The ride was quiet and tense. The bodyguard, whose name I still didn't know, drove with an eerie calm, completely focused. We left the familiar streets of the university district and entered the heart of the financial district. The buildings grew taller and sharper, shining towers of glass and steel reaching for the sky. They were symbols of power and wealth, worlds apart from my student apartment.
We stopped in front of the most imposing tower: Moretti Enterprises Global. The name was displayed in bright silver letters above the entrance. My blood froze. Moretti. No, it couldn't be.
I struggled to process the implications. The man in the hospital, the bodyguard's "boss," Dante Moretti. His reputation for ruthlessness was well-known. The man Aria and I had condemned for years.
"Get out," the bodyguard ordered, his voice flat.
My feet felt heavy, but I forced myself to move. He guided me through a private lobby, past a security checkpoint that felt more like military than corporate, and into a private elevator. The ride up was fast and silent. When the doors opened, I expected an office but found a grand penthouse that radiated extreme wealth. Floor-to-ceiling windows gave a sweeping view of the city, laid out like a map. The furniture was minimalist and modern, with sharp lines and monochrome tones. It was a space designed to intimidate.
And there, standing by the window, was Dante Moretti.
In person, he was even more intimidating than in the magazines. Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore a tailored grey suit that hugged his body. He turned slowly, and for the first time, I saw his face clearly. It was striking—a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and rich brown hair just a bit too long for formal standards.
But it was his eyes that seized my attention. They were a vibrant green, like jade, holding a chilling depth. There were faint lines of fatigue around them, and his pale skin suggested a recent, serious illness. He was the man from the hospital bed.
"Isabella Rossi," he said, his deep voice smooth but edged with steel, sending a shiver down my spine. "Thank you for coming."
Anger surged through me, overwhelming my fear. "Where is Aria? What have you done with her?"
He motioned to a leather armchair across from him. "Sit."
"I'm not sitting. I won't do anything until you tell me where my best friend is."
A flicker of annoyance or maybe respect crossed his face. "She is safe. She is with me." He paused, his green eyes locking onto mine. "My name is Dante Moretti. Aria is my sister."
The words hit me like a punch. I took a step back, struggling to process the revelation. "No. That's impossible. Her name is Valenti. She… she hates you."
"Valenti was our mother's maiden name. She uses it for her safety," he said, his tone emotionless. "And she doesn't hate me. She hates the things I must do."
Suddenly, everything made horrifying sense. Aria's avoidance of her family, the disconnected number for her 'aunt,' her sorrowful looks whenever I criticized him. She had been lying to me. For years. The betrayal stung sharply.
"Why am I here, Moretti?" I spat his name like a curse.
"Nineteen years ago, I watched my parents bleed to death from inside a closet," he said, his voice lowering to a chilling tone. "The men who killed them wanted the Moretti name, our power, our legacy. I've spent every day since then making sure my sister would never be a target and could have a semblance of a normal life. Your friendship with her was a calculated risk."
He had known about me all along. He had been watching me. The thought made my skin crawl.
He stepped closer. "Four days ago, I was in an accident. It was not an accident; it was an attempt on my life. I lost a lot of blood."
His eyes held mine. "I have the rarest blood type on the planet. The doctors said I was going to die. But a donation had just been made—a donation from a university student with the same rare blood type as mine. Your blood, Isabella, is currently flowing through my veins. You saved my life."
I stared at him, speechless. The man I had prayed for, the stranger I had given my blood to, was the devil himself.
"My grandfather taught me many things before he died," Dante continued, his voice dangerously soft. "But the most important was this: A Moretti always pays his debts. You saved my life, and I now owe you. So name your price."
He said it as casually as if he were offering to buy me a coffee.
"Name my price?" I repeated, my voice shaking with rage. "You think you can put a price on a human life? On my blood?"
"Everything has a price," he replied smoothly. "Your student loans, erased. A position at the top law firm in the country when you graduate. A penthouse in this building. A trust fund that would set your family up for generations. Just name it, and it is yours."
The sheer arrogance took my breath away. He thought he could buy my silence, my compliance, my forgiveness for his lies. He thought he could buy me.
"I don't want your money, Moretti," I said, my voice low and steady despite the turmoil inside. "My blood is not for sale. We are not even. The fact that it saved a man like you is not a debt; it's a tragedy. Now, I want to see Aria. I want to see my friend."
For the first time since I entered the room, Dante Moretti looked genuinely surprised. He studied me for a long moment, his green eyes narrowed as if trying to solve a complicated puzzle.
"Very well," he said finally, a strange light appearing in his eyes. He turned to the bodyguard who had been silently standing by the door. "Leo. Bring Aria."
Leo nodded and slipped through a side door. Moments later, Aria appeared. She looked pale and shaken but unharmed. The moment our eyes met, hers filled with tears.
"Bella," she whispered.
I completely ignored Dante, rushing to her and pulling her into a fierce hug. She clung to me, trembling.
"I was so worried," I murmured into her hair. "Why didn't you call? Why didn't you tell me?"
She pulled back, guilt etched on her face. "I couldn't. After the… accident, Dante forbade it. He said it was too dangerous. Bella, I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you so many times. But I was afraid. Afraid you would hate me."
"I don't hate you," I said, my voice thick with emotion. But as I looked from her tear-streaked face to her brother, who watched us with that same unsettling, calculating gaze, I felt a gap between us. She was a Moretti. She was part of this dark, dangerous world I wanted nothing to do with.
"You have seen she is safe," Dante's voice cut in. "Now we finish our business."
I turned to face him, my arm still protectively around Aria. "We have no business. I want nothing from you."
"You misunderstand," he said, his voice dropping an octave, clear warning in his tone. "My debt to you is not a negotiation. It is a fact. And until it is settled, you are my responsibility. You saved my life, Isabella Rossi. And in doing so, you have just ruined yours."