The gun feels unnaturally heavy in my hand, still warm from the shot that took Fabrizio’s life.
My first kill.
I should feel something—remorse, shock, anything—but all I feel is the white-hot rage pulsing through my veins as I stare at Marco.
His green eyes, once a sanctuary I willingly lost myself in, now reflect the lies he’s built between us.
My husband.
My enemy.
The betrayal burns inside me, scorching away any tenderness that might have remained.
“Aria,” Marco whispers with an outstretched hand toward me. “Please—”
“Don’t touch me,” I repeat, tightening my grip on the gun.
A part of me—the stupid, traitorous part—wants to collapse into his arms, to feel his strength wrap around me like armor.
He came for me. He found me.
But he also didn’t just lie—he buried the truth beneath every touch. Wore my father’s blood like a second skin and dared to call it love. He let me walk blind into the dynasty that destroyed mine—and never once stopped me. He let me give myself to the very bloodline that slaughtered my family.
Marco takes a careful step forward, his eyes never leaving mine.
“We need to get you out of here,” he says softly. “You’re safe now.”
“Safe?” I bark out a hollow laugh. “With the son of the man who murdered my parents? That’s your definition of safe?”
Pain flashes across Marco’s face, raw and unfiltered—like a dam breaking inside him. “I never wanted this for you. For us,” he breathes, voice shaking. “Not the secrets. Not the danger. Not the poison in my blood that stains everything it touches.”
He steps closer, desperation carved into every line of his face. “If I could cut myself open and carve out the Bianchi name, if it would free you from the weight of it—I would. I kept the truth buried, not out of cruelty, but out of cowardice. Because I thought if you knew… I’d lose you. And I see now—” his voice shatters, “—I lost you anyway.”
A sudden explosion of gunfire in the hallway cuts him off. One of his men bursts through the doorway, breathing hard.
“Boss, we’ve got trouble,” he pants. “D’Angelo’s backup just arrived—at least twenty men. Heavy artillery. We need to move. Now.”
Marco’s expression shifts instantly, all trace of softness gone. “Clear a path to the west exit. I’ll get her out through the back.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I say, even as fear crawls up my spine at the sound of approaching gunfire.
Marco turns back to me, his face hard. “Your sister is waiting at the south gate with a car. Chiara is there right now. I had my men bring her when you were taken.”
His voice softens. “She will take you back to the mansion, where you’ll be safe. But first, you need to get out of here alive.”
The mention of Chiara hits me like a bucket of cold water. She’s here? I nod curtly, putting aside my rage for the moment.
Survive now. Then take your revenge.
“Fine,” I say flatly. “Let’s get this over with.”
Marco gives me a sharp nod, then moves to the doorway, gun drawn. “Stay close,” he orders.
“And keep your head down.”
I follow him into the hallway, stepping around Fabrizio’s men who lie moaning or unmoving on the marble floor. The sound of gunfire grows louder, coming from the direction of the main staircase. Marco signals for me to be quiet, then leads me down a narrow service corridor.
We move through the massive house like ghosts, Marco’s body constantly positioned between me and any potential danger. The irony isn’t lost on me—the son of my family’s killer now risking his life to save mine.
We reach a small door near the back of the house. Marco pushes it open carefully, scanning the gardens beyond for threats.
“The gate is three hundred yards straight ahead,” Marco says quietly. “My men have cleared the path. Run, don’t stop. Chiara will be waiting with a black SUV.”
I step toward the door, but Marco catches my arm. His touch burns through the fabric of my sleeve.
“Aria,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “I know you hate me right now. But please, stay safe and go home with Chiara. Don’t try to—”
More shouting erupts from inside the house. A bullet smashes through a nearby window, sending glass shards flying. Marco shoves me through the door.
“GO!” he roars, turning back toward the sound of approaching men.
I don’t look back. I run, my lungs burning, my legs pumping as I sprint across the lawn toward the gate. Behind me, the fighting gets louder.
The gate is already ajar. A black SUV idles just beyond it, the engine running. And there, leaning against the side, her face taut with worry, is Chiara.
“Aria!” she cries when she sees me, rushing forward to pull me into a fierce hug.
I collapse against her, my body suddenly remembering the terror and exhaustion of the past few days. “You’re here,” I whisper into her hair.
“Marco,” she says, pulling back to look at me. “He had me picked up yesterday, said you’d been taken. He was out of his mind with worry, Aria. I’ve never seen anyone look so—”
“Stop,” I cut her off, stepping back. “Enough with the feelings. Just get me out of here.”
Chiara’s eyes widen at my tone, but she nods, guiding me to the passenger side of the SUV. “Let’s head back to the mansion. We’ll be protected there. Marco said—”
“I’m not going back to Marco’s house,” I say, my voice turning to steel. “Ever.”
Chiara freezes, hand on the car door. “What? But Aria, we have to. Fabrizio found out who we are, and it’s only a matter of time before others find out. Marco can protect us—”
“Marco knew, Chi,” I say, each word like glass shredding my throat. “He knew it was his father. He knew Salvatore Bianchi murdered our parents, and he never told me. Not once. He looked me in the eye every day, kissed me, held me, and still kept it buried like it was nothing. He let me fall in love with him.”
My voice breaks. “He let me give myself to him—body, heart, all of it—while knowing the blood on his hands was mine to grieve. He laid me in his bed with that truth rotting between us. How do I come back from that, Chi? How do I forgive something so unforgivable?”
“I’m not excusing him,” Chiara says quietly as she slides into the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel. “But I saw him, Aria. After you were taken. He looked like a man who’d already died. Whatever else he’s guilty of—and God knows it’s a lot—he isn’t faking what he feels for you. That isn’t a lie.”
“Don’t defend him,” I snap, slamming my door shut. “Just drive. Anywhere but there.”
Chiara starts the car and begins to drive slowly. “Aria, listen to me. I saw him when you were missing. He was like a man possessed. He didn’t sleep, didn’t eat. He tore this city apart looking for you. Whatever else he’s done, he loves you.”
A treacherous pain twists in my chest at her words. I shove it down, refusing to acknowledge it. “Love doesn’t change who he is.”
“Then what’s your plan?” she asks, finally pulling away from the gate. “Where do we go?”
I stare straight ahead, watching the road unfurl before us. “You said there are families still loyal to the DeLucas.”
Chiara nods slowly. “Yes. And they’ve only grown more powerful. They’ve been waiting—quietly, patiently—for years to finish what was started. Waiting for someone with the name, the will, and the fury to take the lead.”
“Then they won’t have to wait any longer,” I say, my voice like steel. “Their time has come. An heir doesn’t run. Not when the ghosts are speaking and the truth can finally burn.”
“Do you still have the money?” I ask. “From the marriage contract?”
“A large chunk of it. Why?”
A cold smile spreads across my face. “Because we’re going to need it. We need to find a safe house first, somewhere no one would look for us. Then we’re going to contact those loyal families. And then?” I turn to look at her. “We rebuild what the Bianchis destroyed.”
Chiara’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Aria, this is dangerous. More dangerous than anything we’ve ever done.”
“I don’t care,” I say, the grief and rage I’ve kept tamped down now burning freely.
The road blurs before me, and I realize I’m crying. Angry tears that I swipe away with the back of my hand.
“He broke my trust,” I continue, my voice cracking. “And I will make his entire family pay for what they did to ours.”
Chiara reaches over, taking my hand in hers. “Are you sure about this? There’s no going back. Marco will come looking for you.”
“Let him,” I say fiercely. “I’m done being a Bianchi. I’m a DeLuca. It’s time I started acting like one.”
As we speed away from the estate, from Marco, from the life I briefly allowed myself to imagine, I feel something hardening inside me. The tender parts that began to open for Marco now seal themselves off, protected by a shell of determination and rage.
Behind us, the last echoes of gunfire die in the distance, swallowed by the night. For a split second, my mind betrays me—I wonder if Marco’s still standing, if he’s bleeding, if he’s alive. But I crush the impulse like a dying ember. Whatever happens to him now is no longer my concern. I made my choice—and I chose war.
“The first thing we need is a place to hide,” I say, focusing on the plan forming in my mind. “Somewhere Marco wouldn’t think to look.”
“I might know a place,” Chiara says carefully. “A small apartment one of my friends owns. It’s in her grandmother’s name. No paper trail that could lead back to us.”
I nod, satisfied. “Good. From there, we contact the families. We need to move fast, before word spreads that we’re alive.”
“If we cross this line, we don’t get to come back from it. You know that,” Chiara says, her worried eyes locked on mine. “Marco said Salvatore is actively hunting for us. We’re putting targets on our backs.”
“Good,” I say coldly. “Let them come. I’m not Marco’s wife anymore. I’m my father’s daughter. We’ve had targets on our backs our entire lives,” I say grimly. “We just didn’t know it. At least now we can see the enemy clearly.”
As we drive through the night, leaving behind the man who saved me only to break my heart, I feel a strange calm settling over me. The decision is made. The path is clear.
I am Aria DeLuca, daughter of Emilio and Sofia. And I will reclaim what was stolen from us, even if I have to burn the Bianchi empire to the ground to do it.
Even if I have to ruin the man I once loved.
Let the ghosts scream. I’m finally ready to answer.
