THIRD PERSON POV
Aria said nothing when she slipped back into the Bentley. Her face was unreadable, her pulse a storm beneath her skin.
“Home,” she told Ricky, her tone clipped, final. “And not a word about tonight. Not to anyone. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, signora,” Ricky answered, his voice steady though his knuckles whitened against the wheel. He knew better than to question.
The drive was silent, the estate lights fading into the night behind them. Aria kept her gaze on the glass, her reflection showing not a broken wife but a woman unraveling with something darker.
When they reached the Ricci residence, she dismissed Ricky and ascended the marble stairs alone. Her heels echoed in the cavernous halls, each step heavy with the secret she carried.
Inside their bedroom—a sprawling
