All Chapters of BOUGHT,TAMED AND TAKEN : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

The silence in the room was deafening.Aria sat on the velvet couch, her knees drawn to her chest, the oversized robe Luciano had given her wrapped tight around her frame. Her hair was still damp from the cold shower she’d taken, as if she could wash away what she’d heard—what she’d seen. But nothing could rinse it off.Luciano’s father—Don Emilio Moretti—was alive.Luciano stood by the bar, his back to her. One hand clutched a crystal tumbler filled with dark scotch. He hadn’t taken a sip. Not since Isadora had left hours ago, her heels clicking against marble like war drums.“Say something,” Aria whispered, her voice hoarse.He didn’t turn. “What do you want me to say?”“That you’re not going to spiral again. That this time, you’ll let me in.”He exhaled—sharp, jagged. “My father was supposed to be dead. I buried what was left of him in a sealed casket. For years, I’ve lived like he was a ghost that haunted me.”“Luciano…”“Do you understand what this means?” He finally turned, eyes

The ride back to the private villa was shrouded in silence.Not because there was nothing to say.But because too much had been said—between the lines, through the fire in Luciano’s eyes, in the way his hands trembled slightly when they weren’t clenched in fists.Aria didn’t press.She sat beside him, eyes locked on the faint outline of mountains retreating into the darkness. Her palm found his, threading their fingers together, grounding him in a way no words could.Luciano finally spoke, voice raw.“He looked at me like I was a failed version of himself.”“You’re not,” she whispered.“I know.” A pause. “But I almost believed it.”The villa came into view—an estate nestled in shadow, far enough from the compound to breathe, close enough to feel its choke.Luciano stepped out of the car first, silent. Aria followed him inside.Once the door shut behind them, he turned. “He gave me an ultimatum. You or the legacy.”Her chest tightened. “And?”“I chose you.”Three words. That was all. B

The morning sun broke over the Moretti estate like a lie—too soft, too warm for what the day held.Luciano stood before the mirror, fastening the last silver cufflink on his crisp black shirt. Every detail was calculated. The sharp suit, the polished shoes, the absence of any family crest. Today, he wasn’t just a Moretti. He was a warning.Behind him, Aria watched silently from the doorway, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her expression unreadable.“You don’t have to come,” he said, catching her reflection in the mirror.She tilted her head slightly. “Do you want me to stay behind?”Luciano turned, slowly. His eyes met hers. “No. I want them to see you standing beside me.”Aria nodded, stepping into the room. “Then I’ll be there. No matter what they try to take from us.”He reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “They’re not ready for what’s coming.”They drove in silence. The car was armored. The driver handpicked. Every route pre-planned and monitored. No r

The message still burned in Aria’s mind.You won the throne. Now let’s see how well you defend it.She didn’t sleep that night—not really. Neither did Luciano. They remained close but silent, their minds churning with strategies, possibilities, the looming shape of war dressed in the elegance of politics.By morning, the entire estate felt it. The atmosphere was electric—taut with the anticipation of a strike they couldn’t yet see. Guards doubled at every post. Every call was monitored. Every car checked twice before it rolled through the gates.Luciano’s war room—normally a place for quiet planning—had turned into a command center.Aria stood at the long table, reviewing photos of new arrivals to Sicily. Faces marked with suspicion, affiliations unclear. Allies? Spies? Hidden knives?“He wants us off balance,” Luciano said, stepping beside her. He pointed to one photo in particular. A sleek woman with cold eyes and crimson lips. “That’s Alessa DiFranco. Used to be loyal to the Cattan

The silence between them was no longer comfortable.Aria sat at the edge of the bed, wrapped in one of Luciano’s black button-downs, the fabric brushing her thighs like a ghost of the man who’d just walked out of the room. She could still taste him—on her lips, on her skin, in the deepest parts of her.But something was wrong.Luciano hadn’t said a word after the phone call. His face had gone cold, unreadable. And he didn’t kiss her when he left.That was unlike him.The door creaked open again—and for a moment, she thought it might be him.But it was Isadora.Her expression was grim. “You need to get dressed. Now.”Aria’s stomach twisted. “What’s going on?”Isadora didn’t answer. Just threw a coat onto the bed. “Put this on. And don’t ask questions.”That was enough to make Aria’s fingers tremble. She obeyed.Downstairs, the air had changed. There were too many men in suits. Too many unreadable stares. Aria’s eyes darted until they found Luciano—standing at the far end of the marble