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~ Aria ~

The conference room of Santoro Hotels' Paris headquarters was all glass and steel, thirty floors above the city. I sat at the head of the table in a black sheath dress that was perfectly professional—and absolutely not.

The hem hit just above my knee. The neckline was a shade too low. And when I leaned forward to review the quarterly reports, I knew exactly what angle Luca had from his position by the door.

I could feel his eyes on me like a physical touch.

"As you can see, Monsieur Beaumont," I said to the hotel manager across from me, "occupancy rates have dropped three percent over the last quarter. That's unacceptable."

Beaumont shifted uncomfortably. He was fifty, experienced, and clearly didn't appreciate being lectured by a twenty-two-year-old woman, mafia princess or not.

"The market has been challenging, Mademoiselle Santoro. Tourism is…"

"Tourism to Paris is up seven percent." I tapped the report with one manicured nail. "Which means we're losing guests to competitors. I want a full analysis of our pricing strategy, our marketing spend, and our guest experience metrics by end of week."

"That's quite aggressive…"

"This is my hotel now." I smiled, sharp and cold—my father's smile. "I suggest you get used to aggressive."

Beaumont's mouth thinned, but he nodded. "Of course."

"Excellent." I stood, and watched several pairs of eyes drop to my legs as I smoothed my dress. "Gentlemen, I'll expect those reports Friday. Don't disappoint me."

I walked out, heels clicking on marble, aware of Luca falling into step behind me. Silent.

Perfect.

In the elevator, I caught his reflection in the polished doors. His jaw was tight, his hands clasped behind his back in a white-knuckle grip.

"Something wrong?" I asked innocently.

"No."

"You seem tense."

"I'm fine."

The elevator doors opened on the executive floor. My temporary office—formerly my father's Paris pied-à-terre—was at the end of the hall. I walked slowly, adding an extra sway to my hips.

Behind me, Luca's breathing changed, just slightly.

Inside the office, I went to the bar cart and poured myself sparkling water. "That went well, don't you think?"

"You were antagonizing him."

"I was establishing authority." I turned, leaning back against the cart. "There's a difference."

"You were also…" He stopped, jaw working.

"Also what?"

"Nothing."

"No, please. Finish that thought." I took a sip of water. "I was also... what? Dressed inappropriately? Flirting? Using my sexuality to manipulate men?"

His eyes flashed. "I didn't say that."

"You were thinking it."

"What I was thinking," he said, voice carefully controlled, "is that you're playing a dangerous game."

"I'm doing my job."

"Wearing that dress."

"This dress?" I looked down at myself. "This is Chanel. Very professional."

"It's…" He stopped again, clearly fighting for composure.

"It's what?" I moved closer. "Say it, Luca."

"It's distracting."

"To whom?"

The air between us crackled. His eyes were smoke-dark, locked on mine, and I could see the exact moment his control started to fracture.

Then his phone buzzed. He broke eye contact to check it, and the spell broke.

"Dinner tonight, eight o'clock." His voice was flat again, professional. "He has something to discuss."

"Again?" I rolled my eyes. Killjoy!

---

Dinner at the estate was a formal affair. I dressed carefully… a deep burgundy dress, elegant and demure enough to satisfy the family's expectations. My hair was swept up, diamond studs in my ears. Armor, disguised as evening wear.

Luca was waiting in the hall when I emerged, devastating in a dark suit. His eyes swept over me, something hot and possessive flickering in their depths before he locked it down.

"You look acceptable," he said.

"How flattering."

We walked to the dining room in silence. The table could seat twenty, but tonight it was just me, my father at the head, Uncle Enzo to his right, and three underbosses I vaguely recognized from four years ago.

And Luca, standing sentinel behind my father's chair.

The meal was excellent… osso buco, risotto, wine from the family's vineyards. The conversation was careful, feeling me out, assessing whether Vittorio's daughter could really handle the legitimate empire.

I held my own, discussing market trends and expansion strategies, proving I'd learned something at Harvard besides how to resent my father.

Then, over dessert, my father dropped the bomb.

"I've arranged some introductions for you, Aria."

I set down my fork. "Introductions?"

"Men from good families. Legitimate businessmen." He dabbed his mouth with his napkin. "It's time you considered marriage."

The room went very quiet.

"Marriage." I kept my voice level. "You're arranging my marriage."

"I'm arranging dates. What comes of them is your choice." His tone suggested it wasn't really a choice at all. "You're twenty-two. Unmarried. If you're to lead the family businesses, you need a partner. Someone who understands our world."

"I don't need…"

"The first is tomorrow night. Alessio Marchesi, he runs a shipping company in Genoa. Good family, clean business. You'll like him."

My hands clenched in my lap. I wanted to scream, to throw my wine in his face, to walk out.

Instead, I smiled. "Of course, Father. I'd be delighted."

I didn't look at Luca because I didn't need to. I could feel the tension radiating from him like heat.

"Excellent." My father seemed pleased. "Enzo will provide security…"

"Luca will provide security," I interrupted. "He's my bodyguard. He goes where I go."

My father's eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded. "As you wish."

I finally let myself glance at Luca. His face was carved from stone, but his hands were fisted at his sides, and a muscle jumped in his jaw.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

---

The moment my suite door closed behind us, Luca rounded on me.

"What the hell was that?"

"What was what?" I kicked off my heels, sighing with relief.

"Agreeing to those dates."

"Why not? I'm single. He's right that I should meet people." I unzipped my dress, let it pool at my feet, standing in just my black lace lingerie. "Unless you have some objection?"