Aria's POV
I can't breathe.
Can't think.
Can't process what I'm seeing.
My mother—dead for fifteen years, buried in the ground, gone forever—stands in front of me. Older. Harder. But definitely, impossibly her.
"Mom?" The word comes out broken.
"In the flesh." She smiles, but it's wrong. Cold. Nothing like the warm smile from my memories. "Surprised?"
Dante tenses beneath me, ready to fight. I feel his muscles coiling like a spring.
"Don't," Sofia warns, pressing her gun against his temple. "I will blow your brains out, Constantino. And I'd rather not make my daughter watch. Again."
"Again?" I whisper.
Her eyes flick to me. Green eyes, just like mine. "You don't remember, do you? You were so young. Seven years old, hiding in that closet. But you saw more than Marco thinks."
The memory slams into me—
Blood spreading across the floor. Daddy falling. Mommy pointing her gun at—
Not at the attackers.
At Daddy.
"No." I shake my head. "No, you didn't. The Constantinos—Marco said—"
"Marco lied. I lied. Everyone lied." Sofia gestures with her gun. "Get up. Both of you. Slowly."
Dante helps me stand, keeping himself between me and my mother. Protective, even now.
The armed soldiers spread out, covering every exit. We're trapped.
"Why?" My voice cracks. "Why fake your death? Why leave me?"
"Because you were the mistake I couldn't afford to keep." The words hit like bullets. "Your father and I—we weren't in love, Aria. We were assets. Spies. I was deep cover in the Ricci family, he was FBI. You were born from one careless night, and suddenly I had a weakness the Syndicate could exploit."
"So you killed him? Your own husband?"
"I killed a fellow operative who was going to blow my cover." No emotion. No regret. "He wanted out. Wanted to take you and run. Start a real family." She laughs bitterly. "Pathetic."
Dante's hand finds mine, squeezes. Grounding me.
"The Syndicate ordered the hit," he says quietly. "They told Marco to clean it up. To take Aria."
"Smart boy." Sofia nods. "But Marco went soft. Couldn't kill a child. So he kept her, raised her, pointed her at you like a good little weapon. Except..." She studies me with those cold green eyes. "You're not very good at being a weapon, are you? You're here, standing with your enemy, holding his hand."
I drop Dante's hand like it burned me.
Sofia laughs. "Too late, baby. I saw. And it tells me everything I need to know."
"What do you want?" Dante demands.
"What I've always wanted. Control." She signals to her soldiers. "The Syndicate is restructuring. The old guard—Marco's generation—they're weak. Sentimental. We're taking over. And that means eliminating loose ends."
"Like me," I realize.
"Like both of you." Sofia's smile sharpens. "Dante because he's been digging where he shouldn't. And you, Aria, because you're my daughter. My weakness. Can't have that in my new position."
The casual way she says it—like ordering coffee, not murder—makes me want to scream.
"You're insane," I breathe.
"I'm practical." She raises her gun. "Any last words?"
Dante moves so fast.
He shoves me sideways, draws his own gun, fires three shots in rapid succession. Two soldiers drop. The third stumbles back.
Chaos erupts.
Sofia dives behind the couch. Her soldiers open fire. Bullets tear through the penthouse, shattering what's left of the windows, shredding furniture.
Dante drags me behind his desk. "Stay down!"
"We're outnumbered!"
"I know!" He fires back, taking down another soldier. "There's a panic room. Through that wall. Code is 0315—your birthday."
"My what—"
"GO!" He shoves me toward the wall.
I scramble across the floor as bullets whiz overhead. Find the hidden panel, punch in 0-3-1-5.
It opens.
"Dante, come on!"
But he's not following. He's standing, firing, keeping Sofia's soldiers focused on him instead of me.
"DANTE!"
"Get inside, Aria! Now!"
A bullet catches his shoulder. He staggers.
"NO!" I run back, grab him, half-drag him toward the panic room.
Sofia appears, gun raised. "Always so dramatic, Constantino."
She fires.
I throw myself in front of Dante.
The bullet hits my side. White-hot pain explodes through me. I gasp, stumbling.
Dante catches me. "Aria! No, no, no—"
"Touching," Sofia says. "But stupid."
She aims again. This time at Dante's head.
Then the lights go out.
Complete darkness. Emergency power failure.
Dante scoops me up, runs. I feel the panic room door slam shut behind us. Heavy locks engaging.
Silence. Except for my ragged breathing.
"You're okay." Dante's hands press against my side, trying to stop the bleeding. "You're going to be okay."
"Liar," I gasp. It hurts. Everything hurts.
"Shh. Save your strength."
Emergency lights flicker on. Dim red glow. Dante's face is pale, worried, his shoulder bleeding from his own wound.
"Why did you do that?" he asks. "Why take the bullet?"
"I don't know." And I don't. Hours ago I wanted him dead. Now I took a bullet for him. "Instinct?"
"Stupid instinct." But his voice is soft. Gentle.
He rips his shirt, uses it to bandage my wound. His hands are shaking.
"We're trapped," I say. "She'll find a way in."
"Not before help arrives. I have people. They'll come."
"You hope."
"I know." He looks at me, really looks at me. "You saved my life, Aria."
"You saved mine first. In the office."
"Doesn't count. That's just basic decency."
"And this isn't?"
A tiny smile. "This is something else entirely."
The moment hangs between us. His face inches from mine. Blood loss making everything fuzzy and strange and intense.
"Dante—"
Pounding on the panic room door. BANG. BANG. BANG.
Sofia's voice filters through: "Come out, come out, wherever you are."
"She's psychotic," I mutter.
"She's your mother."
"Barely." I wince as pain shoots through my side. "She killed my dad. Faked her death. Left me. Now she wants to kill me for real. That's not a mother."
"No," Dante agrees. "It's not."
More pounding. Then silence.
"She's planning something," Dante says.
"How long can we stay in here?"
"Seventy-two hours. Food, water, medical supplies." He checks his phone. "No signal though. She's jamming it."
Great. Trapped in a small room with Dante Constantino, both of us bleeding, my psychotic mother trying to kill us.
This is not how I imagined my revenge plan going.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly.
"For what?"
"For ever thinking you were the monster in my story." I look at him. "My mother killed my father. Marco used me. The Syndicate destroyed everything. And you? You were protecting me the whole time."
"Aria—"
"I was so wrong about you."
His hand cups my face. "You weren't wrong. I am a monster. I break bones. I kill people. I've done terrible things."
"But you have a reason. A line you don't cross." I cover his hand with mine. "My mother doesn't."
"No. She doesn't."
We sit in silence, waiting. Bleeding. Together.
Then my phone buzzes.
Impossible. Dante said no signal.
I pull it out with shaking hands.
Message from Unknown: Your mother isn't the real threat. Check Dante's pocket. The flash drive. He's been lying about more than just watching you.
My blood goes cold.
I look at Dante. "Do you have a flash drive in your pocket?"
His expression freezes. "Aria—"
"Do you?"
Slowly, he reaches into his jacket. Pulls out a small black flash drive.
"What's on it?" I ask.
He doesn't answer.
"WHAT'S ON IT, DANTE?"
"Proof," he finally says. "That I knew about your mother. That she was alive. That I've known for three years."
The world stops.
"You KNEW?" I can barely speak. "You knew my mother was alive and you didn't tell me?"
"I was trying to protect you—"
"By LYING?" I struggle to sit up, ignoring the pain. "Everyone lies to me! Everyone uses me! And you—I was starting to trust you!"
"Aria, please—"
"What else are you hiding?"
His silence is answer enough.
I close my eyes, tears streaming down my face.
Everyone I trust betrays me.
Everyone.
Another message buzzes: Want to know his biggest secret? Ask him about the night your parents really died. Ask him who REALLY pulled the trigger on your father.
My eyes snap open.
"Dante." My voice is deadly quiet. "Where were you fifteen years ago? The night my parents died?"
He goes pale. "Aria, don't—"
"WHERE WERE YOU?"
He looks at me with such pain, such regret.
"I was there," he whispers. "I was fourteen years old, and my father took me along to teach me t
he family business. I was in that house, Aria. I saw your mother shoot your father."
The room spins.
"And I did nothing to stop it."