Episode 4:The First Cut
1123 Words
Aria Moretti woke to the scent of smoke and the taste of Damien Rivas still on her lips.
He was already up—shirtless, tattooed, leaning against the kitchen counter with a cigarette between his fingers like sin personified. The morning light cast golden heat over his skin, but there was no softness in him. No morning-after smile. No promises.
He was a man made of knives, and last night, she’d willingly let him cut her open.
She sat up in bed, the silk sheets tangled around her legs, still wearing nothing but the echoes of his hands.
“You left again,” she said, her voice raspy.
He didn’t look at her. “Force of habit.”
“Your habit or mine?”
That got him. He turned slowly, eyes scanning her like he was still hungry. But there was something colder there now. Controlled.
“You were never supposed to be part of this,” he said.
She stood, walked toward him, letting the sheet fall as she moved. “And yet here I am.”
His jaw flexed, but he said nothing. He just handed her a black folder from the counter.
“What’s this?”
“The first player you need to eliminate.”
Aria blinked. “Wait. You want me to—?”
“This isn’t a dress rehearsal, Aria. You’re in the Game now. You either play… or get played.”
She opened the folder.
Name: Isabella Cardenas
Alias: The Black Widow
Age: 36
Family: Cardenas Cartel
Connection: Former associate of Lorenzo Moretti. Rumored to have orchestrated his assassination in alliance with Santori.
A photo was paper clipped to the front. A beautiful woman with ice in her eyes and a smile like poison.
Aria swallowed hard. “So I just—what—walk into her mansion and pull a trigger?”
“No.” Damien stepped closer, took the file from her hands. “You seduce her. Gain her trust. Make her believe you’re weak.”
“I’m not weak.”
“I know.” His eyes darkened. “But she doesn’t.”
“And then what?”
“You kill her. Or someone you love dies in your place.”
The words hit harder than she expected. Her chest tightened.
“I don’t have anyone,” she said. “I told you that.”
Damien reached out, brushed her hair behind her ear. “You do now.”
And that scared her more than anything.
---
By nightfall, Aria was dressed in crimson.
A floor-length silk gown, slit to the hip, backless, paired with a diamond choker that had belonged to her mother. She wore her father’s dagger tucked against her thigh, hidden, deadly. A symbol of what she was becoming.
The party was held at a secluded estate in the Hamptons, owned by Isabella Cardenas herself. It was part gala, part auction, part secret gathering of the elite and corrupt. Every guest was either a billionaire, a killer, or both.
Aria arrived alone, stepping out of the limo with the grace of a queen and the quiet threat of a storm.
Inside, champagne flowed. Laughter echoed. And eyes followed her like hounds scenting blood.
She found Isabella near the grand staircase, laughing too loudly, dressed in shimmering black. Her lips were painted wine-red, and her diamond earrings could have paid off a small nation’s debt.
Aria approached slowly.
“You’re braver than I thought,” Isabella purred when she saw her.
“I had to see the woman who dared to wear black at my father’s funeral,” Aria replied smoothly.
Isabella’s laugh was like crushed velvet. “Lorenzo always did raise you well. I liked him. Brutal. Beautiful. But ultimately… soft.”
Aria smiled. “That softness got him killed.”
“And you? Are you soft, darling?”
“Not anymore.”
Isabella’s gaze lingered. “We should talk.”
She took Aria’s hand and led her through a side hallway, into a lounge that smelled of cigars and secrets. The door shut behind them.
“You’re dangerous,” Isabella said, pouring two glasses of aged whiskey. “But still naive. Do you know what they’re saying about you?”
“That I’m the next target?”
“No.” She walked closer, handed her the drink. “That you’re Damien’s toy.”
Aria didn’t flinch. “And what do you believe?”
Isabella raised her glass. “I believe you’ll either be dead in a week… or ruling this city.”
They clinked glasses. Aria sipped. Smooth. Strong. Bitter.
“You and my father,” Aria said softly. “Were you allies?”
“We were… complicated.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Isabella took a seat, crossing her legs slowly. “You want to avenge him. That’s sweet. But vengeance is a poor substitute for strategy.”
Aria walked to her. “Then teach me.”
“Why should I?”
Aria set her glass down, stepped between Isabella’s legs.
“Because,” she whispered, “you want to see how far I’ll go.”
Their faces were inches apart. Isabella reached up, traced a finger down Aria’s throat.
“I could kill you right now,” she said.
Aria leaned in. “You could try.”
A breath. A pause.
Then Isabella smiled.
And kissed her.
It was brief. Testing. Like a match brushing gasoline.
Aria kissed back.
Not because she wanted to—but because this was the Game.
And she was learning fast.
---
Later, Aria walked out of the estate, heart pounding, the dagger warm against her thigh.
She didn’t kill Isabella. Not tonight.
But she knew one thing with absolute clarity: Isabella wasn’t just part of the Game.
She was playing her own.
And Aria had just become a piece on her board.
---
Back in the penthouse, Damien was waiting.
She didn’t speak. Just walked to him, kissed him hard, and pulled him to bed. She needed to forget the taste of Isabella. Needed to feel something real.
Damien gave her what she asked for—and more.
After, they lay tangled in the sheets, breathless, marked.
“She kissed me,” Aria said softly.
Damien’s body tensed.
“Did you like it?”
“She tastes like power.”
“That’s a dangerous flavor.”
“I want more.”
He turned to her, eyes unreadable. “Of her?”
“Of this. Of all of it. The Game. The power. The chaos.”
“You’re not afraid?”
“I was. But now…” She looked at him. “I want to win.”
Damien kissed her forehead. “Then it’s time you meet the rest of the players.”
- Writer
