Bound To The Mafia Enemy

Chapter Three – The Name Beneath the Blood

(Aria’s POV)

Sleep didn't come easy that night.

I lay in bed with my laptop open, the decrypted contents of the flash drive glowing like a wound in the dark. The words on the screen blurred, but I couldn’t look away. I’d skimmed through half of the Opal Asset A–01 folder already, and every page was worse than the last.

Weapons shipments, yes. But also names.

Names of girls.

With tags. Prices.

Some were listed as “transferred.” Some as “sold.” Others as “disposed.”

I closed my laptop with a shudder.

Cruz wasn’t a dealer.

He was a trafficker.

A monster hiding beneath the smoke and mirrors of empire.

And somehow, the De Lucas were linked to him.

Or maybe worse—they owned him.

I sat back against my headboard, pulled my knees to my chest. My mind spiraled.

Was this why Matteo was at that gala? Was he the one approving these trades? Or was he as much a pawn as I once was?

No. No more questions. Not now.

I had work to do.

---

The next morning, I was at the docks by sunrise.

The eastern port was where Vescari and Bratva goods came in—if you knew which crates to look for.

Camilla had traced a recent delivery marked with the same code I found in the files: OP-A01-EK.

I wore a low-brimmed cap and dark shades. Dressed like a dock worker in borrowed overalls. Nico had paid off two night shift guards to let me inside the warehouse compound without questions.

I found the crate in Bay 9.

Locked. Sealed.

But not impossible.

I used a crowbar and grit.

Inside, there were steel cases. Each labeled.

When I pried one open, I found weapons—sophisticated, clean, untraceable. Military-grade rifles. Next to them, smaller velvet pouches. Inside: watches. USBs. A single black envelope with a gold wax seal.

The crest?

A stylized rose pierced by a dagger.

I broke the seal.

Inside, there was a list.

A girl’s name stood out:

Selena Cruz.

Asset ID: C-A-0931. Age: 19. Status: Transferred for reconditioning.

I clutched the paper, bile rising in my throat.

She was real.

They weren’t just names. They were lives.

And she might still be alive.

I took photos. Every document. Every tag. Every inch of the contents.

I closed the crate, resealed it with a fake adhesive strip, and got the hell out of there.

Back in the car, I couldn’t breathe.

“Nico,” I whispered. “We need to find her. We need to find all of them.”

He didn’t speak, but his jaw clenched like stone.

---

Matteo’s POV

She got into my study.

Marco delivered the report with trembling fingers.

“Nothing was stolen, technically,” he said. “But this was left behind.”

He handed me a piece of red thread.

I knew what it was.

A Vescari marker.

Not just anyone.

Her.

Rina.

No. Not Rina. That wasn’t her name.

I closed my eyes.

It was Aria Vescari.

Daughter of Alessandro.

And I had kissed her like a man starved.

"I want every angle of that east wing reviewed. Pull any server data you can. I want footage, shadows, a shoe print—hell, a strand of hair if it’s there."

"Yes, sir."

Marco left.

I sat in my chair, gripping the red thread.

Aria Vescari.

Smart.

Beautiful.

And playing a dangerous game.

I’d been so close to her. So unaware.

The kiss meant something. I knew it did. It wasn’t fake.

But now she was armed with my secrets.

And I had to know what she’d taken.

I opened my laptop and ran a diagnostics scan.

She hadn’t just looked at old ledgers. She’d seen OPAL.

My heart stilled.

OPAL was never meant to exist.

If she told anyone…

The room swayed slightly.

Was she bluffing? Or had she already sent the files?

I pressed my fingers to my temple.

Damn it, Aria.

---

Aria’s POV

That night, I stared at the photos for hours.

I created a wall of names.

Girls. Boys. Some as young as fourteen.

They were being trafficked through fronts owned by De Luca subsidiaries.

Clubs. Orphanages. Even modeling agencies.

Each name tore another piece from me.

Selena Cruz. Olivia March. Tiana Li. Amber Vong.

Some of the girls had notes: “Rebellious,” “branded,” “reconditioned.”

I wanted to scream. To burn the world.

Instead, I printed everything and locked it in my safe.

Then I did the unthinkable.

I called my father.

He answered after three rings. "Aria?"

"You knew."

A long silence.

"I know many things, darling. Be specific."

"About Cruz. About the trafficking. About the De Lucas."

He sighed. "The world is rarely as black and white as you want it to be."

"You let children be sold."

"I kept our family alive."

I laughed—broken, hollow. "You sacrificed everything decent to save your own skin."

"No, Aria. I sacrificed my soul so you wouldn’t have to."

"Liar."

I ended the call.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t cry.

I got dressed.

And I wrote down a list of every man Cruz ever did business with.

Then I circled the first name.