Aria's Pov
I walked into the club, my eyes scanning the entire room filled with lustful teenagers and youths. The smell of whiskey and sweat coupled with other kinds of odor wafted into my nostrils. Bass pounded through the floor, vibrating up through my stiletto heels as I made my way through the crush of bodies. Yes this was what I called business, the moment my eyes locked on his, my father's brother, he gave a sinister smile, a smile that made me cringe, reminding me of the times I was assaulted sexually by my foster father.
His honey-brown eyes glinted beneath the pulsing strobe lights, watching my approach with calculated interest. Uncle Lorenzo. The family resemblance to my father was unmistakable...same sharp jawline, same cruel twist to his lips. Different eyes, though. My father's had been green like mine. Lorenzo's were the color of amber whiskey, and just as intoxicating to those who didn't know better.
Cocking a brow, I waited for him to speak.
"Why did you call me here?" I questioned.
"Isn't it obvious? Business." His voice carried the same lilting accent as my father's—a reminder of heritage I'd rather forget.
"Can your use of the word "business" be more specific?" I said, sipping the water in front of me, condensation cool against my fingertips. I refused alcohol around him. Clarity was survival.
His lips twirled upwards, revealing teeth too white, too perfect. "I have a proposition." He stated.
Cocking a brow, I waited for him to speak. The silence between us stretched, punctuated by the rhythmic thudding of music and occasional burst of drunken laughter from nearby tables.
"Why did you call me here?" I questioned, my voice deliberately neutral despite the way my stomach twisted at his presence.
His lips twirled upwards, A predator's smile. "I have a proposition," he stated, leaning forward until I could smell his cologne...sandalwood and something darker, more primal.
"I'm listening." My face remained impassive, a skill I'd perfected over years of necessity.
Lorenzo slid a small envelope across the table. My fingers...nails painted deep crimson, like dried blood....hesitated before taking it. Inside was a photograph. A man, early thirties, with blonde hair and a disarming smile. Too innocent for our world.
"Vincent Caruso," Lorenzo explained, watching my reaction closely. "He'll be attending the Bellucci Foundation Ball tomorrow night. I need you there. Early."
I studied the photograph. Vincent's eyes were bright blue, his expression open. Trustworthy. Dangerous, in its own way.
"What's his connection?" I asked, placing the photo face-down on the table.
Lorenzo's fingers drummed against his glass, each tap deliberate. "He's the son of Judge Caruso. The same judge who's been building a case against certain... interests of mine."
Understanding dawned. A leverage play. Or something worse.
"Vincent is his only son," Lorenzo continued, voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Beloved. Protected. Until now."
"And my role?" Though I already knew the answer.
Lorenzo smiled that smile again, the one that made my skin crawl. "He has a weakness for beautiful women. Particularly dark-haired ones with green eyes." His gaze bore into mine meaningfully. "He's never been able to resist a damsel in distress. A romantic at heart. Some might call him a simp."
I maintained my composure, though disgust roiled within me. "Seems straightforward enough."
"Don't let his innocent face fool you. He's still a Caruso. Trust nothing." Lorenzo finished his drink, setting the glass down with finality. "Get him away from the party. My men will handle the rest."
The implication hung heavy between us. Another death. Another manipulation. The family business.
"You'll be compensated generously, of course," Lorenzo added, as if discussing a simple business transaction. In his world, perhaps it was.
I stood, smoothing my dress with practiced precision. "Text me the details. I'll be there."
Lorenzo's eyes followed me as I walked away, his gaze a physical weight between my shoulder blades. I could feel him watching until I disappeared into the crowd, the club's dark interior swallowing me into blessed anonymity.
---
The mansion was silent when I returned. Moonlight spilled through tall windows, casting elongated shadows across marble floors. My heels clicked softly as I moved through the foyer, mind racing with calculations. Vincent Caruso. The judge's son. A hit disguised as a seduction.
I was so lost in thought I didn't notice the figure waiting in the shadows until it was too late.
A hand shot out, gripping my throat with punishing strength. My back hit the wall with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs. In the silvery moonlight, Milo's eyes were nearly black...all pupil, dilated with rage.
"Where were you?" he growled, his face inches from mine. His breath was warm against my skin, scented faintly with expensive scotch and barely contained violence.
"Out," I managed, my voice strained against the pressure on my windpipe. My pulse hammered against his fingers, a frantic drumbeat of adrenaline and something else...something I refused to acknowledge.
Milo's grip tightened fractionally. "Don't play games with me, Aria." His other hand braced against the wall beside my head, caging me in completely. "Someone's been talking. And you've been disappearing. Coincidence?"
Confusion flickered through my panic. What was he talking about? What information had been leaked? My eyes searched his, trying to discern the specific accusation behind his rage.
"I don't know what you mean," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady.
His steel-gray eyes narrowed, scanning my face for deception. His body pressed closer, pinning me completely against the wall. The heat of him seeped through the thin fabric of my dress, a stark contrast to the cold marble at my back.
"You expect me to believe that?" His voice dropped lower, a dangerous purr that vibrated through his chest against mine. "After everything?"
His gaze drifted lower, taking in my appearance with slow deliberation. The thin dress I'd worn for Lorenzo's benefit suddenly felt far too revealing under Milo's scrutiny. His eyes darkened further as he noticed the way the silky fabric draped over my breasts, the outline of hardened nipples visible in the moonlight.
A muscle in his jaw ticked. The hand at my throat loosened slightly, thumb tracing a deliberate path along my collarbone. My body betrayed me, responding to his touch with shameful eagerness. A flush spread across my skin, heat pooling low in my belly despite my mind's protests.
"Interesting reaction for someone who claims innocence," Milo observed, his voice rough with something beyond anger now. His eyes, nearly black with dilated pupils, locked with mine. "Your body tells a different story."
My breath caught as his free hand moved to the curve of my waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh there. A silent claim. A warning.
"I'm not betraying you," I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. A partial truth. I wasn't betraying him to his enemies...yet. But I was plotting his downfall nevertheless.
Something shifted in his expression—suspicion giving way to a darker, more primal emotion. His grip on my throat gentled, becoming almost a caress.
"Then what exactly were you doing tonight?" he asked, the deadly softness in his voice more frightening than his earlier rage.
I swallowed hard against his palm. "Family business."
A dangerous smile curved his lips. "Family. How convenient."
His body pressed fully against mine now, no space remaining between us. I could feel every hard plane of muscle, every breath, every heartbeat. Against my will, my body responded, arching slightly into his. Milo noticed...of course he did. Nothing escaped his attention.
"What are you hiding, Aria?" he murmured, lips brushing the shell of my ear, sending involuntary shivers down my spine. "What game are you playing?"
The question hung between us, unanswered. His hand slid from my throat to cup my jaw, forcing me to meet his gaze. In his eyes, I saw calculation, suspicion...and desire, sharp as a blade.
"Whatever it is," he continued, thumb brushing across my lower lip, "remember who you belong to. Remember who holds your life in his hands."
The dual threat and promise in his words sent a conflicting wave of fear and arousal through me. This man...my unwanted husband, my target, my jailer...had a power over my body I couldn't deny, couldn't fight.
"I remember," I whispered against his thumb.
For a moment, we stood frozen in tableau, predator and prey, husband and wife, enemies bound by circumstance and undeniable chemistry. Then his lips crashed down on mine, punishing and possessive, stealing the breath from my lungs. I slapped against him, but his kiss only became more possessive...his tongue whirling through my mouth...
"Hmm..." I moaned, my hits halting as I melted. And just then, he pulled away leaving me to groan internally from the sudden feeling.
His eyes had regained some of their earlier coldness, the calculating Don replacing the passionate man.
"Whatever you're planning," he said quietly, "know that I'm always one step ahead. Always."
He released me abruptly, stepping back. The sudden absence of his body against mine left me cold, unsteady on my feet.
"Get some sleep," he ordered, already turning away. "We have a charity ball to attend tomorrow night."
My blood froze in my veins. "A ball?"
Milo paused, glancing back over his shoulder. His expression was unreadable in the shadows. "The Bellucci Foundation. Judge Caruso's event. I believe his son will be there...Vincent, is it?" His smile was razor-sharp. "I'm sure it will be an...enlightening evening."
He disappeared down the darkened hallway, leaving m
e alone with the terrible realization that my two worlds were about to collide...with potentially deadly consequences.