Aria woke to the scent of roses—and steel.
Her head throbbed as she blinked against the golden sunlight pouring through tall arched windows. She was lying on an enormous canopy bed, her wrists unbound but her limbs stiff from exhaustion and panic.
The room was breathtaking.
White marble floors, gold accents, velvet drapes, a crystal chandelier—every inch of it whispered wealth and power. But beneath its beauty was a sense of cold, calculated control. Like a gilded cage.
And she was the captive bird.
Aria sat up slowly, her heart hammering as memories came flooding back—Finn’s lifeless eyes, blood splattered across her shoes, and the man with the cruel smile who claimed her like property.
Luca Moretti.
She swung her legs off the bed, the cool floor jarring her senses. Her clothes had been changed. She was wearing a silk slip dress—soft, pale cream—and nothing underneath.
Her face flushed with embarrassment and fury.
Someone had undressed her while she was unconscious.
The door creaked open.
Aria jumped to her feet, fists clenched.
A woman stepped in, elegant and poised, with dark hair in a tight bun and a clipboard in hand. She didn’t flinch at Aria’s glare.
“You’re awake,” the woman said. “Good. Mr. Moretti asked me to ensure you were comfortable.”
“Comfortable?” Aria snapped. “I was kidnapped.”
The woman didn’t blink. “You were escorted here for your own safety.”
“Oh, how generous of him.” Aria’s voice was sharp with sarcasm. “Does he always kill someone’s brother and then tuck their sister into silk sheets?”
The woman gave a ghost of a smile. “Mr. Moretti is... unconventional.”
“I want to leave. Now.”
“You can’t.”
Aria’s nails dug into her palms. “Then tell your boss I’m not marrying him. Not today, not ever.”
The woman moved to a dresser and pulled out a folded garment bag.
“The engagement ceremony is tonight,” she said. “Mr. Moretti expects you to wear this.”
Aria stormed across the room and snatched the bag from her.
Inside was a crimson satin dress—off-the-shoulder, with a dangerously low back and a thigh-high slit. It looked more like a seduction weapon than a gown.
Aria threw it back at her.
“Tell him to go to hell.”
The woman calmly retrieved it from the floor. “You may scream and resist, Miss Delaney. But it won’t change the outcome. You’re no longer part of the Irish syndicate. You’re property of the Moretti empire now.”
“Property?” Aria hissed.
The woman looked at her with something that might’ve been pity—or amusement. “You're lucky. He’s never offered marriage before.”
“I don’t want to be his first bride. I want to be free.”
“Freedom is an illusion,” the woman said quietly, then turned and walked out, locking the door behind her.
Two hours passed.
Aria paced the room like a lioness in a cage, trying to think of an escape. The windows were bolted. There were cameras in the corners. She even tried the bathroom skylight—no luck. Whoever built this place knew how to trap someone in paradise.
As the sun dipped low, the door opened again.
This time, it wasn’t the maid.
Luca stepped in—flawless in another black suit, the top button of his shirt undone, his presence sucking the air from the room. He didn’t need a gun to be dangerous. He carried power in every breath.
She backed away instinctively.
“I see you’ve refused the dress,” he said, glancing at the untouched gown on the bed.
“I’m not playing this game.”
He walked toward her with slow, deliberate steps.
“This isn’t a game. It’s a contract.”
“I didn’t sign anything.”
“You will.”
“I’d rather die.”
He stopped inches from her, towering above her smaller frame.
“You think death is freedom?” he said softly. “No, cara. Death is escape. And I don’t let what’s mine escape.”
“I’m not yours.”
“You are.” His fingers brushed the chain of a necklace she hadn’t even realized she was wearing—thin, gold, and locked. “By blood. By debt. And soon, by vows.”
Aria slapped his hand away, her chest rising and falling with fury.
“You murdered my brother.”
“He made choices. Fatal ones.”
“You had no right!”
“I had every right.” His eyes darkened. “Finn stole from me. Betrayed me. You think I don’t know about the arms shipment he rerouted? The deal he made with the Russians behind my back? He was a traitor.”
Aria’s mouth opened—but no words came out.
She hadn’t known.
Not about stolen shipments. Not about Russian deals.
Had Finn really gotten in over his head?
Was Luca telling the truth?
Luca watched the doubt flicker across her face.
“You didn’t know, did you?” he murmured. “He kept you out of his mess. Maybe he hoped you’d stay safe.”
“Then why kill him?” she whispered.
“Because mercy makes you weak,” he said coldly. “And weakness kills in my world.”
He turned and walked toward the door.
“Get dressed,” he said without looking back. “We have guests arriving in an hour. The Moretti bride must look the part.”
She didn’t move.
He stopped at the door and looked over his shoulder.
“If you don’t put it on, I’ll come back and do it myself.”
The threat was silent—but chilling.
Then he was gone.
By the time the sun dipped behind the cliffs, Aria stood before the mirror, wrapped in crimson silk and rage.
The dress clung to her curves like temptation itself, the slit revealing smooth legs and the low back exposing delicate skin. Her hair had been curled into soft waves, pinned back with gold clips.
She didn’t recognize the girl in the reflection.
She looked like a woman ready to seduce a king.
But her eyes... her eyes still burned with fury.
A guard knocked. “It’s time.”
They led her through marble corridors into a grand hall filled with men in suits and cold-eyed women with diamond smiles. Italian and Irish families alike stood watching, whispers swirling around them.
At the end of the room stood Luca.
Waiting.
His gaze locked with hers the moment she entered.
And for the first time, Aria didn’t see a monster.
She saw the man behind the throne—hard, ruthless, but haunted.
As she stepped forward, every head turned.
She wasn’t a guest.
She was the prize.
The officiator—a gray-haired man with sharp features—cleared his throat.
“We gather today in sacred tradition to bind two powerful families—through blood, through vow, through unity.”
Aria swallowed hard.
This wasn’t a wedding.
It was a transaction.
“Aria Delaney,” the officiator said, turning to her. “Do you agree to bind yourself to Luca Moretti—under the oath of loyalty and submission, until death frees you?”
She didn’t answer.
Luca stepped closer, his hand brushing hers.
He whispered, just for her ears.
“Say yes, Aria. Or I burn what’s left of your family’s legacy to the ground.”
Tears burned behind her lashes. Her throat felt like it had swallowed glass.
But she lifted her chin.
And said, “Yes.”