Chapter seven
894 Words
The Viper’s Kiss
Chapter Seven — Bloodlines Never Lie
Dante Moretti never trusted a beautiful lie.
And Aria Santoro was the most exquisite fabrication he’d seen in years.
The city stretched beneath him as he leaned on the balcony of his penthouse, rain slicking the steel rail, fog swallowing the glass towers beyond.
Below, the machine of his empire kept grinding — money, bodies, blood — the underworld’s gears never stopped. But tonight, there was static in the air. A tremor under the surface.
It started with her.
She wasn’t just another socialite slithering through Club Serpentine with false confidence and sharper heels.
She’d walked in carrying secrets that tasted like old bloodlines and unfinished wars.
And Dante Moretti? He could smell unfinished wars from a mile away.
Matteo’s voice sliced through his thoughts as the penthouse door creaked open. His consigliere stepped inside, files clutched in one hand, expression shadowed with tension.
“She’s not who she says she is,” Matteo confirmed, eyes sharp.
Dante didn’t flinch. He already knew. But details? Details were currency.
“Her documents—impeccable forgeries,” Matteo continued, spreading papers across the marble table. “But I dug deeper. Facial recognition flagged her to the Leone family archive.”
The name crashed like a loaded weapon between them.
Dante’s pulse stayed steady, but inside, the old fury sparked.
“Leone,” he echoed, voice quiet, lethal.
Matteo nodded grimly. “Aria Leone. Daughter of Riccardo Leone. Presumed dead after the bloodline purge twelve years ago.”
Twelve years. His father’s regime. The silent eradication of rival families. A move that cemented the Moretti throne — and left bodies rotting beneath gilded foundations.
Apparently, not all the Leones were buried.
Dante’s jaw flexed, mind slicing through implications like a blade.
She’d infiltrated his world under a different name. Walked through his club, past his guards, into his space — with that defiant stare, that impossible chemistry — all while carrying the blood of a dead dynasty.
Aria Leone.
A viper hiding beneath silk and stolen identities.
It explained the instinct gnawing at him — the gut-deep tug of recognition, of danger disguised as desire.
And now? His empire had a c***k.
Matteo’s fingers tapped the files. “Her father’s death was… complicated. Rumors suggest betrayal inside your father’s council.”
Dante’s eyes darkened.
Old betrayals never stayed buried.
“Bianca’s family,” Matteo added, hesitation slicing through his words. “The Rosettis were involved.”
Dante’s hand curled into a fist against the railing.
So the threads twisted tighter than expected — Aria Leone returning under false pretenses, Bianca circling with old bloodline ties, whispers of rebellion threading through his council like poison.
It wasn’t just a leak.
It was a storm brewing under his feet.
“Orders?” Matteo asked.
Dante’s mind sharpened.
“Watch her,” he commanded. “No contact unless she makes the first move. I want to see how deep her game runs.”
Matteo hesitated. “She could be dangerous.”
“She already is,” Dante replied darkly.
But danger didn’t scare him. It excited him.
Control, power, leverage — those were his weapons. And Aria? She was a walking, breathing wildcard.
If she came for revenge, she’d have to do better than false names and stolen glances.
And if she came for more?
Dante’s lips curled, slow, calculating.
He intended to find out.
His phone buzzed, flashing a text from his surveillance team:
“Target left residence. Tail in place.”
Perfect.
Let the game continue.
But before Matteo could leave, another knock cracked the air.
The door opened to reveal Bianca Rosetti, draped in white silk, her eyes gleaming like polished glass.
She stepped inside uninvited, confidence radiating from every angle.
“Busy?” she inquired, voice laced with frost.
Matteo excused himself with a knowing glance.
Dante stayed by the window, unmoving.
Bianca crossed the room, heels silent, stopping just short of him.
“You’ve been distant,” she accused softly.
“I’ve been occupied,” Dante countered.
“With her.” Bianca’s words sharpened. “The stray you dragged into my club.”
He didn’t correct her — a mistake was useful, for now.
Bianca’s expression fractured briefly, jealousy cracking her polished facade.
“You forget our families are aligned by blood,” she whispered, voice dangerously low. “Tangled by old promises.”
Dante’s stare cut through her.
“Promises made by men who are dead,” he replied coldly.
Bianca’s eyes flashed, her anger surfacing. But control masked it quickly.
“If she’s a threat, I’ll handle it,” Bianca offered sweetly. “My family—”
“Your family buried knives in my father’s back,” Dante interrupted, voice like a blade. “We’re not allies, Bianca. We’re tolerated competitors.”
A tense silence coiled between them.
Bianca recovered with a practiced smile, tracing her fingers along his lapel, defiant to the end.
“Careful, Dante,” she warned, stepping back. “Your empire’s cracks are showing.”
She vanished down the hall, her perfume lingering like venom.
Dante exhaled slowly, staring at the city’s bleeding skyline.
His empire had cracks.
His enemies were multiplying.
And Aria Leone wasn’t done yet.
But neither was he.
The viper’s fangs were out.
And Moretti never lost a war — especially not one written in blood.
- Writer
