Claimed By The Five Mafia Brothers

Chapter 2

Aria POV

The car smells like leather and gun oil and something expensive I can’t name.

I’m sitting in the middle of the backseat with Luca on my right and the scarred one on my left. Nobody talks. The only sound is the low hum of the engine and my breathing, too fast, too loud in my own ears. My hands are clenched in my lap. I keep looking down at my stomach, then away, like if I don’t acknowledge it, none of this is real.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask. My voice cracks.

Luca doesn’t look at me. He’s staring out the window at Chicago flying past in streaks of orange streetlight. “Somewhere safe.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting tonight, Miss Wells.”

Miss Wells. Like I’m in a courtroom. Like I’m not falling apart.

We drive north. Past the Loop. Past the river. Into the part of Chicago they don’t put on postcards. The gates are ten feet tall and black iron. Cameras on every post. Guards in suits standing like statues. When the SUV stops, the gates roll open with a sound that feels final.

The Moretti estate.

It’s a mansion. White stone and dark windows. It looks more like a fortress than a home. The driveway is longer than my entire apartment building. Everything is lit up like daylight, like they’re daring someone to try something. My stomach twists. This is where they live. This is where I’m supposed to be safe now.

The door opens and the youngest one is there first. Nico. He has kind eyes and he looks way too young to be here.

“Come on,” he says softly. “You don’t have to be scared.”

“I am scared,” I whisper.

He doesn’t laugh. He just nods like he understands and offers me his hand. I don’t take it. I get out on my own, my legs shaking under me. The October air hits me and I realize I’m still in my work hoodie and jeans. I look ridiculous in front of a palace.

Luca is already walking toward the front doors. He doesn’t wait. The others follow. Marco, the one who was grinning earlier, gives me a wink as he passes. Enzo, the one with glasses, is already on his tablet. And Dante, the scarred one, walks behind me. Not touching me. Just there. Like a shadow I didn’t ask for.

Inside is worse.

Marble floors that probably cost more than my rent for a year. Chandeliers. Art on the walls. And it’s empty. No warmth. No photos. No life. Just money and guns and silence that presses down on my chest.

A woman in a black dress appears out of nowhere. Housekeeper. She looks at me, at my hoodie, at my face, and her expression doesn’t change.

“Her room is ready,” Luca says.

“Which one?” the woman asks.

“Mine,” Luca says.

I stop walking. “Excuse me?”

His eyes cut to me. Cold. Tired. “For your protection. You stay where I can see you.”

“That’s not— I’m not sleeping in your room.”

“You are,” he cuts me off. “Unless you’d prefer the guest wing with no guards. Your choice.”

It’s not a choice.

So I follow him upstairs. The others peel off. Marco mutters something about getting food. Enzo disappears into an office. Nico watches me go with this look on his face like he wants to say something but won’t. Dante vanishes.

Luca’s room is ridiculous. King size bed with black sheets. A window that looks over all of Chicago. A bathroom bigger than my kitchen. There’s a shopping bag on the bed. Clothes. Toiletries.

“We got your size from your apartment,” Luca says, like breaking into my place is normal. “Eat. Sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“You’re not answering any of my questions.”

“I know.”

He turns to leave and something snaps in me. Nine weeks of fear and nausea and no answers comes boiling up.

“What did you mean I’m carrying something that belongs to you? What did you do to me that night?”

Luca stops. His shoulders go stiff. For a second I think he’s going to turn around and finally tell me the truth.

Instead he says, “Get some rest, Aria.”

And then he’s gone. The door clicks. And I hear the lock.

I’m not a prisoner. I’m a guest.

That’s what he said.

I throw the bag across the room.

An hour later, there’s a knock.

It’s Nico. He has a tray. Soup. Bread. Water.

“You didn’t eat,” he says through the door.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You should be. For them.”

Them. The twins.

I open the door. He’s alone. No guards. He looks exhausted. He sets the tray down on the small table and doesn’t leave. He just stands there with his hands in his pockets.

“Are they going to hurt me?” I ask.

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I won’t let them.”

It’s the first honest thing anyone’s said to me all night.

I sit on the edge of the bed. The soup smells good and I hate that it does. “Why me? Why now?”

Nico sits on the floor. Not on the bed. Giving me space. “Because of the club. You saw something. A deal that went wrong. And because...” He trails off.

“Because what?”

“Because you’re pregnant. And the timing matches.”

My face burns. “You don’t know that.”

“We do.” Enzo’s voice from the doorway. I didn’t hear him come in. He’s holding a thin folder. “Medical records. Clinic visit on Western Ave. Due date puts conception at October 14th. The night of the blackout.”

I want to throw something at him. “You went through my medical records?”

“We protect what’s ours,” Enzo says simply, like that explains it.

What’s ours.

I put my head in my hands. “I don’t even know which one of you it is.”

The room goes quiet.

When I look up, Nico is staring at the floor. Enzo’s face is blank.

“None of us do,” Enzo says finally. “That’s why you’re here. Until we figure it out.”

Until we figure it out.

Like I’m a problem to solve.

A crash downstairs. Shouting.

Enzo’s head snaps up. Nico is on his feet instantly.

“What—”

“Stay here,” Enzo says. And then both of them are gone.

I’m alone for maybe thirty seconds before the lights go out.

Not just in the room. In the whole house.

Darkness.

And then gunfire.

I hit the floor. My heart is in my throat. The twins. I have to protect the twins. My hands go to my stomach before I even think about it.

Footsteps in the hall. Running.

The door bursts open and it’s Dante.

He’s bleeding from his shoulder. A dark stain spreading on his white shirt. He doesn’t speak. He just grabs my arm and pulls me up.

“Move,” is all he says. His voice is rough, like he doesn’t use it much.

We run. Down the hall. Down the stairs. People are screaming. Glass is breaking. Through a window I see it — men in black, climbing the gates. Caruso men. The rival family.

Dante shoves me into a hidden door behind a painting. A panic room. Small. No windows.

He pushes me inside and turns to go back out.

“Wait!” I grab his sleeve. “You’re hurt.”

He looks at me. Really looks at me. And for the first time, his face isn’t blank. It’s angry. Scared.

“Stay here,” he says. “Don’t come out until Luca comes for you.”

And then he’s gone, closing the door and leaving me in the dark.

Alone.

With the sound of my heart and the sound of five men fighting for me outside this door.

I slide down the wall and press both hands to my stomach. “Be okay,” I whisper. “Please be okay. Both of you.”

Somewhere above me, a man yells.

A gunshot.

And then Luca’s voice, furious and close: “GET AWAY FROM HER!”

The door rattles.

Footsteps. Heavy. Coming closer.

The handle turns.