tell me, wife—does your body hate me as much as your words claim to?" His mouth curved into the faintest trace of a smirk, not mocking this time, but something more dangerous—something that suggested he already knew the answer.
Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. "I don't belong to you," she whispered, though her voice lacked the strength she wished it had.
His hand lifted, slow, deliberate, until his fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. The touch was almost tender, almost careful, and yet it set her nerves on fire. He tilted his head slightly, studying her like a predator savoring the moment before the strike. "Don't you?" he murmured, so quiet it was barely a question.
And then, before she could find words to counter, before she could take a breath, his face was so close that she felt the warmth of his lips hover just above hers. Not a kiss yet, not quite, but the promise of one, the kind of promise that stole every rational thought from her head. Her pulse thundered, her body taut with the conflict of desire and defiance.
It would have happened. She knew it. He knew it. The world had narrowed down to that single moment, that single breath between them where fire might consume everything—
And then the crack of a gunshot split the night.
The sound was sharp, echoing through the halls like thunder, shattering the fragile spell between them. Aria gasped, jerking back instinctively, her hands clutching the wall for balance. Lorenzo's expression hardened in an instant, the softness gone, replaced by the mask of ruthless command she had come to recognize. He turned his head toward the sound, his body tense, shoulders squared, every line of him honed into lethal readiness.
Another shot rang out, this one farther away, muffled, like a warning rather than an attack. Shouts followed in the distance—the heavy thud of boots against stone, the bark of orders exchanged in the courtyard below.
"What was that?" Aria demanded, her voice trembling, though she tried to hide it.
"Stay here," Lorenzo ordered sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. But even as he said it, his gaze flicked back to her, as though he knew she would disobey, as though part of him didn't truly want her out of his sight.
Her chest heaved with adrenaline, her body still buzzing from the almost-kiss, the nearness that had nearly undone her. But now fear clawed its way through her, sharp and unrelenting. The mansion, for all its opulence, suddenly felt fragile, vulnerable, the walls nothing more than glass against the threat pressing in from outside.
Lorenzo stepped closer to the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to peer into the night. His jaw clenched as he watched the chaos below, men in suits rushing across the courtyard, weapons drawn. The headlights of unfamiliar cars flickered in the distance, engines idling, as though waiting to strike.
"Is it an attack?" Aria asked, her voice small, betraying the tremor she couldn't quite hide.
His eyes cut back to her, sharp, unreadable. "Maybe. Or maybe it's worse."
She frowned. "Worse than an attack?"
"A warning," he said grimly, his hand flexing at his side. "Someone reminding me that the walls of this house don't make me untouchable."
Her stomach twisted. For the first time, the reality of her position struck with full force—not just the cage of glass and wealth she inhabited, not just the vow that bound her to him, but the fact that she was tethered to a man marked by enemies at every corner. The danger she had feared from Lorenzo himself was nothing compared to the danger that circled them both like wolves in the dark.
A final shot rang out, then silence fell, heavy and expectant, as though the night itself were holding its breath.
Lorenzo let the curtain drop, his expression carved in stone. He moved toward the door, his steps purposeful, but paused when he reached her. For a moment, their eyes met, and she saw something flicker there—something raw, unguarded, gone in an instant. He leaned down slightly, his voice low, meant for her alone.
"Stay alive, Aria," he said. "Even if you hate me for it."
And then he was gone, the door closing behind him, leaving her in the echo of silence, her body still trembling from what almost was and what had nearly come crashing down upon them.
Aria pressed her hand to her lips, not because he had kissed her, but because he hadn't. Because she had wanted him to, against every shred of reason. Because the gunshots outside were no longer the only danger circling her.
The real danger was inside, curling like fire in her chest, and it had a name.
Lorenzo De Luca.