The night was still alive with echoes of violence. Even though the gunfire had long since stopped, the walls of the mansion seemed to reverberate with it, as though the marble itself had absorbed the tension and refused to let it go. Aria's pulse hadn't slowed; her body remained taut with the adrenaline of fear, her mind spinning with questions she couldn't answer. She had stayed in her room, pacing, waiting, straining for the sound of Lorenzo's return. The silence felt worse than the chaos—it was heavy, suffocating, as if the very air carried the weight of something unspoken. When the door finally burst open, she startled, spinning around, her breath caught in her throat.
Lorenzo filled the doorway, his presence overwhelming the room instantly. His shirt was untucked, sleeves rolled up hastily, a gun still clutched in his hand. There was sweat along his temple, his dark hair mussed from the night's unrest, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of a man who had been in danger but refused to yield to it. His gaze scanned the room, sharp, searching, as though expecting to find an intruder lurking in the shadows. When his eyes landed on her, relief flickered across his features so briefly that she almost doubted she had seen it at all. Almost.
"Come," he ordered, his voice rough with command. He crossed the room in three long strides, gripping her wrist in his hand. His touch was hot, searing, unyielding. "It isn't safe here."
"Safe?" she echoed, stumbling as he pulled her with him into the corridor. "I thought this house was supposed to be a fortress."
He didn't answer, but his grip tightened. They moved quickly down the darkened hallway, past guards shouting to one another, the distant slam of doors, the barking of dogs in the courtyard. Aria's heart pounded with each step, her fear and confusion tangling with the fiery awareness of his hand locked around her. His pace was brutal, but he never let her falter, dragging her closer when she lagged, shielding her with the breadth of his body as though he could physically block the danger that prowled just beyond the walls.
They reached a side stairwell, narrow and dimly lit, far from the grand marble steps that guests would ever see. Lorenzo shoved open a door and led her down into a hidden passageway that smelled faintly of damp stone and iron. Aria stumbled over the uneven steps, nearly falling, but he caught her with his free arm, pressing her against the wall for a moment to steady her. His body pinned hers in the darkness, and for a fleeting instant, the sound of her pounding heart seemed louder than the shouts above them.
"Keep moving," he muttered, but the words came out hoarse, too close, too heavy.
She swallowed hard, pushing herself away from the wall as they descended further. The tunnel seemed endless, a labyrinth that only he knew, twisting deeper into the earth. By the time they reached a reinforced steel door and Lorenzo ushered her inside, her breath was ragged, her pulse still racing from fear—and something else she refused to name.
The room was small, hidden, with low ceilings and bare walls. A single lamp flickered to life when Lorenzo hit a switch, casting the space in a dim, amber glow. It was a safe room, she realized, though the word felt hollow. Nothing about this night felt safe. She backed away from him, clutching her arms around herself, her voice shaking. "What just happened? Who was out there? Was it an attack?"
Lorenzo set his gun down on a metal table with a sharp clatter, his movements taut with restrained fury. He turned, meeting her gaze with eyes that burned. "It doesn't matter who it was. What matters is that you're alive."
Her chest tightened. "Alive, but trapped. Alive, but chained to you."
His jaw flexed. He closed the distance between them in two long strides, his hand finding her chin, tilting her face up to his. His touch was rough but not cruel; it was as though he needed to see her eyes, needed proof she was still standing. "You think I dragged you into this because I wanted a plaything? You think I married you just to watch you suffer? You're here because your father sold you to me, because this world eats the weak alive, and because I—" He stopped himself, breathing hard, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "Because I won't let them take you from me."
The words hit her like a blow. They weren't tender, they weren't loving, but they were fierce in their intensity, raw in their conviction. She felt heat coil in her chest, rising through her veins, burning away the fear until only confusion and something darker remained.
His face was close, too close. She could feel the warmth of his breath, see the faint scar along his jaw, the tension etched into the muscles of his neck. She should have shoved him away, spat words of defiance. Instead, her body betrayed her, tilting ever so slightly forward, drawn to the danger of him, to the fire he carried like a second skin.
For a moment, the world narrowed again, just as it had in the hallway before the gunfire. His eyes flicked to her lips, and her pulse stuttered violently. His thumb brushed against her jaw, not gentle, not soft, but enough to make her knees weaken.
Then he kissed her.
It wasn't like the staged, mocking press of lips from their wedding. It wasn't for show, wasn't a weapon to display to others. This kiss was real—raw, consuming, a collision of fire and hunger and fury. His mouth crashed against hers with a force that stole her breath, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, holding her as though he would never let her go.
Aria gasped against him, torn between resistance and surrender. Her hands pressed against his chest, meaning to push him away, but the heat of him, the steady thrum of his heart beneath her palms, betrayed her. Instead of shoving, her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, clutching him as though he were the only solid thing in a world spiraling out of control.
The kiss deepened, a battle as much as it was a surrender, his tongue brushing hers in a way that left her dizzy, her body trembling with the onslaught of sensation. It was fire and storm, rage and need, a kiss that didn't ask permission but demanded an answer from the deepest part of her.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, both of them breathing hard, the silence between them charged with everything that kiss had said but neither dared voice.
Aria's lips tingled, swollen from the force of him, her chest heaving as though she had just run miles. Confusion swirled inside her, colliding with the undeniable truth that she had kissed him back, that a part of her had wanted it, had needed it, even if her mind screamed against it.
Lorenzo's voice was a low growl, rough and dangerous. "That wasn't for them."
Her breath hitched, her eyes widening, but before she could speak, before she could untangle the chaos in her chest, the sound of footsteps echoed above them, shouts growing louder, reminding her that danger hadn't passed.
But the danger inside this room, the danger in her heart, was far worse.
Because Lorenzo De Luca had just kissed her like he owned her, and the most terrifying part was how much of her wanted to let him.