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I close the folder, decision crystallizing like ice in my veins. I will protect Aria—from my father, from D’Angelo, from her past, from the truth itself if necessary.

Not just because her ignorance serves my purposes, but because the very thought of her walking away from me—of seeing her gaze filled with hatred—sends a cold dread through me that I refuse to confront.

For now, she’s mine. My responsibility, my problem, my… obsession, if I’m honest with myself.

And Marco Bianchi protects what’s his, no matter the cost.

Even if I’m the liar now.

15

ARIA

Ijolt awake, my body sensing danger before my mind can place it. The room is shrouded in darkness, like a coffin, and the only thing I can see is the glowing digital clock on the nightstand, telling me it’s 3:17 AM.

My heart thuds behind my ribs, and I don’t know why. After years of seeking safety amid danger, I now know when to recognize it. Something woke me. Something beyond my usual nightmares.

I sit up, and that’s when I hear it—voices, muffled but urgent, rising from the grounds below.

My bare feet meet the plush carpet as I pad to the window. The curtains part under my trembling fingers. Outside, flashlight beams cut through the darkness, sweeping across the manicured lawns. Men move with purpose, their dark forms distinguishable only by their shadows under the moonlight. Something has disturbed the carefully maintained order of the Bianchi estate.

I press my forehead against the cool glass, straining to catch a glimpse. Marco’s words from last week echo in my mind—howI’m in danger. If we’re being targeted, if someone’s come for Chiara, for me…

My heart begins to pound.

The voices outside grow more insistent. I catch fragments blown up by the wind.

“—perimeter breach?—”

“—east wing?—”

“—find them before?—”

My stomach twists. East wing. My wing.

A new sound pulls my attention from the window—a soft scraping outside my bedroom door, like fingernails against wood. Not the heavy footfalls of Marco or his guards, but something furtive, desperate.

I freeze, suddenly aware of how alone I am. Marco’s gun safe is locked in his study. The security panel that would summon help is not yet installed in my room. Marco said it would be done by the end of this week. I’m trapped in my room with nothing to defend myself with, and something waits on the other side of that door.

The scraping comes again, followed by a muted thump. Then silence.

My mouth goes dry. I could pretend I didn’t hear it. Could burrow back under the covers and wait for Marco’s men to find whoever is out there.

But I’ve spent too many years hiding. Too many nights in foster homes where closing your eyes to danger only ensured it found you anyway.

Besides, maybe there are guards outside, within the house. I could always scream. They’ll hear me from the hallway, but I might not be heard if the intruder finds me in my room.

I grab the heavy crystal paperweight from my nightstand and feel its solid weight in my palm. It’s heavy enough to be deadly if I wield it right.

The floorboards creak beneath my feet as I approach the door. My free hand reaches for the knob, fingers curling around the cool brass. I hold my breath, counting down in my head.

Three…

Two…

One…

I yank the door open, paperweight raised high, only to stumble backward in shock at the hooded figure that nearly collapses into my room.