Chapter 4

Aria's POV

I had ruined his clothes—clothes that probably cost more than I made in six months.

Lorenzo, Damian's bodyguard, had his gun drawn and pointed directly at my chest before I could even process what was happening. The cold metal gleamed under the dim lighting, and I found myself staring down the barrel with a strange sense of detachment, as if this were happening to someone else.

Enzo collapsed to his knees beside me with a sickening thud, his face pale as death. "Mr. Cavalieri, please forgive her," he babbled frantically, his hands clasped together in supplication. "She's new, inexperienced. It was an accident, I swear on my mother's grave. Please, have mercy."

In that moment, facing the barrel of Lorenzo's gun, my mind went to strange places. I thought about all the ways I might die. A bullet to the head would be quick, at least. Maybe they'd make it look like an accident. Or perhaps they'd be more creative—I'd heard stories about what happened to people who crossed the Cavalieri family.

So this is how it ends, I thought with an odd sense of calm. Twenty-one years old, and I'll die because I spilled wine on a mobster's shirt.

Damian remained perfectly still on the sofa, his dark eyes fixed on me with an expression of cold disdain. There was no anger, no rage—just a kind of detached contempt that was somehow worse than fury would have been.

When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, as if he were discussing the weather. "How long has she been working here?"

The question was directed at Enzo, who was still on his knees, sweat beading on his forehead. "Fifteen days, sir. Just fifteen days."

"And why was she hired?"

"A friend recommended her, sir. Sofia Marino vouched for her work ethic." Enzo's voice cracked with desperation. "She needed the money for medical bills. Her sister is sick, dying in the hospital. Please, Mr. Cavalieri, she's just a girl trying to survive."

I wanted to disappear into the floor. Having my personal struggles laid bare in front of these dangerous men felt like another kind of violation. I was already exposed, already vulnerable, and now they knew exactly how desperate I was.

Damian's gaze never wavered from my face as he processed this information. I could practically see him cataloging every detail, filing away my weaknesses for future use.

"She doesn't belong here," he said finally, his tone flat and final.

The words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest. He stood up slowly, his movements precise and controlled despite the wine staining his shirt. His expensive leather shoes came into view as he stepped closer, and I found myself staring at the polished surface, seeing my own terrified reflection distorted in the black leather.

He was so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body. The power differential was overwhelming—him standing tall and commanding, me cowering like a scolded child.

Then he was walking away, his footsteps measured and deliberate. Each step took him further from me, and with each step, I felt my future slipping away.

What did he mean? The question hammered in my skull as I watched him disappear toward the exit. That I don't belong here?

Was he firing me? The thought sent panic coursing through my veins like ice water. I couldn't lose this job. I needed the money—Jessica's medical bills were mounting every day, and the orphanage had already made it clear they couldn't continue supporting her treatment much longer.

I started to move, desperate to chase after him, to beg for another chance. "Please," I called out, my voice cracking. "I need this job. I'll work double shifts, I'll—"

But Carla grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into my skin hard enough to bruise. "Don't," she hissed urgently. "Don't make it worse. When a Cavalieri walks away, you let them go."

"But I need—"

"You need to stay alive more than you need this job," she cut me off harshly.

Behind us, Sofia was already turning on Carla, her voice rising with anger. "This is your fault!" she snapped. "Why did you have to bump into her? You knew she was nervous, you knew she was struggling to adjust to working here."

"It was an accident!" Carla protested, but her voice lacked conviction.

"An accident that might have just cost Aria her job," Sofia shot back. "Or worse."

Their argument faded into background noise as I stood there, numb with shock and fear. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the empty tray.

He's going to fire me, the thought kept repeating in my mind like a broken record. I'm going to lose everything.

That's when my phone buzzed.

The sound was jarring in the tense atmosphere, and several heads turned toward me. With trembling fingers, I pulled the device from my pocket, and my heart stopped when I saw the caller ID: Sant'Anna Hospital.

"Hello?" I answered, my voice barely a whisper.

"Miss Rossi?" The voice on the other end was crisp and professional, but I could hear the urgency underneath. "This is Dr. Martinelli from Sant'Anna Hospital. You need to come in immediately."

"What's wrong? Is Jessica—"

"Your sister's condition has deteriorated rapidly. We've moved her to intensive care, but..." The doctor's pause said everything. "Her body isn't responding to the current treatment. We need to discuss more aggressive options, and we need to discuss them tonight."

The phone slipped from my numb fingers, clattering to the floor.

"Aria?" Sofia's voice seemed to come from very far away. "What is it? What's wrong?"

I couldn't answer. I couldn't breathe. Everything was falling apart at once.

Six months ago, I'd had a plan. A future. I was going to graduate, find a respectable job, build something stable for Jessica and myself. I'd trusted Marco, believed his promises that we'd face everything together. I'd been naive enough to think that love could conquer the harsh realities of our circumstances.

Instead, I'd found him in our bed with another woman—a woman whose father could pay for her luxuries, whose family could offer Marco the connections and security I never could. He hadn't even had the decency to look ashamed when I walked in on them. Just annoyed that I'd interrupted.

"You knew this wasn't going anywhere, Aria," he'd said as I stood there, watching my entire future crumble. "You're sweet, but you're baggage. Jessica's medical bills, your orphan background—I need someone who can help my career, not drag it down."

The woman in my bed had smirked at me, already comfortable in what she clearly saw as her rightful place. Within a week, my belongings were on the street, and I was back to square one.

No home. No boyfriend. No future.

Just me and a dying little girl who looked at me with such trust, such absolute faith that I could fix everything.

Fifteen days of swallowing my pride, of pretending I didn't notice wandering hands and crude comments, of degrading myself in a bunny costume—all destroyed because I couldn't even serve drinks without making a mess.