The car sped through the dark Brooklyn streets, tires screeching as Dante drove with lethal focus. Aria sat in the passenger seat, her mother’s blood still staining her hands, the devastating photo glowing on her phone screen like a curse. Dante’s face in that alley — the night he had first claimed her — haunted her. The caption “The perfect pawn” repeated in her mind like a death sentence.
“Talk to me,” Dante demanded, his voice rough with urgency. One hand stayed on the wheel while the other reached for her, possessive even now. “What happened in there? Why did you go alone?”
Aria pulled away from his touch, her hazel eyes filled with a storm of pain and doubt. “My mother is dead. She died trying to warn me. And you… you were there from the beginning, weren’t you? Planning all of this.
