ARIA POV
I wake up in a moving vehicle.
My head pounds. My mouth tastes like metal. Every bump in the road sends pain shooting through my body.
"Easy. Don't try to move yet." Marco's voice comes from somewhere above me. "The sedative needs to wear off."
I force my eyes open. I'm in the back of a van, lying on something soft. A blanket. Marco sits across from me, watching with those careful brown eyes.
"Where—" My voice cracks. "Where are you taking me?"
"Away from the estate. That's all you need to know right now."
I try to sit up. My head spins but I force myself upright, pressing my back against the cold metal wall. "You work for Salvatore. You held a gun on me."
"I held a gun *near* you. There's a difference." He reaches into a cooler beside him, pulls out a water bottle. "Drink. You're dehydrated."
I don't take it. "Why should I trust you?"
"Because if I wanted you dead, you'd already be dead." He sets the bottle within my reach. "I gave you a sedative, not poison. And I'm driving you away from the people who actually want to kill you."
"Damien—" The memory hits like a fist. "He was shot. Is he—"
"Alive. Barely." Marco's jaw tightens. "Salvatore's bullet missed his heart by two inches. He's in surgery now."
Relief floods through me, followed immediately by confusion. Why do I care? Damien brought me into this nightmare. He's the reason I'm running for my life.
But I remember his face in that basement. The way he looked at his uncle. At his mother on that phone call. The way his whole world shattered.
"What happens now?" I ask quietly.
"Now we get you somewhere safe. Then we figure out how to destroy Salvatore before he destroys everyone." Marco's hands clench into fists. "I've worked for the Morettis for fifteen years. Watched them do terrible things. But this? Using Damien's dead father's frozen sperm to create some twisted heir? Setting up an innocent girl to be murdered after she serves her purpose? That's beyond anything I can stomach."
"So you're helping me out of guilt?"
"I'm helping you because it's the right thing to do." He meets my eyes. "And because Damien asked me to. Before the surgery, while they were loading him into the ambulance, he grabbed my arm. Said 'Save her. Whatever it costs. Save Aria.'"
My throat tightens. "He said that?"
"His last words before he went under." Marco pulls out his phone, shows me a text message: *PROTECT HER. TRUST NO ONE ELSE. -D*
The timestamp shows it was sent twenty minutes ago.
"He's awake?" Hope surges through me.
"Was. Briefly. They sedated him again for surgery." Marco pockets his phone. "But he made his priorities clear. You're one of them."
The van slows, turns. Through the small back window, I see we're in some kind of warehouse district. Abandoned buildings. Broken windows. Not exactly reassuring.
Marco parks and comes around to open the back doors. "Come on. We're switching vehicles here."
I climb out on shaky legs. The afternoon sun is too bright. Everything feels surreal, like a bad dream I can't wake up from.
A black SUV is waiting, engine running. A woman leans against it—late thirties maybe, short dark hair, leather jacket. She looks dangerous.
"This is Elena," Marco says. "Former FBI. Now she's... freelance."
Elena's eyes scan me head to toe. "This is the girl everyone's trying to kill? She doesn't look like much."
"She's survived more in two days than you have in your entire career," Marco snaps. "Show some respect."
Elena's eyebrow rises, but she opens the SUV's back door. "Get in. We don't have much time."
"Wait." I turn to Marco. "Where are you taking me?"
"A safe house. Off the grid. Salvatore won't find you there."
"And then what? I just... hide forever?"
"No." Elena's voice is sharp. "Then you help us bring down the entire Moretti operation. You're a witness to attempted murder, conspiracy, illegal genetic experimentation. Your testimony could destroy them."
"They'll kill me before I can testify."
"Not if we protect you." Marco's hand on my shoulder is surprisingly gentle. "Look, I know you have zero reason to trust anyone right now. But Damien's dying wish was to keep you safe. Let me honor that."
*Dying wish.* The words make my chest hurt.
"He's not dying," I say firmly. "You said he survived surgery."
"For now. But Salvatore has access to that hospital. To the doctors. To everything." Marco's expression darkens. "If he wants Damien dead, it's only a matter of time."
"Then we have to—" I stop. What can I do? I'm nobody. A broke college dropout who got manipulated into this nightmare. "There has to be something."
"There is." Elena pulls out a tablet, shows me a file. "This is everything Marco's collected over the years. Evidence of Moretti crimes. Money laundering. Murder. Blackmail. Enough to put Salvatore and Isabella away for life."
"But?"
"But it's not admissible in court. We need someone on the inside. Someone who can testify to recent crimes. Someone Salvatore won't expect." Elena's smile is sharp. "Someone like a scared, traumatized wife everyone thinks is dead."
Understanding hits me. "You want me to go back."
"Eventually. After we prep you. After we make sure you're ready." Marco crosses his arms. "But yes. You'd have to return to the estate. Pretend to forgive Damien. Play the obedient wife while gathering evidence."
"That's insane."
"That's survival," Elena counters. "Right now, Salvatore thinks you're either dead or running scared. He won't expect you to come back with a plan. That gives us an advantage."
My mind races. Go back to that mansion. That basement. Face the people who tried to murder me.
But if I don't, Salvatore wins. Damien dies. And whoever's next in line for the "breeding program" ends up in my place.
"How long do I have to decide?"
"Twenty-four hours," Marco says. "After that, Salvatore will assume you're dead and move on to his next plan. We lose our window."
Elena climbs into the driver's seat. "Get in. We need to move."
I'm halfway to the SUV when my phone buzzes. The one in my pocket—I didn't even realize I still had it.
A text from an unknown number: *They're listening. Marco is compromised. Run NOW.*
I freeze.
Marco notices. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." I force my voice steady, sliding the phone back into my pocket. "Just... can I use the bathroom first? Before we go?"
Elena sighs. "Make it fast."
She points to a dingy building across the lot. I walk toward it, trying not to run. Trying not to show that my heart is about to explode from my chest.
The bathroom is disgusting—broken mirrors, rusted sinks. But there's a window.
I climb onto the toilet, push it open. It's small, but I can fit.
Behind me, I hear Marco call my name. "Aria? You okay in there?"
I squeeze through the window, drop into the alley behind the building. Pain shoots up my legs but I ignore it.
Run.
I sprint through alleys, between buildings, no idea where I'm going. Just away. Away from Marco. Away from Elena. Away from everyone.
My phone buzzes again. Same unknown number: *Smart girl. Keep running. Turn left at the next corner. Gray sedan waiting. License plate JTK-4892. Driver is safe. I promise.*
I don't stop to think. I turn left.
The gray sedan is there, just like the text said. Engine running. Driver's window down.
The driver turns to look at me.
My heart stops.
It's Mrs. Laurent. The cold housekeeper from the estate. The woman who locked me in my room. Who delivered me to that basement.
She smiles. "Get in, child. Quickly. Before they find you."
"You—you're with them. You're one of Salvatore's—"
"I'm Isabella's." Her eyes are suddenly fierce. "And Isabella wants you alive."
"But the phone call. She told Salvatore to kill me."
"She told him what he needed to hear. Now get in before I change my mind about helping you."
Behind me, I hear shouts. Marco and Elena, searching.
I have three seconds to decide: trust the woman who imprisoned me, or take my chances alone.
Mrs. Laurent's phone lights up with an incoming call. The name on the screen: ISABELLA MORETTI.
She answers on speaker. "Do you have her?"
"Not yet. She's hesitating."
"Tell her—" Isabella's voice softens in a way I've never heard. "Tell her I'm sorry. Tell her I lied to protect her. Tell her the baby isn't dead."
The world tilts.
"What?" I gasp.
"The miscarriage diagnosis was fabricated. Dr. Morrison works for me, not Salvatore. I paid him to lie." Isabella's words come fast. "The baby is fine. You're fine. But Salvatore can't know. If he finds out that child is still viable, he'll never stop hunting you."
"Why would you help me?"
A long pause. Then: "Because that baby is my husband's last genetic legacy. And because you remind me of myself, thirty years ago. Trapped. Terrified. Used." Her voice breaks. "Get in the car, Aria. Let me fix what I helped break."
Footsteps pound closer. Marco's voice: "There! That alley!"
Mrs. Laurent's eyes meet mine. "Now or never, girl."
I dive into the sedan.
She floors it.
As we speed away, I see Marco burst into the alley behind us. Our eyes meet through the back window.
He raises his phone. Texts something.
My phone buzzes: *Wrong choice, Aria. You just trusted the woman who wants your baby dead and you alive only long enough to deliver it. Check the glove compartment.*
My hands shake as I open it.
Inside: a syringe. Clear liquid. And a note in Isabella's handwriting:
*FOR AFTER DELIVERY. ENSURE CLEAN TERMINATION. NO WITNESSES.*
I look at Mrs. Laurent.
She glances at the glove compartment, sees what I found. Her expression doesn't change.
"Isabella really did write that," she says calmly. "Six months ago. Before everything changed."
"Changed how?"
"Before she found out Salvatore plans to kill her too. After the baby is born and you're disposed of, she's next." Mrs. Laurent's hands tighten on the wheel. "The only person Salvatore wants alive is himself. Everyone else is expendable."
"So where are you taking me?"
"Somewhere Salvatore will never look. Somewhere even Isabella doesn't know about." She meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. "My daughter's safe house. Three hours north. After that, you disappear. New identity. New life. You forget the Morettis ever existed."
"What about the baby?"
"Yours to keep. To raise. To protect." Her voice softens. "I couldn't save my own daughter from this family twenty years ago. But I can save you."
My phone explodes with texts. Marco. Elena. Unknown numbers. All saying different things. All claiming to be trying to help.
I don't know who to trust.
I don't know who's lying.
All I know is that somewhere in New York, Damien Moretti is fighting for his life in a hospital controlled by his family.
And I'm carrying his father's child—a baby everyone either wants dead or wants to steal.
Mrs. Laurent's phone rings. She glances at it, and all color drains from her face.
"What?" I ask. "What is it?"
She answers, puts it on speaker.
Salvatore's voice fills the car: "Hello, Margaret. Enjoying your little rescue mission?"
Mrs. Laurent says nothing.
"I have to admit, I'm impressed. You've been planning this for months, haven't you? Building your little escape route. Helping Isabella plot against me." His laugh is cold. "But did you really think I wouldn't have trackers on every vehicle in my fleet? Including yours?"
My blood runs cold.
"You're not going to any safe house," Salvatore continues. "You're driving straight to me. And if you deviate from the route I've programmed into your GPS by even one mile, the bomb under your seat detonates. You have thirty minutes. Don't be late."
The line goes dead.
Mrs. Laurent and I stare at each other.
Then, slowly, she reaches under her seat.
Her hand comes back bloody.
The device is already counting down: 29:47... 29:46... 29:45...
"Drive," I whisper.
She does.
Straight into Salvatore's trap.