Chapter Four: The Bride in danger

Romano’s POV

The car remained quiet after Aria got inside, the quietness was heavy and awkward; those kinds that followed a toxic conversation.

Milan’s lights blurred past the tinted windows while she sat beside me still wearing the wedding dress she had run away in. Her hands stayed folded tightly in her lap as though holding herself together required physical effort.

Most people fell apart after betrayal, but Aria seemed determined not to and seeing that interested me more than it should have.

“You always pick up strangers from the street?” she asked suddenly.

I glanced at her.

“No.”

“Then why me?”

A reasonable question, I looked out the window.

“You stepped in front of a car.”

“That explains why you pulled me back.”

Her gaze narrowed.

“It doesn’t explain why I’m in your car.”

A faint smile threatened to appear, she asked too many questions.

“I haven’t decided whether that was a mistake yet.”

For the first time since I met her, something resembling amusement flickered across her face but the expression disappeared almost immediately.

Her phone buzzed again, I could see it was Luca, she ignored it, again and again. I watched her silence all the calls.

“You should block him.”

Her fingers tightened around the phone.

“I want to.”

“But?”

She stared down at the screen.

“I think part of me wants him to suffer first.”

A short pause followed.

“For cheating on me with my best friend.”

The words were calm, too calm; like she had not fully accepted that it was real.

“I think you’ve earned the right to be angry.”

Her eyes lifted to mine.

“You say that like revenge is normal.”

“It is.”

Something unreadable crossed her face.

The city lights moved across her features before she looked away again then she asked quietly.

“Who are you?”

“There it is.”

“What?”

“The question you’ve wanted to ask since getting in.”

A tiny huff escaped her.

“I know your name.”

“Then we’re making progress.”

“I meant what do you do?”

I leaned back slightly.

“You ask a lot of questions for someone who got into a stranger’s car.”

“You avoid a lot of answers for someone who offered.”

That actually made me laugh, I let out a short laugh, barely noticeable but she grasped it, her eyes widened.

“You can laugh.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

I shook my head.

“You don’t look like someone who runs away from her own wedding.”

The words landed harder than intended, immediately her expression tightened.

The amusement disappeared, I could see regret, humiliation and pain on her face. I saw all three.

“You regret leaving?”

“No.”

The answer came instantly, then more quietly;

“I regret loving someone who made leaving necessary.”

For a moment neither of us spoke. Something about the honesty in her voice settled heavily between us, I understood it more than I wanted to because people always talked about love as if it were something beautiful. Nobody talked about the damage it left behind.

Aria turned toward the window again.

“I thought I knew exactly what my future looked like.”

Her voice had softened.

“Three hours ago I knew where I’d be living, who I’d spend my life with, what the next ten years looked like.”

She laughed once, a broken one.

“Now I don’t know if any part of it was real.”

The words hit unexpectedly hard, not because I cared but because I understood. The feeling of discovering your life had been built on lies wasn’t unfamiliar.

My phone vibrated, it was Father. I muted it immediately, not tonight. Aria noticed.

“Your wife?”

“No.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Why?”

I looked at her.

“You ask too many questions.”

“You keep answering them.”

Fair. The driver slowed as traffic built ahead.

Aria shifted slightly, she kept turning like the seats were uncomfortable, for some reason, I couldn’t stop looking.

Dangerous, that was the word, not because she threatened me but because distractions always were and she was distracting me.

My phone buzzed again, father; I ignored it again then Aria’s phone lit up.

Unknown Number, she frowned, the crease on her forehead showed as cracks formed as she let her face down.

“Ignore it.”

She nodded.

The phone buzzed again, again and again, same number. This time she opened the message. I watched the exact moment the color drained from her face, she turned pale, almost too pale.

“What is it?”

No answer.

“Aria.”

Slowly she turned the phone toward me and a single message filled the screen.

YOU RAN STRAIGHT INTO THE WRONG HANDS.

The atmosphere inside the car changed instantly, I took the phone, read it again. Unknown number, no identifying information, no explanation, just a threat or rather, a warning. Neither possibility interested me, whoever sent it clearly knew two things. Aria had left the wedding and nd she was with me.

My expression hardened.

“Dante.”

The driver immediately glanced into the rearview mirror.

“Boss?”

“Trace the number.”

His eyes sharpened immediately.

“Understood.”

Beside me, Aria stared at the phone in my hand, fear had finally broken through, not fear of Luca, not heartbreak, something else, something deeper.

“How would anyone know where I am?” she whispered.

I didn’t answer.

Because I was wondering the same thing, whoever sent the message had been watching but the question was why.

Across Milan, another phone buzzed.

Thomas Rinaldi looked down at the photograph that had just arrived, for a long moment, he said nothing.

Aria Vale sat inside the back of a black car, beside Romano Ciel. His jaw tightened, years, years of planning, years spent keeping her exactly where she needed to be.

Watching, waiting and preparing but, in the space of a single evening, everything had changed.

A man standing nearby shifted uneasily.

“Sir?”

Thomas continued staring at the photograph, Romano’s attention was entirely on Aria, protective and interested, none of which Thomas liked.

“Where are they headed?” he asked.

“We’re still tracking them.”

Thomas placed the photograph on the desk,slowly and carefully; the way people of his kind handled dangerous things.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“No, sir.”

His gaze returned to the image, the last thing he needed was Romano Ciel becoming involved; of all people, not him. A cold smile appeared on the corner of his lips.

“Find her.”

The room went silent.

The man nodded.

“Immediately.”

Thomas looked down at the photograph one final time.

“For twenty-two years,” he said quietly, “I kept her exactly where I wanted her.”

The smile disappeared.

“I’m not losing her now.”

And for the first time in years, Thomas felt something dangerously close to concern.