The next morning came slow and grey, like even the sun was unsure it wanted to rise over the De Luca estate.
Aria didn’t leave her room right away. She sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, still in her sleep shirt, the silence pressing in around her like a second skin. Her fingertips brushed her wrist, the one Luciano had held two nights ago—the imprint of his touch still lingering, invisible but undeniable.
She’d told him they could learn.
She meant it.
But she hadn’t expected that kind of truth from him. Not from a man who seemed built of secrets and sharpened control. Not from someone who looked at the world like it owed him blood and silence.
Yet there he was last night… unraveling.
And now, so was she.
⸻
When she finally left her room, the house was quiet.
Too quiet.
