Chapter ten: family dinner

Aria’s pov

The car slowed to a stop outside the Moretti villa.

Larger than life. Older than time. A palace carved from shadow and blood.

I stepped out, the crimson silk of the dress clinging to my body in ways that made me feel powerful and dangerous. The ruby choker with his anem Dominus gleaming at my throat felt like a noose.

Nero’s hand wrapped around my waist the moment my heel touched the marble. His touch was iron and ice. Possession in human form.

"You look ravishing, little fox," he murmured against my ear. "Smile for my family. Make them believe you belong to me willingly.”

I’ll never belong to you.

I smiled anyway. Sweet. Deadly.

The great doors opened.

And I stepped into hell.

The Moretti dining hall was a cathedral of power. Crystal chandeliers gleamed overhead. Gold gleamed on every surface. The scent of cigars, wine and old secrets hung heavy.

They were all there.

The entire Moretti bloodline.

The matriarch, Nero’s mother, sat like a black widow at the head. Her cold eyes skimmed me, sharp as razors.

Beside her, his brothers. Tall. Dark. Murderous. The future of crime in Italy.

The other Dons, their enemies-turned-allies, watched with hungry smiles.

“Welcome,” the matriarch purred. “So this is the bride.”

Nero’s hand pressed warningly into the small of my back.

I smiled anyway.

"Indeed," I said sweetly. "In the flesh. Did you expect someone more... tamed?"

Soft laughter filled the air. The brothers leaned forward, hungry smiles baring teeth.

I curtsied. Perfect little Donna.

“She is beautiful, Nero,” one of the brothers said. “For a Valente.”

Laughter. Cold and low.

“Did she come willingly?” another asked. “Or did you break her first?”

More laughter.

I burned inside. But I smiled.

“She will learn obedience,” Nero said smoothly. “As all good wives do.”

The matriarch sipped her wine, gaze never leaving me.

“Does she know what it means... to be Moretti?” she murmured.

"She will.” Nero promised darkly.

Dinner was served. Fine courses I couldn’t taste. Wine I dared not sip. My spine stiffened under every gaze. Every breath was watched. Every smile measured.

I played the part. The pretty puppet. The perfect betrothed.

But inside, I plotted murder.

The first brother introduced himself. “Well, little Donna. I'm Lorenzo and that…” he points to the other. “is Marco.”

I said nothing.

"I expected someone more obedient," said Lorenzo, the eldest, eyes dragging slowly over my body. "Your family raised a fighter, it seems. Like that backbone hasn’t been broken yet."

"Maybe she likes to be ridden wild," drawled Marco, twirling his fork.

Laughter.

I let my gaze meet theirs. Bold. Unashamed.

"Only if the rider survives the fall," I said smoothly.

Nero’s hand twitched at my waist.

Lucia chuckled. “Feisty. Like her mother. I remember when the Blake bitch came to our table... she had that same fire. Pity it burned out in her."

Blake? That was my mother's surname before getting married. What was she doing here?

My fingers curled into fists.

"Perhaps the fire was smothered," I murmured, "by the stench of old snakes."

The room stilled.

Eyes sharpened. Spoons paused mid-air.

Even Nero went still beside me, a quiet tension radiating from him like heat.

The matriarch's smile widened by a fraction.

"Your mouth will get you killed, girl," she said softly. "In this family... wild things are tamed or destroyed."

"Then pray you brought the right leash," I whispered.

A soft intake of breath from Marco.

Lorenzo leaned back, grinning. "I like her. She’s going to make dinner far more interesting than your last fiancée, Nero. What was her name again? Oh. Right. Dead."

More soft laughter.

Nero said nothing.

His hand slid lower on my waist, a quiet warning, but I didn’t care.

Let them see.

Let them know this wild Valente bitch wouldn’t bow.

“Tell us, little bride,” Marco said, his blue eyes gleaming like knives. “Do you know what it means to be Moretti? To be Nero’s wife? To bear the name that rules this country’s dark underworld?”

I smirked, leaning forward, the ruby pendant catching the light.

"It means I’ll wear the crown you thought belonged to your whore cousin Francesca. Pity she overdosed before her wedding, I heard about it." I murmured. "So sad. She always did look fragile."

Gasps.

One of the captain laughed outright.

The Matriarch’s smile never faltered. But her nails tapped the table, slow and sharp.

"She has claws," she purred. "We'll see how long they last."

As the waiters slid plates in front of us, beautiful steak, fresh truffle, fine wine I wouldn’t touch, I straightened.

Nero leaned to me.

“Enough,” he murmured darkly against my ear. “Or I’ll drag you under this table and make you beg before them all.”

I gave him a sideways smile.

"Careful, husband-to-be. I like an audience."

His fingers squeezed my thigh under the silk. Hard. Warning. But I only smiled wider, the wine of defiance warming my blood.

Valentin would come. Soon.

Maybe tonight.

My eyes flicked to the windows. The doors. Every possible entrance. Every shadow that might hide death.

We continued eating in silence until the matriarch broke it

"You are quiet, bride," the matriarch said. Her voice soft. Dangerous. "Tell us... what do you bring to this family?"

I smiled sweetly.

"Ruin," I whispered.

Silence.

Then soft, approving laughter.

"I love her spark. I pray it never goes it.” Lorenzo laughed and said.

"She’ll need it," said someone else.

Nero’s hand slid higher on my thigh beneath the table. A warning. A promise.

I smiled wider.

Let him think he controlled me.

Soon, everything would burn.

As dessert arrived, Nero leaned close.

"After dinner, you’ll entertain my family in the lounge," he murmured. "Be charming. Be graceful. Or bleed for me again tonight."

I turned my head slowly.

"Would you like me to dance for them, Domino mio?" I purred. "Strip like your perfect little whore?"

His grip tightened.

"Careful, fox. Your bark will get you killed."

I licked my lips.

"Yours first."

His nostrils flared.

A glass shattered at the far end of the table.

All heads turned.

A waiter lay motionless on the marble.

Neck broken.

A single card pinned to his chest with a knife.

My heart froze.

The card bore one word:

"Soon."

Nero was on his feet in a blink.

Guns drawn. Men shouting. Guards flooding the room.

But it was too late.

The assassin had come.

Valentine.

Chaos erupted.

And through the storm, I smiled.

Because hell was just beginning.