Chapter one: The Meeting

Aria's pov

“What?!”

The word escaped from my throat before I could stop it. It sliced through the thick tension in the Valente estate’s drawing room.

My heels clicked sharply against the marble floor as I stormed across the room straight to my father, arms crossed, fury burning like gasoline under my skin. “You can’t be serious.”

My father sat, legs crossed, dark suit well ironed, expression unreadable. His sharp jaw was set in a way that made me want to punch it.

“We’ve already signed the agreements,” he said. “Years ago. This is not a negotiation, Aria.”

“You betrothed me?” I hissed. “What am I—a chess piece on your goddamn power board?”

My mother, ever the ice queen, stood by the window sipping something clear and expensive. “You were promised at birth, Aria. This isn’t sudden. You just weren’t told.”

“Oh,” I snapped, “so that makes it better?”

My father stood, walking toward the fireplace like he couldn’t be bothered to face my rage. “This isn’t about you. It’s about legacy. It’s about blood. The Valente name—”

“Is already drenched in blood,” I spat. “And it’s never been about me. It’s always been about control. Power. Appearances.”

He turned, eyes cold. “You live in the luxury our name provides. Don’t forget who built the empire you play CEO in.”

I took a step forward, fists clenched. “I built my division from scratch. Every contract. Every expansion. I earned every ounce of it.”

“And you’ll lose all of it,” he said smoothly, “if you refuse.”

My breath caught. “What?”

He walked to the center of the room, voice calm. “You refuse this marriage and we revoke your shares. Your name is removed from the trust. The board will remove you. Your accounts frozen. Your title gone. You’ll be lucky if you walk out of this house with a toothbrush and a pair of heels.”

He might as well have slapped me.

I felt it in my ribs. My bones. My gut.

“That’s blackmail,” I said softly.

“That’s family business.” my mother replied, finally turning toward me. “We all make sacrifices. This is yours.”

My voice trembled as I stared at them, my own flesh and blood. “Who is he?”

My father didn’t hesitate. “Nero Moretti.”

The name hit me like a hard punch.

Moretti.

The fucking Moretti family.

Ruthless. Feared. Power-hungry.

But above all else, our oldest enemy.

“There’s a vendetta between our families,” I said slowly, eyebrows drawn. “Have you lost your mind?”

“We didn’t lose it,” he said. “We made peace with it. Nero is the youngest Don Italy’s ever seen. Tactical. Dangerous. He inherited the throne after his father and brother's death—”

“—murder,” I interrupted. “You mean after you signed the kill order?”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “That was business which should never leave this house.”

“So is this,” Mother chimed in. “A marriage to seal the final peace. A merge of empires. One bloodline. One legacy.”

“And what about me?” My voice cracked. “Am I supposed to carry the name of a man I don’t know? Smile for the cameras? Spread my legs for an heir?”

My father’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll do as you’re told.”

Silence stretched endlessly between us. I could literally hear the tension crackling like fire in the air.

I laughed bitterly. “You really think you can threaten me into a life sentence?”

“You have one week to prepare,” he said.

“No,” I snapped. “No, I’m not going to Italy. I’m not signing anything. I’m not marrying anyone.”

“You’re leaving tonight,” he corrected. “He’s waiting.”

My chest heaved.

The note from earlier replayed in my mind, You have a surprise coming.

Is this what he was talking about? How did he know?

I didn’t realize I’d backed into the wall until my fingers found the smooth wall behind me.

I was trapped.

They’d planned this down to the goddamn hour.

My father stepped forward, lowering his voice like he still held authority over me. “If you walk out that door and turn your back on this union, don’t bother coming back. There will be no Valente for you to return to. You’ll have no name. No power. And the Morettis… they don’t take rejection lightly.”

My throat was dry. My pride screamed to punch something. My soul cried within me.

But somewhere deep inside, a sodt whisper reminded me I could play this game better than any of them.

Fine.

I’d marry him.

And I’d burn the marriage from the inside out.

***

The plane ride to Florence was a blur. I didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Barely breathed.

I’d changed into a black dress with a slit up to my thigh and heels that clicked like war drums. My makeup was perfect. My lipstick red like blood.

If I was going down, I’d look like a fucking goddess doing it.

An SUV waited at the hanger. Polished. Blacked-out windows. The driver didn’t speak as he drove through winding hills and up a long stretch of estate that looked like something out of a mafia fever dream.

When the gates opened, I saw the Moretti mansion.

Stone walled. Ivy-covered. Guarded.

Intimidating.

The SUV stopped, and the driver opened my door.

“This is it,” he said with a nod.

I stepped out, legs steady even if my heart wasn’t.

Guards lined the entry. A butler with steel-gray hair met me at the door.

“Miss Valente,” he said with a small bow. “He’s waiting in the library.”

He?

No other family?

I adjusted my shoulders and followed him down a hallway lined with old oil paintings and chandeliers that probably cost more than my company’s quarterly earnings.

When the butler opened the double doors, I stepped into the library and—

Stopped breathing.

He was standing with his back to me, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a crystal glass of dark liquor. He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a black shirt rolled up at the sleeves and charcoal pants that looked tailored to perfection. Hair dark as midnight. Posture like a predator.

He turned slowly.

And I froze.

The room tilted.

My lips parted. Sound died in my throat.

Because the man standing in front of me, the man I was betrothed to, the man who had my freedom in his hands—

Wasn’t a stranger at all.

He was him.

My Dom.

The man who had taken me apart with a single word.

The man who’d made me sign a contract with trembling fingers.

The man I only knew as…

Dominus.