The fall of the Valentes.

Aria

"Run, Aria! Run!"

My father's voice cut through the night like a blade, raw and desperate in a way I'd never heard before. But my legs wouldn't move. I stood frozen in the marble foyer of our estate, watching smoke curl through the air like black serpents, watching our world come apart at the seams.

Gunfire cracked somewhere in the east wing. Glass shattered. A woman screamed, Maria, maybe, or one of the other staff. My heart hammered so hard I could taste it in my throat, metallic and sharp.

"Papa.."

"Go!" He grabbed my shoulders, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. His eyes were wild, darting between me and the heavy oak doors behind us. Blood streaked across his shirt collar, not his own, I thought, but I couldn't be sure. "Take the north passage. Don't look back. Don't.."

The doors exploded inward. I stumbled backward, my father's hands torn from my shoulders as armed men poured into our home like a flood. Black tactical gear. Weapons raised. Cold, efficient, unstoppable. The Moretti syndicate didn't knock, they didn't need to.

And then he walked in.

Luca Moretti.

I'd seen his picture before, grainy surveillance photos my father kept locked in his study. But nothing prepared me for the reality of him. He moved through the chaos like he owned it, like the smoke and screams were orchestra music and he was the conductor. Tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in an immaculate black suit that probably cost more than most people's cars. Dark hair swept back from a face that could've been carved from stone, sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and eyes so cold they made my blood freeze.

Those eyes found mine across the foyer and something flickered in them. Recognition. Assessment. Satisfaction.

"Salvatore Valente." His voice was smooth, almost pleasant. He didn't raise it above the chaos. He didn't need to. Everyone stopped. The gunfire ceased. The screaming died to whimpers. "Did you really think you could steal from me?"

My father straightened, trying to salvage whatever dignity he had left. "Luca. We can talk about this. We can make a deal.."

"A deal." Luca's lips curved into something that might've been a smile if it had held any warmth. "Like the one you made when you took three million dollars from my shipment? Or the one where you killed two of my men and burned the evidence?"

"That wasn't, I didn't.."

"Don't insult me with lies." Luca moved closer, his footsteps echoing on the marble. Two of his men grabbed my father by the arms, forcing him to his knees. "Not when I have receipts. Bank transfers. Security footage. Your own lieutenant's testimony."

My father's face went gray. "Antonio..."

"Send his regards." Luca stopped in front of him, looking down like he was examining something unpleasant on the bottom of his shoe. "He was very forthcoming once we had our... conversation."

I should've stayed quiet. Should've faded into the background like a ghost. But rage burned through my body, hot and reckless and stupid.

"You're a monster."

The words came out stronger than I felt. Every eye in the room turned to me, but I only saw Luca. He shifted his attention from my father to me, his head tilting slightly, like I was a puzzle he hadn't expected.

"Aria Valente." He said my name like he was tasting it, testing the weight of it on his tongue. "The prodigal daughter. Stanford graduate. Your father's precious princess."

"Don't call me that." I lifted my chin, even though my knees were shaking. "And don't pretend this is about justice. You're just another criminal hiding behind expensive suits and pretty words."

Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence.

Then Luca smiled. Really smiled this time, and it was worse than his coldness. "Brave. Stupid, but brave." He took a step toward me. "Do you know what happens to people who speak to me that way?"

"Aria, don't.." My father's voice cracked. "Please, don't.."

"Shut up, Salvatore." Luca didn't even look at him. His eyes stayed locked on mine, dark and fathomless and terrifying. He moved closer, each step deliberate, until he was standing right in front of me. Close enough that I could smell his cologne, something expensive and subtle, cedar and smoke. "Your daughter has a spine. More than you ever did."

"Leave her alone." My father was pleading now, all pretense of strength gone. "She has nothing to do with this. She didn't know.."

"Didn't she?" Luca reached out, and I flinched, but he only tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture was almost gentle. Almost. "Did you tell her, Salvatore? About our arrangement?"

My father's silence was enough. "What arrangement?" The words felt like broken glass in my mouth.

Luca's smile widened. "Show her."

One of his men stepped forward, tablet in hand. He turned the screen toward me, and my blood turned to ice.

It was a contract. Official, notarized, dated three days ago. My father's signature at the bottom, bold and unmistakable. And next to it, a photograph of me, taken without my knowledge, clearly, because I was wearing my coffee-shop clothes, laughing at something off-camera.

The words blurred together, but certain phrases jumped out: *transfer of custody... collateral for safe passage... forfeit of all claims...*

"No." The tablet slipped from the guard's hands as I staggered backward. "No, that's not, he wouldn't.."

"He did." Luca's voice was soft now, almost kind, which somehow made it worse. "Your father came to me four nights ago. Begged for his life. Offered me money, territory, information, all things I could take anyway. But then he offered me something I actually wanted."

"You're lying." But even as I said it, I was looking at my father, searching his face for denial. For anything that would make this make sense. He couldn't meet my eyes.

"Papa?" My voice broke on the word. "Tell me he's lying. Tell me you didn't.."

"I had no choice!" He lurched forward against the men holding him, desperate now. "They were going to kill me, Aria. Kill all of us. I had to give him something.."

"So you gave him *me?*" The scream tore out of my throat, raw and animal. "Your daughter? You sold me like, like property?"

"I'm sorry." Tears streamed down his face. "I'm so sorry, baby girl. I thought I'd have time to fix it, to get you away before.."

"Before I collected." Luca's hand wrapped around my arm, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough that I knew escape was impossible. "Time's up, Salvatore. Take him."

"No!" I fought then, really fought, clawing and kicking as my father was dragged toward the door. "Let him go! Please, I'll do whatever you want, just don't.."

"You'll do whatever I want anyway." Luca spun me around, catching both my wrists in one hand. "That was the deal."

My father was shouting something, but I couldn't hear it over the blood rushing in my ears. Couldn't hear anything except Luca's breathing, steady and calm while mine came in ragged gasps.

"Let me say goodbye." I hated how small my voice sounded. "Please."

For a moment, something flickered across Luca's face. Then it was gone, replaced by that terrible coldness. "No."

They dragged my father into the night. I heard the car doors slam, heard the engines roar to life. Heard my entire world crumbling to dust while Luca Moretti held me captive in my own home.

"The car's waiting," he said quietly.

I didn't move. Couldn't move.

Metal clicked around my wrists, handcuffs, cold and unforgiving. Luca guided me toward the door, his hand on the small of my back, and I walked like a ghost through the ruins of my life. Past the shattered chandelier. Past the blood on the walls. Past everything I'd ever known.

The black car gleamed in the moonlight, all tinted windows and predatory elegance. One of Luca's men opened the door, and I balked, some last spark of defiance flaring to life.

"I'll run," I whispered. "First chance I get, I'll.."

"You'll try." Luca's breath was hot against my ear as he leaned in close, his lips barely brushing my skin. The intimacy of it made me shudder. "They all try, princess. But here's what you need to understand."

His hand slid from my back to my hip, possessive and claiming.

"You belong to me now, by your father's own hand. Every breath you take, every step you make, every thought in that beautiful, defiant head..." His other hand came up to cup my jaw, tilting my face toward his. "Mine. And I *always* keep what's mine."

He guided me into the car with devastating gentleness, and as the door shut behind us, sealing me into the dark with him, I realized something that made my stomach drop. This wasn't a kidnapping. This was an acquisition. And Luca Moretti never made bad investments..