CHAPTER 3
1173 Words
My phone buzzed at 7:47 AM.
A text from an unknown number: Don’t be late.
I hadn’t slept.
Couldn’t sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Dante’s face. Felt his hand on my waist. Heard him say our son like it was a weapon.
I showered in scalding water.
Dressed in black Armani, heels sharp enough to be weapons.
If I was walking into hell, I’d look like I belonged there.
The Tribeca building was all glass and steel. The doorman nodded without speaking. He’d been expecting me.
Of course he had.
Dante didn’t leave anything to chance.
The private elevator required a key card. Forty-three floors. Each one felt like another door closing. Another escape route disappearing.
When the doors opened, the penthouse took my breath away.
Floor to ceiling windows. Hudson River sprawling below. Rothko. Basquiat. The kind of art that made people weep.
And Dante.
Backlit by morning sun like he’d been waiting for me since the beginning of time.
“You’re three minutes early,” he said without turning around.
“You said not to be late.”
“I said nine a.m.” Now he turned, and I hated that my body responded. That even knowing what he was, my blood recognized him. “Eager? Or afraid?”
“Neither.” I stepped into the penthouse. The elevator doors closed behind me. No escape now. “Let’s finish this.”
He moved to a glass table covered in documents.
“Six months,” he said, not bothering with pleasantries. “You live here. Attend events with me. Play the devoted wife. In exchange, I provide security, resources, and protection from Vincent.”
I scanned the papers.
Legal jargon. Clauses about public appearances. Financial arrangements.
Everything cold and calculated.
Then I found it.
“Clause seventeen,” I said slowly. “Full custody of any minor children?”
“Yes.”
“This is about Luca.”
He didn’t deny it.
“You want me to sign away custody of my son?”
“Our son.” His voice was quiet. Deadly. “I want you to acknowledge I have rights.”
“You have no rights.” I felt the rage building. “I kept him safe. I kept him alive. I..”
“From what?” The words exploded out of him. “From me? From having a father? From knowing where he came from?”
“From this!” I threw my hand toward the windows, toward the city, toward the violence underneath everything. “From becoming another casualty in a war he never asked to fight!”
“He’s already part of it.” Dante stepped closer. “The second you brought him back to New York, you made him a target. Vincent knows about you. He’ll know about the boy.”
My hands clenched into fists.
“Don’t call him that,” I said. “His name is Luca.”
Something flickered across Dante’s face.
“Luca,” he repeated. “You named him after your brother.”
My throat tightened. My older brother. The one who’d died protecting me. Who’d pushed me toward the secret passage and told me to run.
“Yes.”
“He would have been honored,” Dante said quietly.
I blinked hard. Refused to cry.
“I’m not signing over custody,” I said.
“Then we don’t have a deal.”
“Fine.” I turned toward the elevator. Called his bluff. “Good luck finding another wife on short notice.”
“Aria.”
I stopped.
Didn’t turn.
“Vincent’s man followed you from the gala. He knows which hotel you’re staying in. They’ll come for you tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Professional. Fast. You’ll disappear, and no one will ever find the body.”
My heart stopped.
“But if you marry me,” Dante continued, “if you take my name and move into this penthouse, you become untouchable. No one touches what’s mine.”
I turned slowly.
He was standing so close I could see the shadows under his eyes. The tension in his jaw. The way his hands were clenched like he was stopping himself from reaching for me.
“Change the custody clause,” I said.
“No.”
“Then joint custody. We both have equal rights.”
He considered this for a long moment.
“Joint custody,” he finally said. “But he lives here. Both of you. Non negotiable.”
My heart clenched.
Luca, here. In this glass tower with a father he didn’t know. Away from everything familiar.
But safe.
Protected by a kind of power I could never give him alone.
“He’s six,” I said quietly. “He’ll have questions.”
“Then we tell him the truth.”
“Which is what? That his father runs half of New York’s underworld? That we’re only pretending?”
“We tell him,” Dante said carefully, “that we’re his parents. That we love him. That we’ll keep him safe. The rest he doesn’t need to know yet.”
I looked at the contract again.
At my name typed next to his.
Aria Moretti Russo.
A name I’d never thought I’d see.
A life I’d never thought I’d live.
“Six months,” I said.
“Six months.”
“After that, I’m free to go.”
“Unless you want to stay.”
“I won’t.”
“We’ll see.”
He pulled a pen from his pocket and offered it to me.
I took it.
The weight of it settled in my palm.
This pen would change everything. Would bind me to a man who had every reason to hate me. Would put my son in danger even as it protected him.
But it would save Luca’s life.
And I’d burn the entire world down for him.
So I signed.
My signature looked wrong next to Dante’s smaller, uncertain, like my handwriting knew this was a mistake.
He added his signature. Quick. Confident.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Russo,” he said, and the name sounded like a threat and a promise. “Welcome home.”
His phone buzzed.
His entire expression changed.
“What?” I asked.
He turned the screen toward me.
A text message. No number. Just words:
WE KNOW ABOUT THE BOY. TELL MORETTI’S DAUGHTER SHE HAS 24 HOURS.
My blood turned to ice.
Dante was already moving.
Making calls. His voice sharp with commands I barely heard through the roaring in my ears.
Twenty-four hours.
Vincent wasn’t waiting.
He was already moving.
And the only thing standing between my son and a bullet was the marriage contract still drying on the table.
Dante ended his call.
“Get your son,” he said. “Now. My men will meet you there. You have two hours before Vincent realizes you’re moving him.”
“Two hours..”
“Two hours, Aria.” His eyes were cold. Flat. The eyes of a killer. “After that, we go to war.”
- Writer
