[Aria]
The moment I stepped into the room, the air changed.
Conversations didn't stop—but they shifted. Lower. Sharper. Measured.
Men in tailored suits sat around a long polished table, their voices calm, but their eyes calculated everything. Power didn't need to announce itself here. It was simply understood.
I walked beside my father, Giovanni Russo, matching his pace. My posture was straight, my expression carefully controlled.
I had learned that much, at least.
Never look uncertain.
Never look weak.
"Giovanni," a voice greeted.
A man rose from his seat—older, composed, carrying a quiet authority that didn't need proving. His gaze flicked to me briefly before returning to my father.
"Mr. Santos," my father replied smoothly, extending his hand.
They shook.
Then something shifted.
"Well, well… it's been a while, old friend. To be honest, I didn't think you'd honor my invite. But I'm pleased to have you," Mr. Santos said as their grip tightened.
The atmosphere in the room changed instantly.
The other men stayed still, but I felt it—tension tightening the space between them. They were all mafia. None of them could afford to show weakness. But even they knew what my father was.
The Ghost.
And one wrong word around him could end badly—fast.
While the room stayed caught in that silent awareness, my father and Mr. Santos finally released each other and settled into place at the table.
Mr. Santos' gaze drifted to me. He hesitated for a moment, as if unsure whether to acknowledge me at all—until my father gave the smallest nod.
Permission.
"This must be your daughter," he said, turning to me.
I forced a polite smile. "Aria Russo."
"A pleasure."
It didn't feel like one.
"David," Mr. Santos called.
My attention shifted—and that was when I saw him.
He stood near the far end of the room, as if he had been watching everything before I even walked in.
David.
He was tall—unusually so. About 6'4, maybe more. His build was strong, controlled, the kind that didn't need to announce itself to be noticed. His dark brown hair sat perfectly in place, like even chaos wouldn't dare touch it.
And for a brief, frustrating second, my thoughts betrayed me.
He looked like the kind of man people described as "perfect." The kind families approved of without thinking too hard.
But I didn't trust impressions like that.
Not anymore.
Still, something about him unsettled me in a way I couldn't immediately explain.
Not danger.
Not comfort either.
Just… awareness.
He stepped forward, calm and self-assured, his gaze locking onto mine with a familiarity that made my skin tighten.
"Aria," he said, like he'd known me longer than a few seconds.
I held his gaze, refusing to be the first to look away. "David."
Up close, it was worse.
Too composed. Too certain.
Like this moment had already been decided somewhere I wasn't allowed to see.
"You've heard about me, I assume," he said.
"Only what matters," I replied coolly.
A faint smile touched his lips. "Then we'll have time to fill in the rest."
My chest tightened slightly.
We'll have time.
Not if.
Not maybe.
Like time was already assigned.
Like the decision was already made.
"Sit," my father said quietly beside me.
It wasn't a suggestion.
I sat.
David settled across from me, still watching like he was trying to read something I hadn't agreed to show.
The meeting continued—business, alliances, territory—but I barely followed it.
My attention kept drifting.
To David's gaze.
To the way he watched me when he thought I wasn't paying attention.
To the unspoken agreement sitting in the room like smoke.
This wasn't just business.
It was positioning.
And I was part of it.
"…strengthens both families," Mr. Santos was saying.
"Exactly," my father replied. "Unity in times like this is not optional."
My fingers curled slightly under the table.
Unity.
A word that always meant more than it should—and still not enough.
"And of course," Mr. Santos continued carefully, "such unity is best reinforced through… closer ties."
The room changed instantly.
Not outwardly. No one reacted.
But I felt it.
The weight of what he was really saying.
My father didn't look at me.
He didn't need to.
"We are in agreement," he said.
That was it.
No discussion.
No hesitation.
A decision already made before I had even been asked.
I kept my expression steady, even as something in my chest tightened.
Across from me, David leaned back slightly, watching me more closely now—as if waiting for a crack.
"You'll find," he said casually, "that I'm very easy to get along with."
I met his gaze, something colder settling behind mine.
"I doubt that's the problem."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face.
Good.
Let him be amused.
Let him think I was predictable.
The meeting went on, but I was no longer really there.
Because my mind had drifted somewhere it shouldn't have.
A café.
A stranger.
Luke.
I saw him again in my memory the same way I had that day—unplanned, unsettling in a different way.
He hadn't looked at me like I belonged to anything or anyone.
There was no control in his gaze.
No ownership.
No certainty.
Just something I couldn't name.
And somehow, that stayed with me more than it should have.
My chest tightened.
Why was I thinking about him now?
Why him?
"Aria."
My father's voice cut through everything.
I straightened instantly. "Yes?"
"You'll be spending more time with David," he said, tone final. "Get to know each other."
There it was again.
A decision dressed up as something softer.
"Of course," I said.
Across from me, David didn't look away.
"Looking forward to it," he said.
And for the first time that night, I felt it clearly.
Something sharp settling beneath my calm expression.
Not fear.
Not yet.
But something close enough to recognize.
Because deep down—
I knew.
This wasn't the beginning of something simple.
It was the start of something I might not be able to control.