~ 3

Chapter 3

Aria woke to an empty bed and the sound of the shower running.

For a moment, she let herself savor the pleasant ache in her muscles, the memory of Luca's hands on her body, his mouth trailing fire across her skin. Then reality crashed back in, cold and unforgiving.

What had she done?

She sat up, pulling the sheet around herself, and spotted her clothes folded neatly on the chair. Her sweater, her jeans… everything she'd torn off in desperation last night. The careful organization felt like a rebuke.

The shower cut off. Her stomach tightened.

Luca emerged moments later, fully dressed in a fresh suit his dark hair damp and slicked back. He looked every inch the consigliere again: composed, controlled, untouchable.

He didn't quite meet her eyes. "The jet is ready. We leave in forty minutes."

That was it? That was all he had to say?

"Luca…"

"Get dressed." His voice was flat, professional. "We're on a schedule."

Something cold settled in her chest. "Are we really going to pretend last night didn't happen?"

He finally looked at her, and his expression was carved from ice. "Last night was a mistake. It was unprofessional, and it can't happen again."

The words hit like a slap. "Unprofessional."

"Yes."

"I see." She stood, clutching the sheet, pride keeping her spine straight even as humiliation burned through her. "So you got what you wanted, and now…"

"That's not what this is." A muscle jumped in his jaw. "I work for your father. You're his daughter. What happened last night violated every rule I…"

"Rules you seemed perfectly happy to break when you had your hands on me." Her voice was sharp enough to cut. "When you were inside me."

His eyes flashed, something dark and hungry moving behind the ice before he locked it down. "Get dressed, Aria. We're leaving."

He walked out, closing the door with careful precision.

Aria stood frozen for a moment, shock and anger warring in her chest. Then she threw a pillow at the door, childish but satisfying.

Bastard. Absolute bastard.

She dressed quickly, refusing to let him see how much his dismissal had cut her. When she emerged from the bedroom, he was waiting by the door, phone in hand, looking like last night had never happened.

Like she'd imagined the way he'd groaned her name. The desperate edge to his kisses. The possessive grip of his hands on her hips.

The car ride to the airport was silent. 

Aria stared out the window, arms crossed, while Luca answered emails with mechanical efficiency. She hated that she was still aware of him… the way he smelled, the occasional flex of his fingers on his phone, the tension in his shoulders that suggested maybe he wasn't quite as composed as he pretended.

The Gulfstream was waiting, sleek and pristine. Inside, it was all cream leather and polished wood, obscenely luxurious. Her father's world in miniature.

Aria took a seat as far from Luca as possible and buckled in. He sat across the aisle, finally pocketing his phone as they prepared for takeoff.

The silence stretched. Outside the window, Boston fell away beneath them.

"Your father is expecting us for dinner tonight," Luca said eventually. "There will be other family members present. Underbosses, caporegimes. You'll need to…"

"I know how to behave." She didn't look at him. "This isn't my first rodeo."

"It's been four years. Things have changed."

"Has he gotten less murderous? Less involved in drug trafficking and extortion?"

"He's still your father."

"Biologically." She turned to face him finally. "Tell me something, Luca. When you fucked me last night, were you thinking about him? About how unprofessional it was?"

His jaw clenched. "Aria…"

"No, I'm genuinely curious. At what point did the guilt kick in? Before or after you made me come?"

"Stop."

"Why? Does it bother you? Having to face what you did?"

"What we did." His eyes blazed. "You're not blameless in this."

"I never claimed to be. I wanted you. I was honest about it." She leaned forward. "The difference is, I'm not ashamed of it."

"You should be."

The words hung between them, vicious and final.

Aria sat back, something in her chest cracking. "Well. At least I know where I stand."

Luca looked away, that muscle ticking in his jaw again. "It can't happen again."

"Message received. Loud and clear."

She pulled out her laptop and buried herself in work for the rest of the flight, ignoring the way her hands shook slightly on the keyboard. 

Ignoring the occasional weight of his gaze on her. Ignoring the traitorous part of her that wanted to cross the aisle and make him take back every cold, professional word.

… 

The Santoro estate sprawled across the hills of Provence like something out of a dream… or a nightmare, depending on your perspective. 

Stone walls, manicured gardens, vineyards stretching toward the horizon. Beautiful and brutal, like everything her father touched.

A car was waiting on the tarmac. Luca handed her into the back seat with impersonal courtesy, then slid in beside her. The driver pulled away without a word.

"How bad is he?" Aria asked quietly.

"Pancreatic cancer. Stage four. He has months, maybe less."

She processed that, waiting for grief to hit. It didn't. Just a distant sort of sadness for what had never been.

"And he wants me to take over the legitimate businesses."

"Yes. The hotels in Paris, Nice, and Monaco. The vineyards here in Provence. The shipping company in Marseille." Luca's tone was strictly professional again. "You'll have full operational control. He's kept them clean… genuinely clean. No money laundering, no ties to the family business."

"I don't believe that."

"Believe what you want. It's the truth." He looked at her finally. "He wants you to have something untainted. Something you can build on without the weight of his sins."

"How generous."

"He's trying, Aria."

"Four years too late."

The estate's gates opened as they approached. Armed guards, discreet but unmistakable — nodded to Luca as they passed. The car wound up the long drive, pulling to a stop in front of the main house.

Aria's stomach tightened. She hadn't been here since she was twenty-two, since the last disastrous visit that had ended with her screaming at her father about his "business" and taking the first flight back to Boston.

Luca opened her door. "Ready?"

"No."

"Good. Fear keeps you sharp."

He placed his hand on her lower back again, guiding her up the stone steps. She wanted to shake him off, but something about the familiar gesture steadied her.

The entrance hall was exactly as she remembered: soaring ceilings, Renaissance paintings, furniture that belonged in a museum. Her heels clicked on marble as they walked toward her father's study.

Luca knocked once, then opened the door.

Vittorio Santoro sat behind his massive desk, and Aria's breath caught. Four years had aged him decades. He'd always been imposing… broad-shouldered, granite-faced, commanding. Now he looked diminished, his skin sallow, his frame gaunt beneath an expensive suit.

But his eyes were still sharp as he rose to greet her.

"Aria. Figlia mia."

"Father." She didn't move forward for an embrace. Neither did he.

"Thank you for coming."

"I didn't have much choice." She glanced at Luca. "Your consigliere was very persuasive."

Her father's mouth twitched. "Luca is good at his job. Sit, please."

She took the chair across from his desk. Luca moved to stand behind her father… his usual position, she remembered. Always watching, always assessing threats.

"I won't waste time with pleasantries," her father said. "You know I'm dying. You know I want you to take over the legitimate operations. What you don't know is why."

"Guilt?"

"Pragmatism." He poured himself water with a slightly trembling hand. "My nephews are idiots. My brother cares only about the criminal side of the business. You're the only one with the intelligence and education to build something lasting."

"How touching."

"I don't expect forgiveness. I don't expect love." His eyes held hers. "But I'm offering you an empire, Aria. Clean money, real businesses. Power without blood on your hands."

"There's always blood," she said quietly. "Even on the clean side. Because it all flows from the same source, doesn't it? You built those hotels with drug money. Those vineyards with extortion proceeds."

"Yes." He didn't flinch. "And now I'm giving you the chance to make them something better. To prove that Santoro can mean more than violence and fear."

Aria wanted to refuse, walk out and never look back.

But the look on his face… the exhaustion and weariness of a man facing his own mortality and desperate to leave something behind that wasn't just destruction.

"I'll consider it," she said finally. "But I'm not promising anything."

"That's all I ask." He looked at Luca. "You'll serve as her personal bodyguard while she's here. I'm announcing her as my potential successor tonight at dinner. There will be... resistance."

"Understood," Luca said.

Aria's head snapped up. "Bodyguard?"

"You're a target now," her father said bluntly. "My enemies will see you as leverage. My allies will see you as a threat to their own ambitions. Luca won't leave your side."

Perfect. Just perfect.

She met Luca's eyes across the room. His expression was carefully blank, but she saw the tension in his shoulders. He didn't want this any more than she did.

"Fine," she bit out. "If I'm staying, I want my old rooms."

"Already prepared." Her father stood slowly, clearly in pain. "Dinner is at eight. Dress appropriately. You're representing the family now."

Dismissed, apparently.