QUIET BEFORE THE STORM

The jet sliced through the clouds like a blade, silent except for the faint hum of engines and the occasional clink of ice settling in a glass. Aria sat by the window, arms wrapped around herself as the Alps rose beneath them—cold, sharp, merciless.

Zurich lay not far now.

Luciano hadn’t said a word in hours. He sat across from her, legs wide, hands clasped together as if holding something invisible in his grasp. His gun sat on the seat beside him, within reach but untouched.

Aria broke the silence.

“You haven’t told me what you’re going to say to him.”

Luciano’s gaze remained locked on the clouds. “That depends on whether he walks into that room as my father… or as my enemy.”

“Do you believe he’s really alive?”

“I didn’t,” he said, finally turning to face her. “But now I do. And that changes everything.”

A shadow passed across his features. Aria knew that look. The one he wore when he was calculating outcomes, loss, leverage. It wasn’t just a meeting. It was a battle with a man who’d faked his death and let his son rise through blood and bone to wear a crown that was never truly vacant.

“Luciano,” she said gently, “whatever he says… you’re still you.”

His jaw tightened. “And who is that, exactly?”

“The man I love.”

Silence.

Then, softly, like it cost him to say it: “And if I don’t come back from that room?”

Aria’s eyes didn’t waver. “Then I burn it all down to bring you back.”

Luciano’s lips curved—barely—but it was there. A flicker of something softer beneath the armor.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured.

“No,” she said, “you don’t. But I’m not leaving.”

They landed an hour later. The drive to the compound was long and winding, through trees so tall they swallowed the sky. Aria’s heart thudded louder with every passing mile. Not with fear. With knowing.

Something was coming.

When the car stopped, guards ushered Luciano forward—alone. Aria watched from the rearview mirror, her breath catching as the gates closed behind him with a sound like finality.

She was led to a separate building—polished stone walls, a waiting room too sterile to be safe. A woman entered not long after. Late twenties. Sleek black dress. Eyes too calculating to be warm.

“You’re Aria,” the woman said, voice smooth.

Aria stood, instantly alert. “And you are?”

The woman smiled slowly. “Luciano’s sister.”

Aria froze. “What?”

“Half-sister, technically. My mother was the one Emilio loved, not the one he married.”

She took a step closer.

“I’ve watched you,” she said, eyes narrowing. “He doesn’t think clearly when it comes to you.”

Aria’s spine stiffened. “You’ve been following me?”

“Protecting him,” the woman said. “Until now.”

The air shifted. Aria suddenly felt the weight of the woman’s gaze like a knife tracing her skin.

“I’m here because the balance is shifting. If Luciano passes the test tonight, he inherits everything. If he doesn’t—”

“You think you’ll take his place?” Aria asked, incredulous.

The woman smiled again. “I don’t need to take it. It’s already mine.”

And with that, she turned and left, her perfume lingering like poison.

⸻

Luciano stood in the center of a room that looked more like a museum than a compound—bookshelves carved from walnut, a fire flickering behind frosted glass. And at the head of the long table… sat Emilio Moretti.

He was older. Greyer. But his presence hadn’t dimmed. He wore power like a suit, casual and dangerous.

“Luciano,” the man said, voice smooth as silk.

“Alive and unrepentant,” Luciano muttered.

Emilio stood. “You’ve grown.”

“You left.”

“I protected.”

Luciano stepped forward, the weight of a thousand unspoken things between them. “You abandoned us. You abandoned me.”

Emilio’s expression didn’t shift. “I gave you something better—freedom to rule without me.”

“You watched me bleed for that freedom.”

“And you survived.”

Luciano slammed his hand on the table. “Why call me here now?”

Emilio’s gaze sharpened. “Because there are enemies within our bloodline. Because not everyone is who they say they are. And because you need to choose—before someone else makes the choice for you.”

Luciano’s brow furrowed. “What choice?”

Emilio leaned forward.

“Her.”

Luciano’s heart dropped.

“You love the girl. I see it. But love, Luciano, is a liability we can’t afford.”

“You’d ask me to give her up?”

“I’m not asking,” Emilio said coldly. “I’m warning you. That girl is the sword at your throat. The one thing they’ll use to ruin you.”

Luciano didn’t flinch. “Then let them try.”

Emilio’s jaw flexed. “Then you are not my heir.”

Luciano stared at him, the gravity of the moment settling in.

“Then I’ll build my own throne,” he said, voice calm. “And I’ll burn yours if I have to.”

He turned and walked out, the doors slamming behind him.

Aria was already waiting by the car.

He didn’t say a word.

But when she reached for his hand, he took it—tightly.

They didn’t look back.

But the war had begun.