The city was never silent, not even at night. The Bellamys' world thrived on shadows, and Aria had grown up knowing that darkness often held sharper edges than light. But tonight, as she slipped into the narrow alley beside the boutique to catch her breath, the shadows seemed to close in tighter than usual.
Her footsteps echoed softly on the pavement. She told herself she was safe. The Morettis wouldn't dare strike in public, not when eyes and whispers trailed their every move. And yet, something in her chest whispered otherwise.
She didn't hear them until it was too late.
Three men emerged from the dark—faces hidden beneath hoods, movements too smooth to be anything but trained. One blocked the exit behind her, the other two advancing with deliberate steps. Aria's pulse spiked.
"Bellamy," one of them hissed, the word thick with disdain. "Your family's time is over."
Fear clawed at her throat. She backed against the cold brick wall, her hands trembling though she forced her chin high. The Bellamy pride had been hammered into her since birth. Never show weakness. Never show fear. But her body betrayed her as the men closed in.
The first reached for her wrist—only to collapse with a choked grunt, a gloved hand wrenching him backward.
Luca Moretti moved like a shadow come alive. One moment he wasn't there, the next he was—swift, precise, merciless. His fist struck the second man across the jaw, sending him sprawling into the ground. The third tried to draw a blade, but Luca's boot caught him in the ribs, slamming him against the wall with brutal efficiency.
It was over in seconds.
Aria stood frozen, her breath shallow, her pulse wild. She stared at the three crumpled figures around them, then at Luca—tall, composed, adjusting the cuff of his jacket as though dispatching trained killers was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
"Why—" Her voice cracked, then steadied. "Why are you here?"
Luca's eyes cut to her, sharp and unreadable. "Because letting you die in an alley would be… premature."
His tone was flat, devoid of affection, yet it sank into her chest like a spark. She hated herself for the heat that rose in her cheeks, for the way her heart stuttered at the sight of him standing between her and danger.
"You saved me," she whispered.
"No," he corrected smoothly, stepping closer until the space between them seemed to vanish. "I saved my game piece." His gaze lingered on hers, dark and unflinching. "Don't mistake that for mercy."
Aria swallowed hard, her fingers curling against the wall. She wanted to tell him she understood, that she saw the ruthlessness in his eyes. But deep down, her traitorous heart was whispering something else—that perhaps, buried beneath his coldness, there was something more.
Luca leaned closer, his voice a velvet threat. "If you want to survive, Aria Bellamy, you'll stay out of alleys. And you'll remember that your life continues only because I allow it."
The words chilled her blood, yet left her trembling for reasons she couldn't name.
He turned away, striding into the night with the same commanding presence that had left the alley littered with fallen men. Aria's knees nearly buckled as she watched him go, her body torn between terror and longing.
She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of her heart.
This wasn't salvation. This was a warning.
But the truth burned in her, undeniable.
Every time Luca Moretti stepped into her world, she lost another piece of herself.
And as his figure disappeared into the shadows, Aria knew one thing with painful certainty:
This was not the end. It was only the beginning.