The basement smelled of iron and damp stone, a suffocating mixture that clung to the walls and to the men who stood in its shadows. Chains rattled faintly with each movement, echoing in the cold air. Aria hadn't wanted to follow Lorenzo down there, but something in the tautness of his jaw, in the clipped edge of his voice when he ordered his men to bring the prisoner, had drawn her like a moth to a flame she knew could burn her alive. She had never seen him like this, not truly—stripped of the tailored suits and measured words, unshielded by the veil of civility he wore in public. This was Lorenzo in his rawest form, and it terrified her as much as it fascinated her.
The prisoner knelt on the concrete floor, hands bound behind him, a bruise blossoming across one cheek. His breath came ragged and quick, but his eyes—darting frantically between Lorenzo and the soldiers who lined the walls—betrayed his fear more than anything else. Aria recognized him. A servant's cousin, a man who had been caught on the estate grounds without clearance. Too ordinary, too human to look like a threat. And yet Lorenzo stood before him like a predator poised to strike, the darkness in him coiled and ready to lash out.
"You were seen near the gates," Lorenzo said, his voice low, deadly calm, every syllable slicing through the silence. "Who sent you?"
The man stammered, shaking his head violently. "N-no one! I was just—I was only delivering—"
The crack of a fist split the air before he could finish. Lorenzo's knuckles connected with the man's jaw, sending him sprawling against the floor. Blood splattered in a vivid arc, staining the concrete. Aria flinched at the sound, her stomach twisting, but Lorenzo didn't hesitate. He grabbed the man by his collar, dragging him upright with a strength that seemed almost inhuman, his teeth bared in a snarl.
"Lies," Lorenzo spat. His voice was louder now, his control fraying with each word. "Do you think I am a fool? Do you think you can walk into my home, breathe my air, and betray me without consequence?"
The man sobbed, shaking, his words garbled through split lips. "Please—I swear—"
Another blow silenced him. This time it wasn't calculated, it wasn't controlled. It was rage. Raw, unfiltered rage. Aria saw it in the way Lorenzo's shoulders heaved, the way his eyes gleamed with something savage. This wasn't business. This was personal, primal. He was no longer interrogating; he was unleashing something darker, something that scared her because she didn't know if he could stop.
"Lorenzo!" Her voice cut through the air before she could think better of it. It startled even the soldiers, their eyes flicking toward her with something between awe and disbelief. No one interrupted him—not here, not in this place where his word was law and his wrath was feared.
But she did.
Lorenzo froze mid-motion, his fist hovering inches from the man's face. For a moment, he looked as though he hadn't heard her at all, his chest rising and falling with the feral rhythm of an animal about to kill. Then, slowly, his head turned, his gaze locking on her.
Aria's breath caught. His eyes weren't just dark—they were consumed. Yet when they landed on her, something shifted. Not much, but enough.
"He doesn't know anything," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. She stepped closer, ignoring the warning glares of the men around them. "Look at him, Lorenzo. He's terrified. He's not lying—he's just caught in something bigger than himself. If you kill him now, you'll regret it. I know you will."
For a long, suffocating moment, the only sound was the prisoner's whimpering, the drip of blood hitting the concrete. Lorenzo's hand still trembled, clenched into a fist, but his arm lowered by degrees. He shoved the man back against the floor with a growl of frustration, turning away as though he couldn't trust himself to face either of them.
The tension broke like glass underfoot, sharp and fragile. The soldiers exhaled, some muttering under their breath, others shaking their heads in disbelief. But none dared question it. None dared question her.
Aria knelt quickly, helping the prisoner back to his knees. Her hands shook as she touched him, but she forced herself to look strong, to appear like she wasn't afraid of the man looming only a few steps away. She whispered that he would live, that he should keep quiet, and when she stood again, Lorenzo was watching her.
His expression was unreadable, but the fury in his body had dulled to something heavier, something rawer. Shame, perhaps. Or something close to it.
When they were finally alone, after the men had dragged the prisoner away and silence had reclaimed the basement, Lorenzo leaned against the wall, his head tipped back, his breathing uneven. Aria hesitated, torn between fear and something she didn't dare name, before stepping closer.
"You would have killed him," she said softly.
"I should have." His voice was hoarse, but the bite in it was gone. "He was on my land. In my house."
"You didn't," she pressed, her tone firmer now. "Because of me."
That made him look at her. Really look. His gaze burned, but not with the same fury that had driven his fists. This was something deeper, something that made her chest ache and her throat tighten.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" he asked, his words low, ragged. "You step into my world, into my fire, and suddenly—" He broke off, dragging a hand down his face as though the confession itself pained him.
Aria's heart thundered. She wanted to step back, to create distance, but her feet refused to move.
He pushed off the wall, closing the space between them in two strides. His hand hovered near her cheek, not quite touching, his breath warm against her skin. His eyes searched hers, desperate and unguarded.
"You're the only thing keeping me human."
The words fell between them like a vow and a curse all at once.
Aria's breath caught, her body taut with the weight of them. She wanted to deny it, to push him away, to remind herself of every reason she had to hate him. But she couldn't. Not when his voice broke the way it did. Not when she saw the man beneath the monster, the man only she seemed able to reach.
And in that moment, she realized the truth: she had power over Lorenzo De Luca. Power no bullet, no council, no rival family could claim.
The question that lingered in the silence afterward was far more dangerous than his fists, more dangerous than his enemies.
What would she do with it?