Aria slammed the study door behind her.
The photo still trembled in her fingers—her brother's smile frozen in time, his arm thrown around a man whose identity was scrubbed clean. Except for the ring. Luciano's ring.
She stormed across the hall and into the drawing room where he was sipping bourbon like nothing in the world could touch him.
"You knew him," she said flatly.
Luciano didn't look surprised. "I've known many."
She dropped the photo onto the table between them. "This man was with Cris. The day before he died."
He glanced down, his expression unreadable. "Yes."
Her blood went cold. "You lied to me."
"No. I simply didn't volunteer the truth."
"You said my father had my brother's blood on his hands!"
"And I stand by it."
She was shaking now—not from fear, but fury. "You were there, Luciano. You knew him. What happened to Cris?"
He rose slowly, glass still in hand. "Your brother was playing both sides. He got too close to something he didn't understand."
"He was protecting us," she snapped. "He was loyal."
Luciano stepped into her space, voice low and fierce. "He was reckless. He trusted people he shouldn't have."
Aria pushed him back, hands against his chest. "He trusted you!"
Luciano caught her wrists, his grip firm but not painful.
"He made his own choices. And he died for them."
She looked up at him, her fury meeting his silence. The storm between them hung in the air—years of betrayal, grief, and control crashing together in the space of a breath.
And then he kissed her.
Hard.
It wasn't romantic.
It wasn't gentle.
It was war.
Their mouths collided in a clash of fury and desperation. Aria didn't stop him. She met him move for move, like she was trying to draw blood from his mouth, like kissing him might kill the pain.
Luciano backed her into the wall. She yanked his tie loose. His hand slid to the back of her neck.
And then—
She pulled away. Breathless. Unsteady. Alive.
"You don't get to bury the truth under a kiss," she whispered.
He looked at her, jaw tight. "I didn't kiss you to make you forget."
"No?" Her voice cracked. "Then why?"
"Because I haven't stopped thinking about you since the moment you walked back into my life."
She stared at him, the walls around her shaking but not yet falling. "You're poison, Luciano."
"And you're a flame. Maybe we were made to burn."
⸻
Later, Aria sat alone in the garden under the moonlight. Her lips still burned. Her mind still spun.
She wasn't supposed to feel this. She'd promised herself she would manipulate him, seduce him, destroy him.
But that kiss had felt real.
Too real.
She was losing control—and she hated it.
⸻
A rustle behind her made her turn.
A man in a dark coat stepped into view. Silver hair. Narrow eyes.
"Aria D'Angelo?"
She stood cautiously. "Who's asking?"
He held out a sealed envelope. "From your father's legal team. He wanted you to have this if something happened to Cris."
Her hands shook as she took it.
The lawyer turned and walked off without another word.
She stared down at the envelope.
No return address.
Just one line handwritten on the back:
"Trust no one. Especially not your husband."