Chapter 3

Aria's POV

The VIP lounge on the second floor was in complete chaos. My colleague Carla cowered behind Sofia, trembling like a leaf in a storm.

I had no idea what had transpired here, but the aftermath was unmistakable. Damian sat on the leather sofa with an commanding presence that seemed to fill the entire room. His movements were deliberate and controlled as he methodically cleaned his gun, each stroke of the cloth against the metal precise and unhurried. The weapon gleamed under the dim lighting, and I felt my legs go weak again just watching him handle it with such casual expertise.

This man just killed someone, the thought crashed through my mind like a freight train. And he's sitting there cleaning his gun like he's polishing silverware.

The other two brothers were engaged in animated conversation, their voices carrying an edge of excitement that made my skin crawl. Federico gestured dramatically as he spoke, while Vito leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. They were discussing what had just happened as if it were nothing more than an entertaining diversion.

I couldn't help myself—my eyes kept drifting back to Damian. There was something hypnotic about his stillness, the way he seemed completely unaffected by whatever violence had just occurred. He was like the eye of a hurricane, calm and controlled while chaos swirled around him.

Sofia grabbed my sleeve and yanked me closer, her whisper urgent and frantic. "Are you insane, Aria? Stop staring at him. Did you see the woman they carried out? She tried to pull some trick on Damian, attempted to take his life. He put a bullet in her without hesitation."

I jerked my gaze downward immediately, my heart hammering against my ribs. Valentina had tried to kill Damian? The woman I'd seen carried out, bleeding and barely conscious—she'd attempted murder?

My mind reeled as I tried to process this information. Valentina had always seemed so experienced, so careful. What could have possessed her to try something so suicidal?

"—the shipment from Naples needs to be redirected," Federico was saying, his voice carrying easily across the room. "Our contacts at the port are getting nervous about the increased scrutiny."

"Handle it," Damian replied without looking up from his gun. His voice was flat, businesslike. "Pay them double if necessary. Fear makes people unpredictable."

"Already arranged," Vito chimed in, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "Amazing how quickly loyalty returns when the price is right."

"Speaking of loyalty," Federico continued, his tone shifting to something more personal, "Father mentioned something interesting during our last conversation."

Damian's hand stilled for just a moment before resuming its methodical cleaning. "Did he?"

"About the succession. About requirements." Federico's smile was sharp. "He seems to think you need to start considering... arrangements."

"Marriage arrangements, to be specific," Vito added with obvious amusement. "Can't inherit the Cavalieri empire without an heir, brother. And last I checked, heirs require certain... biological contributions."

I found myself straining to hear despite knowing I shouldn't be listening to such private family business.

Damian finally looked up, his dark eyes cold and unimpressed. "I have no interest in marriage."

"But you do need a child," Vito pressed, clearly enjoying his older brother's discomfort. "Father was quite clear about that. The family name must continue, and you're the designated heir. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to step aside and let one of us—"

"That won't be necessary." Damian's voice carried a warning that made even Vito fall silent for a moment. "A child can be obtained without the complications of marriage."

He was talking about using a woman, creating an heir without the inconvenience of actually caring about the mother. It was cold, calculated, utterly ruthless.

Of course he'd think that way, I thought bitterly. Men like him don't form emotional attachments. They take what they need and discard the rest.

I couldn't help but think about what Sofia had told me about his background. The current Mrs. Cavalieri wasn't his biological mother—she was his stepmother, a woman who'd married into the family for status and security. Perhaps that explained his cynical view of marriage, his apparent belief that emotional bonds were weaknesses to be avoided.

"Gentlemen," Enzo's voice cut through my thoughts, "the girls are ready to serve now."

I blinked, realizing I'd been lost in my own speculation about Damian's family dynamics. Carla nudged me with her elbow, and I stumbled slightly, trying to focus on the task at hand.

We moved forward with our trays, Sofia shooting me warning glances to keep my head down and my mouth shut. I could do this. Serve drinks, clear glasses, stay invisible. Nothing complicated.

I was concentrating so hard on appearing professional that I didn't notice Carla's sudden movement until it was too late. She bumped into me while trying to avoid Federico's wandering hands, and I stumbled forward, losing my balance completely.

The tray tilted in my hands, and I watched in horror as the expensive red wine arced through the air in slow motion, splashing directly across Damian's pristine white shirt and the leather sofa beneath him.

The room fell into absolute, deathly silence.

My heart stopped beating entirely as I stared at the spreading crimson stain across his chest. The wine dripped steadily from his shirt onto the leather, each drop sounding like a gunshot in the oppressive quiet.

Federico's laughter broke the silence first. "Well, well. Looks like we have another little accident."

"How clumsy," Vito added, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "And after what happened to the last girl who made a mistake."

I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but stand there trembling as Damian slowly set his gun down on the table beside him.

I waited for the explosion of rage, for the violence I'd witnessed the aftermath of just minutes before.

Instead, he simply stood up, wine still dripping from his shirt, and stepped closer to me. Close enough that I could smell his cologne mixed with the scent of the spilled wine.

"Interessante," he murmured, his voice so low only I could hear it. "Twice in one evening."

I'm dead, was the only coherent thought in my mind. I just ruined Damian Cavalieri's clothes and furniture, and now I'm going to end up like Valentina.