The Romano heir appeared not in the shadowed backrooms of the mafia council or in the heat of a violent clash, but in a place that felt too ordinary for the weight of his presence. Aria had been sent out, under the watch of two guards, to the manicured gardens of an ally's estate where a gathering was being held—a show of peace, of civility, of old-world elegance painted over blood-soaked power. She moved through the roses and marble fountains, her every step followed by eyes she could not see, and she had told herself she could breathe here, away from Lorenzo's constant storm. But the illusion shattered the moment she felt someone watching her differently—not as possession, not as jewel, but as target. When she turned, she saw him.
The heir of the Romano family. His reputation had reached her ears in whispers: cunning where Lorenzo was brutal, smooth where Lorenzo was steel, a serpent who coiled instead of striking until it was far too late. He approached her without hesitation, his dark suit cut in sharp lines, his face a study of disarming charm that barely concealed the danger in his eyes. Aria's guards stiffened, their hands brushing the edges of concealed weapons, but the man raised his hands slightly in mock surrender. "Relax," he murmured to them, his gaze never leaving her face. "I'm only here to greet the lady."
The word lady slipped like silk, but Aria felt the venom beneath it. He waited, not for permission—he wasn't the kind of man who asked—but for her reaction. She should have turned away, should have summoned Lorenzo, should have remembered that every interaction outside the safety of their walls was another battlefield. And yet she stood frozen, because his eyes held a knowledge she had not expected. He knew her fear. He knew her cracks.
"You must feel caged," he said softly, stepping close enough that only she could hear. "A wife paraded on her husband's arm, dressed up, displayed, but never truly free. I see it in your eyes. You may wear diamonds, but your chains are still chains."
Aria's mouth went dry. She wanted to laugh, to deny it, to say something sharp that would echo Lorenzo's fire—but her silence betrayed her. He smiled, slow and knowing, as though her quiet was the only confirmation he needed.
"You think Lorenzo is your shield," he continued, his voice a murmur wrapped in silk. "But men like him do not protect. They consume. When the day comes, he will not hesitate to put a bullet in you if it means keeping his empire. It is not cruelty. It is survival. And survival is the only language a Don understands."
The words sank into her like cold steel, because some part of her—the part that remembered his threat on the night she overheard him—recognized truth in them. Lorenzo had never promised her safety. He had only promised possession.
Her guards shifted uneasily, catching the low hiss of danger in the man's voice, but he leaned even closer, his breath brushing her ear. "I offer you something different," he whispered. "A chance to choose. A chance to live outside his shadow. All you have to do is call."
Her body went rigid as he pressed something into her palm—a small, weightless object, hidden by the sweep of her gown. A burner phone. Smooth, cold, already humming with the promise of betrayal. She clenched her hand around it without meaning to, feeling its edges dig into her skin, as though the device itself was already binding her.
The Romano heir stepped back then, his expression polite, almost casual, as though he had simply paid a compliment. To anyone watching, it would have seemed nothing more than a courteous exchange in the garden. But his eyes lingered, dark and sharp, holding hers in a grip that felt as dangerous as any blade.
"Think carefully, Aria," he said, his smile widening, but his voice still low, intimate. "Because when the time comes, you will realize it. Lorenzo will sacrifice you for power. And you deserve better than to die for a man who cannot love you the way you want."
Her throat tightened, but she forced her face into a mask of cool indifference, the way she had seen Lorenzo do countless times. She nodded once, as though the conversation meant nothing, and turned away before her legs betrayed her. Her guards fell into step, unaware of the weight she now carried in her hand.
But as she slipped the burner phone into the folds of her gown, her pulse thundered with the knowledge that she had just been given a choice—a poisoned one, perhaps, but a choice all the same.
And she couldn't stop hearing his last words echoing like poison in her blood: Lorenzo will sacrifice you for power.