SOLD TO SIN

The devil's dinner

Obsidian Tower, 7:30 PM

The dress was a weapon.

Emerald silk. Plunging neckline. Slit to the hip. It clung to Aria’s body like a second skin, like a brand. Lorenzo’s color. Lorenzo’s claim. When she walked, the fabric whispered mine, mine, mine with every step.

“Stop fidgeting,” Dante said from the doorway. He was in a black suit. Gun visible under his jacket. Always armed. Always watching. “You look like you’re going to a funeral.”

“I am,” Aria said. “Mine.”

His mouth twitched. Not a smile. Dante didn’t do smiles. “Not tonight.”

Tonight was dinner.

The Devil’s Dinner, Nyx had called it when she’d sauntered past Aria’s door an hour ago, wearing a dress that was basically string and attitude. “First rule of the Circle, little debt: don’t speak unless he tells you to. Second rule: don’t bleed on the carpet. It’s imported.”

Aria had said nothing. She’d learned rule three on her own: Nyx wants you dead.

Dante jerked his chin. “Move.”

The dining room wasn’t a room. It was a battlefield dressed in crystal.

Black marble table, long enough to seat twenty. Chandelier made of antlers and bullets. No windows. No exits except the one behind her, where Silas Kane stood like a gargoyle in a tailored suit. He didn’t look at her. He never did.

They were already there.

Nyx, lounging to Enzo’s right, nails red as fresh wounds. A man Aria didn’t know — late thirties, silver at his temples, scar cutting through his left eyebrow — to Enzo’s left. Marco. Enzo’s underboss. His consigliere. His war general.

And at the head of the table: Lorenzo De Santis.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt again. Just a black suit jacket over bare skin, tattoos crawling up his throat. Emerald rings on every finger. A glass of whiskey in his hand. He looked like sin carved into a man. He looked like he’d killed someone an hour ago and hadn’t bothered to shower.

His eyes found her.

The room went quiet.

“Stellina,” he said. Not loud. He didn’t need loud. “Sit.”

There was one empty chair. Directly across from him. Between Nyx and Marco.

Aria walked. Each step echoed. The slit in her dress showed too much leg. Nyx’s eyes tracked it like a predator tracking a limp.

Aria sat.

“Sir,” Marco said, nodding to her. Respectful. Careful. “The Marino shipment—”

“Later.” Enzo didn’t look away from Aria. “Eat.”

Staff appeared. Silent. Placing plates. Steak. Rare. Blood pooling on fine china. Wine so dark it looked black. Aria’s stomach turned. She hadn’t eaten since the drugged coffee. Since she’d watched a woman die for it.

She picked up her fork.

“Wait.”

Nyx’s voice was syrup and razors.

Aria froze.

Nyx smiled. “In the Circle, we toast before we eat. To family.” She lifted her glass. “To blood.”

Everyone lifted theirs. Except Aria. She didn’t have one.

Enzo’s eyes narrowed. He nodded to Dante.

Dante set a glass in front of her. Whiskey. Neat.

“Drink,” Enzo said.

Aria looked at it. Then at Nyx. Nyx was watching her mouth, waiting for her to refuse, waiting for an excuse.

Aria picked up the glass.

“To blood,” she said. Her voice didn’t shake.

She drank.

It burned. It burned like Vivienne’s words. Like her father’s signature. Like the look in Enzo’s eyes when he’d said mine.

She set the glass down. Empty.

Nyx’s smile slipped.

Enzo’s mouth curved. Just a little. “Good girl.”

The word did something to Aria’s chest. Something warm and dangerous. She hated it.

“Now eat,” Enzo said.

She cut the steak. Blood ran. She put it in her mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. It tasted like iron and survival.

Conversation started. Marco talking territories. Nyx interrupting with updates on hacked accounts. Silas saying nothing, eating like the food might disappear.

Aria listened. Learned.

*The Marinos were moving product through Red Hook.

The Albanians had hit a warehouse.

The cops were paid, but the feds were circling.

And Lorenzo De Santis was running out of patience.*

“You’re quiet,” Enzo said suddenly.

All eyes went to her.

Aria set her fork down. “I wasn’t aware I was allowed to speak.”

Nyx laughed. “She bites.”

“Careful,” Enzo said, but he was looking at Nyx, not Aria. “She might bite back.”

He turned to Aria. “Say something.”

It was a test. They were all tests.

Aria looked at him. Really looked. At the blood under his nails. At the scar through his eyebrow. At the way he held himself like the world was a weapon pointed at his head and he dared it to fire.

“You’re going to war,” she said.

Marco went still.

Enzo tilted his head. “Am I?”

“The Marinos. The Albanians. You’re bleeding men, bleeding money. You’re spread thin.” She nodded to the folder by his plate. Photos. Bodies. “That’s why you collected my debt now. You need liquid. You need a win.”

Silence.

Nyx’s knife stopped spinning.

Dante’s hand moved to his gun.

Enzo didn’t move. But something in his eyes shifted. Interest. Dangerous, sharp interest.

“Continue,” he said.

“You think I’m a weakness,” Aria said. “Your men do. She does.” She didn’t look at Nyx. “But I’m not. I’m leverage. My father’s company — Vale Enterprises — still has offshore accounts Vivienne couldn’t touch. Accounts with my name on them. Accounts I can access.”

Lies. She had no idea if that was true. But Richard Vale had been paranoid. And he’d loved her.

Enzo’s expression didn’t change. But his fingers tapped once on the table.

“How much?”

“Enough to buy you a war.”

Nyx stood. “She’s lying.”

“Sit down,” Enzo said without looking at her.

“I’m telling you—”

“I said. Sit. Down.”

Nyx sat.

Enzo stood.

He walked around the table. Slow. Each step was a countdown. He stopped behind Aria’s chair. She didn’t turn. She wouldn’t give him her fear.

His hands came down on the arms of her chair. Caging her in. His mouth was by her ear.

“If you’re lying to me, stellina,” he murmured, so only she could hear, “I’ll dress you in that green dress and hang you from my balcony so everyone in Manhattan knows what happens to girls who waste my time.”

Aria’s pulse was a war drum. But she tilted her head. Her lips almost brushed his jaw. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not lying.”

His breath hitched. Just for a second.

He straightened. “Dante. Check it.”

Dante was already on his phone.

Enzo walked back to his seat. “Eat. All of you.”

The rest of dinner was silent. Obsidian Tower, Library, 9:47 PM

“It’s real.”

Dante’s voice was flat. He set a tablet in front of Enzo. “Three accounts. Cayman. Zurich. Singapore. Total balance: eighty-two million. Sole beneficiary: Aria Vale. Her father locked them when she turned eighteen. Vivienne couldn’t touch them.”

Enzo stared at the screen.

Eighty-two million. Enough to buy the Marinos, burn the Albanians, and still have enough left to level half of Queens.

Enough to win.

“Where is she?”

“Green room.”

Enzo stood. “No. Bring her to me.” His Office, 9:55 PM

Aria had never been in his office.

It was worse than the dining room. Dark wood. No photos. No personal items. Just weapons. Guns in cases. Knives on the wall. A desk that had seen blood.

And Enzo, standing by the window, city lights turning his skin to gold and shadow.

He didn’t turn when she walked in.

“You had eighty-two million dollars,” he said. To the glass. “And you were living in a one-bedroom apartment with roaches.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Now you do.” He turned. “What do you want for it?”

Aria blinked. “What?”

“Money moves the world, stellina. Everyone wants something. Vivienne wanted your father’s company. Nyx wants my bed. The Marinos want my ports.” He stepped toward her. “What do you want?”

Freedom. Safety. Her name back.

She said none of that.

“I want to know why you didn’t kill me.”

Enzo stopped. “What?”

“That first night. You threw me on the bed. You told me to turn. You looked at me like—” She broke off. “Like you were going to destroy me. Then you left. Why?”

For a second, he said nothing.

Then: “Because you didn’t beg.”

Aria frowned. “What?”

“Every person I’ve ever owned has begged. For life. For mercy. For more time.” He stepped closer. “You looked at me like you’d already died once. Like nothing I did could hurt you worse than what you’d already survived.”

His hand came up. He didn’t touch her. He just hovered, like he was afraid she’d shatter.

“And that,” he said, voice rough, “pissed me off.”

Aria’s breath caught. “Why?”

“Because I don’t know what to do with things I can’t break.”

The air between them was electric. Dangerous.

Dante knocked once. Entered without waiting. “Marinos hit the South Street docks. Three men dead.”

Enzo didn’t look away from Aria. But his face went to stone. To war.

“Ready the cars,” he said.

Dante left.

Enzo finally looked away. “Stay here.”

“Like hell—”

He was in front of her in a second. Hand around her throat. Not squeezing. Not yet. Just holding. Claiming. His thumb brushed her pulse.

“You are eighty-two million dollars I can’t afford to lose,” he said. “So you stay. You breathe. You wait.”

His mouth was inches from hers.

“And when I get back,” he murmured, “we’re going to talk about what it costs to own the Emerald Serpent.”

He let go.

He walked out.

Aria stood there, hand at her throat, heart pounding, and realized two things.

One: Lorenzo De Santis was going to war.

Two: She’d just given him the ammunition.

And she wasn’t sure if she’d saved herself.

Or signed her death warrant.

⚠️ Content Warning: Sold to Sin is a DARK mafia romance. Contains violence, mature themes, possessive/obsessive behavior, morally grey characters, and explicit language. Lorenzo is NOT a good man. Read at your own risk. Your soul is not refundable. 💋

TBC