The night still clung to Aria Bellamy like smoke, her pulse racing long after Luca Moretti's intervention in the darkened street. She replayed the moment—the heat of his hand pulling her back, the sharp command in his voice that saved her life—over and over. Yet, the memory was not comfort. It was torment. Because every instinct screamed he was her enemy, even as her heart betrayed her.
But while Aria battled restless thoughts in the silence of her room, Luca Moretti poured himself a glass of wine in the solitude of his mansion.
The crystal chimed against the bottle as he filled it, then swirled the dark liquid lazily, his gaze fixed on the storm flickering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Shadows cut across the marble floor, fractured by flashes of lightning. He leaned back in his chair, sharp suit jacket discarded, his sleeves rolled up as if ready for battle.
But the war he fought tonight wasn't with weapons. It was with himself.
For reasons he could not fathom, his mind drifted back to her. To Aria Bellamy. The girl with fire in her eyes and fear in her veins. The girl who, by blood and legacy, should have been nothing more than a pawn in his family's grand game.
So why couldn't he stop thinking about her?
He gritted his teeth and tipped the glass back, the wine burning down his throat. Weakness had no place in his world. The Bellamys were his enemy, had always been his enemy. His father had carved that truth into him with the precision of a blade.
And yet—there she was. Uninvited. Unshakable.
The sound of footsteps broke his reverie. Heavy, deliberate. His father's presence always entered a room before the man himself. And when Giovanni Moretti finally appeared, tall and severe, his expression was unreadable but his voice carried the sharp weight of command.
"You hesitate," Giovanni said, eyes narrowing. "The Bellamys are not to be pitied, Luca. They are to be destroyed."
Luca didn't flinch, though his grip on the glass tightened. "I don't hesitate," he replied coolly. "I calculate."
Giovanni's gaze hardened, lingering as though peeling back his son's skin to study the soul beneath. "Good. Because the plan moves forward. We strike soon. There will be no mercy."
The words echoed like a sentence in the cavernous room. Luca gave a short nod, his face unreadable, but inside, the unease gnawed at him.
When his father left, silence returned. The storm outside had grown wilder, thunder cracking against the night sky. Luca sat back, staring at the untouched glass of wine as though it could answer the questions clawing at him. For the first time in his life, victory didn't taste sweet. For the first time, he wasn't sure if he wanted to destroy the one name that haunted him most.
Aria Bellamy.
The name burned as the storm growled faintly, thunder rolling across the horizon.
But before he could sink deeper into the thought, his phone buzzed. A single message lit the screen:
She moves tonight.
Luca's grip tightened on the glass, crimson spilling like blood onto the table. His jaw hardened.
The storm raged louder, rattling the windows. And in the thunder's roar, Luca Moretti realized the truth—whether he wanted her downfall or not, Aria Bellamy was already pulling him into a war neither of them could escape.