The city was alive outside, but Luca Moretti barely heard it. He needed silence, a place where his father's voice couldn't follow, where the weight of centuries-old vengeance didn't press so hard against his chest. So he chose Le Jardin. The restaurant was dim, elegant, and quiet—perfect for men like him who came to bury thoughts in fine wine. He loosened his tie, took a long sip of red, and tried not to think about her. But of course, he failed. Aria Bellamy. The girl he was meant to destroy. The girl his family wanted to use as bait, a pawn in the blood feud between empires. Tonight was supposed to be the night. She moves tonight. His father's words still burned on the screen of his phone. But when Luca had given the order, something in him recoiled. He couldn't. Not her. Not like this. And then the doors opened. He didn't have to look up to know it was her. He felt it—the shift in the air, the hush that followed beauty when it walked into a room. Aria Bellamy stepped into Le Jardin, trailed by two bodyguards who scanned the room with sharp eyes before letting her settle at a corner table. Her gown shimmered faintly beneath the soft lights, her hair falling like waves of midnight against her shoulders. For a moment, Luca thought fate was mocking him. Of all places, of all nights. His phone buzzed again on the table. His father. Update me. Has she been taken? Luca silenced it. His gaze was fixed on her, the way her hand trembled slightly as she lifted her glass, the way her eyes betrayed exhaustion she would never voice. Before he knew it, he was standing. His chair scraped softly against the marble, and with the ease of a man who had never once been denied, he crossed the room. "Bellamy," he said when he reached her table, his voice low, rich. Her eyes snapped up. Surprise flickered there, then something else. Wariness. Curiosity. "Moretti." Her tone was careful, but her lips parted on his name as though she had been expecting him all along. "Seems fate has a cruel sense of humor," he murmured, sliding into the seat across from her without asking. Her bodyguards shifted but stayed back. This was neutral ground, after all. Aria tried for composure, sipping her wine. "Do you always sit uninvited at a lady's table?" "Only when she makes it impossible to stay away," Luca replied, and even he was startled by the truth in his own words. The silence between them stretched, not hostile but charged—like the faint hum before a storm breaks. His phone buzzed again. He ignored it. Aria tilted her head. "You look… distracted. Not your usual predator self." Luca leaned in slightly, candlelight catching the sharp angles of his face. "Careful, Aria. If you see me as a predator, then you should know sitting across from me is dangerous." Her pulse quickened, but she didn't look away. "And yet, you're the one who sat down." His mouth curved, but the smile never reached his eyes. She was right. God help him, she was right. The phone buzzed once more, louder this time, rattling against the table. Aria's eyes flicked toward it. Luca caught her gaze again, holding it, as if daring her to ask what message could possibly pull him from this moment. He didn't move. Didn't answer. Because right then, with her sitting across from him, Luca Moretti wasn't sure if he was betraying his family—or betraying himself.
