Aria's POV
I'm sitting in a hospital waiting room with two hundred million reasons to disappear.
The USB drive burns in my pocket like a live grenade. Marco sits beside me, silent and pale, his hands covered in our father's blood.
Dad is in surgery. Damien is being treated for his gunshot wound. And I'm supposed to give a statement to the police about what happened.
But how do I explain that my dead father came back to life, only to reveal I'm the heir to Russian mob money?
"Miss Moretti?" A detective approaches. "I'm Detective Barnes. We need to talk about tonight."
"I don't know anything."
"You were there when Thomas Moretti was shot. When Damien Cross was shot. When Robert Chen escaped." He sits across from me. "That's a lot of not knowing."
Marco grips my hand. He's terrified, and he should be. We both should be.
"It happened so fast," I lie. "Robert Chen showed up. Started making accusations. Then he shot them both and ran."
"What kind of accusations?"
I hesitate too long.
"Miss Moretti, we've been investigating Robert Chen for years. Money laundering, fraud, connections to organized crime." Detective Barnes leans forward. "If you know something that could help us—"
"I don't." My voice is firm. "I just want to see my father."
The detective studies me for a long moment, then hands me his card. "When you're ready to tell the truth, call me."
He leaves just as a doctor approaches.
"Thomas Moretti's family?"
"How is he?" I stand up so fast I nearly fall.
"Stable. The bullet went through his shoulder, missed major arteries. He's lucky." The doctor glances at his chart. "He's asking for you. Both of you."
Marco and I follow the doctor to a private room. Dad lies in the hospital bed, looking smaller and older than I remember. When he sees us, tears fill his eyes.
"My babies," he whispers. "I'm so sorry."
Marco rushes to his side. But I stay in the doorway, arms crossed.
"Is it true?" I ask. "About the Russian mob money?"
Dad's face crumbles. "I never wanted you to find out."
"That's not an answer."
He closes his eyes. "Five years ago, I was working as an accountant for a company I didn't know was a front. When I discovered what they were doing, I tried to quit. They threatened to kill you. Both of you. Your mother was already dying—I couldn't let them hurt my children too."
"So you stole their money?" My voice rises. "Two hundred million dollars?"
"I was going to use it to disappear. Take you all somewhere safe. But then your mother died, and I couldn't move the money without raising flags. So I hid it. Put it in offshore accounts under your and Marco's names because I knew they'd never look there." His voice breaks. "I thought I had time to fix everything. But then Damien Cross started investigating my work for his company, and he found discrepancies. I panicked. Faked my death to buy time to figure out how to keep you safe."
"Safe?" I laugh bitterly. "We almost lost everything! Marco almost went to foster care! How is that safe?"
"I know." Dad reaches for me, but I step back. "I made terrible choices. But I did it all for you."
"Don't." My hands shake. "Don't you dare say this was for us. You abandoned us to save yourself."
"Aria—"
"Three years, Dad. Three years I blamed Damien Cross for your death. Hated him. And he was innocent the whole time."
"Innocent?" Dad's voice hardens. "Damien Cross is many things, but innocent isn't one of them. He's using you, Aria. Whatever contract he offered, whatever promises he made—it's all manipulation."
Before I can respond, the door opens.
Damien walks in, his arm in a sling, his face pale but determined.
"Visiting hours are over," he tells my father coldly. "And you've said enough."
"You have no right—"
"I have every right. Your daughter signed a contract with me. Which means she's under my protection." Damien's eyes are ice. "And you're the reason she needs protecting."
Dad tries to sit up. "Aria, don't trust him. Everything he's told you is a lie—"
"Like the lie about being dead?" I interrupt. "Like the lie about the gambling debt? Like the lie about Damien killing you?"
Dad's mouth opens, then closes.
"Come on," Damien says to me. "We need to talk. Privately."
I follow him into the hallway, leaving Marco with Dad.
Damien leads me to an empty consultation room and closes the door.
"How much did you hear?" I ask.
"Enough." He leans against the wall, favoring his injured shoulder. "Your father is telling the truth about one thing. The Russian mob will come for you now. They've been searching for that money for five years. Once they confirm you're Thomas Moretti's daughter, you become a target."
"Then I'll give them the money. All of it."
"It's not that simple. They don't just want their money back—they want revenge. Your father stole from them. Humiliated them. They'll kill everyone connected to him just to make a point." Damien's expression softens slightly. "The contract I offered you? It's not just about debt anymore. It's about survival. Under my protection, with my resources, you have a chance. Without it, you're dead within a week."
I sink into a chair. "So I have to choose between my freedom and my life."
"Yes."
"That's not a choice."
"No," Damien agrees. "It's not."
For a long moment, we just look at each other. This man I've hated. This man who took a bullet for me. This man whose contract might be the only thing keeping me alive.
"The terms," I say finally. "I want to negotiate."
Damien pulls out a folded contract from his jacket. "I expected you would."
I read through it carefully this time. Every clause. Every condition.
Live in his penthouse: Five years.
Work as personal assistant: 24/7 availability.
No relationships with other men: Duration of contract.
No contact with former life: Except approved family visits.
Complete confidentiality: Lifetime NDA.
But also:
Marco Moretti: Full scholarship to Brighton Academy, all expenses paid.
Medical coverage: Comprehensive for entire family.
Debt forgiveness: Complete erasure of $2.3 million.
Protection services: 24/7 security for contracted employee and immediate family.
"I want three changes," I say.
"Name them."
"One: Marco can visit during school breaks. Not just approved visits—any time he wants."
Damien nods. "Agreed."
"Two: I get one day off per month. Completely off. No work, no events, no obligations."
"Agreed."
"Three: You cannot require me to do anything illegal or degrading. Ever."
"Already in the contract. Clause seventeen." He pulls out a pen. "Anything else?"
"Why are you agreeing so easily?"
"Because I'm not a monster, Aria. Despite what you've been told." He sets the pen on the table between us. "I'm offering you protection and stability in exchange for your time and skills. That's a fair trade."
"Nothing about this is fair."
"No," he admits. "But it's the best option you have."
My phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number: We know who you are, Aria Moretti. We know what your father took. Give us the money, or we start killing everyone you love. Starting with your brother.
Attached is a photo of Marco in the hospital hallway. Taken five minutes ago.
They're here. In the hospital. Right now.
I show Damien the text with shaking hands.
His face goes hard. "Sign. Now."
"What?"
"Sign the contract right now, and you become my legal responsibility. My property, technically. Which means harming you is an act of war against me. The Russians won't touch you—the consequences would be too severe."
"But Marco—"
"Will be protected the second you sign. I'll have a team on him immediately." Damien pushes the pen closer. "But you need to sign now, Aria. Before they make their move."
I grab the pen.
My hand hovers over the signature line.
This is it. The moment I give up five years of my life to a man I barely know. A man I was supposed to hate.
But he's also the man who took a bullet for me. Who's offering to protect Marco when my own father abandoned us.
I sign my name.
Damien immediately makes a phone call. "Julian. Marco Moretti, fourth floor, room 412. Full protection detail. Now."
He hangs up and looks at me. "Welcome to your new life, Miss Moretti."
Before I can respond, the fire alarm goes off.
Then the lights cut out.
Emergency lighting flickers on, bathing everything in red.
And through the window in the door, I see armed men in the hallway.
They're not hospital security.
Damien grabs my arm. "We need to move. Now."
"But Marco—"
"My team will get him. We need to get you out before—"
The door explodes inward.
Three men in tactical gear storm in, weapons drawn.
The lead man looks at me and smiles. "Aria Moretti. Your father sends his regards. The real employers want their money. And you're coming with us."
Damien steps in front of me.
"She's under my protection now. You'll have to go through me."
"Gladly." The man raises his gun.
And fires.