Dinner that evening had begun in silence, the kind that weighed heavy on the air and pressed down on the chest like an invisible hand. The long table glittered under the light of chandeliers, the silverware aligned perfectly, the wine poured deep and dark into crystal glasses. Aria sat at Lorenzo's right hand, her posture straight, her face carefully composed, though inside her stomach coiled with unease. There was always something unnatural about these meals—an air of performance, of masks worn even when the masks themselves were heavy with cracks.
She watched the men trade words about business, territory, alliances, the language of the underworld spoken in a casual rhythm as though they were discussing the weather. But every phrase had sharp edges, every sentence cut deep with warning, with threat, with hidden promises of violence. Aria barely tasted her food; she had learned quickly that meals here were less about eating than they were about measuring loyalty, about watching, about surviving the tension between courses.
Lorenzo was calm tonight, too calm, his profile carved in stone as he listened without revealing thought. His hand rested loosely against the stem of his glass, and yet Aria could feel the leash of power in every muscle, the readiness that hummed beneath his skin. He was never truly relaxed—always coiled, always watching, always prepared for the storm that might break at any second. And perhaps that was why she noticed it first.
A flicker at the edge of her vision—the quick shadow across the high window. Then another. Aria's breath caught, her fork pausing midair. She turned her head slightly, trying not to draw attention, but the prickle at the back of her neck sharpened. Something was wrong.
The crack came like thunder. A gunshot, close enough to rattle the glass in its frame, shatter the edge of the tableware. Screams burst from throats, chairs scraped violently against the marble floor as men leapt to their feet. In an instant, the serene mask of dinner fractured into chaos.
The windows imploded in a rain of glass. Dark figures poured through, masked, armed, shouting orders in voices that reverberated like snarls of beasts. Aria's breath lodged in her chest, frozen between terror and disbelief. This was not the whispered politics of backroom deals. This was war, spilling into her lap, tearing through her sanctuary.
She didn't even have time to scream before Lorenzo was moving. One second he was seated at her side, the next he was a wall of fire and steel between her and the storm. His chair clattered to the ground as he yanked her back, forcing her behind him, his body an unshakable shield. The sharp command of his voice cut through the gunfire, barking orders to his men with lethal clarity.
"Down!" he snarled, his arm sweeping across Aria's shoulders, forcing her to crouch against him as the first spray of bullets tore through the hall. She felt the heat of him, the tremor of contained violence in his muscles, and beneath the terror that surged through her veins came something else: a terrible, confusing gratitude. Even in the chaos, even in the violence, he was there. Protecting. Claiming.
The room erupted with fire. Men shouted, guns roared, the air choked with the acrid sting of smoke and gunpowder. Aria's heart hammered so violently she thought it would tear from her chest, but she refused to collapse, refused to let fear make her small. She pressed her back to the wall, eyes wide as she watched the nightmare unfold, every sound and flash etched into her mind.
Lorenzo moved like a predator unleashed. His men flanked him, returning fire with deadly precision, but her eyes couldn't leave him. The calm mask was gone, replaced by something raw and furious, the ruthless fire that earned him his name. He was merciless, every strike deliberate, every command iron. He fought like a man with something to lose—and for a dizzying, terrifying heartbeat, Aria wondered if that something was her.
A figure broke through the smoke, raising a weapon, shouting words that turned Aria's blood to ice.
"Bring me the girl!"
Her name followed, screamed by another voice, echoing through the chaos like a curse. Aria's breath seized. They weren't just here for blood. They were here for her.
Lorenzo's head snapped toward the sound, his eyes locking onto hers in that instant, blazing with a fury that nearly blinded her. His hand gripped her arm, yanking her tighter against him, his body shielding hers completely as the storm raged around them.
And then, with the world collapsing in gunfire and firelight, Aria realized the truth that stole what was left of her breath: this wasn't just an attack on the De Luca family. This was a hunt.
They had come for her.