OWNED BY THE ENEMY

CHAPTER Two – THE SIGNATURE [Part 2]

“Aria—” my father hisses.

I ignore him.

Valtieri’s eyes sharpen on my face. The faintest spark of appreciation flickers in their depths.

“You’re exactly like your reports,” he says softly. “Composed. Edged. Dangerous, if used correctly.”

He taps another page. Financial summaries, server logs, and printouts of code.

“I traced the attack pattern that gutted Moretti Holdings,” he goes on. “It didn’t originate from my systems.”

My father stiffens. “You expect me to believe that?”

“I expect you to understand that if I’d wanted to destroy you,” he says mildly, “I wouldn’t have left you breathing.”

Silence.

“This,” he continues, “is bigger than you. Bigger than me. There is a third party leveraging both of us. They took your son because he was in the way. Or useful. Or both.” His gaze lifts. “I can find them. I can get him back.”

My heart slams against my ribs.

“In exchange for what?” I ask.

His mouth curves, not quite a smile.

“You,” he says.

The word lands between us like a dropped knife.

Behind me, my father jolts. “This wasn’t part of—”

“Of course it was,” Valtieri says, eyes never leaving mine. “You came here with your daughter dressed like this, her hair like this, her makeup like this”—his gaze trails down the line of my throat, over the deep V of my dress, back up again—“and expected me not to notice? You’re not stupid, Lorenzo.”

Blood rushes hot to my face. I refuse to flinch.

“This isn’t a brothel,” my father spits. “She’s my—”

“Pawn,” Valtieri says, finally glancing at him. “Your cleanest asset. Your public face. Your analyst. The one who actually understands your data and your image. Don’t insult both of us by pretending you didn’t bring her here as an offering.”

The worst part is: he’s not wrong.

My father’s silence confirms that.

You didn’t just bring me here.

You brought me knowing what he’d ask for.

“What exactly are you proposing?” I force out. My voice sounds calmer than I feel.

“Simple,” he says. “I protect what’s left of Moretti Holdings from further digital attacks. I unfreeze enough assets to keep you solvent. I locate your son. I dealt with whoever thought it was a good idea to move against me using your carcass as bait.”

“And in return?” I ask.

He slides a document toward me on a slim leather clipboard.

“In return, key Moretti assets are temporarily pledged to me,” he says. “Properties. Shares. Access. And…”

I pick up the clipboard.

Clause 7 stares back at me in clean black type:

**Ms. Aria Moretti will serve as Special Liaison to Mr. Damon Valtieri for a term of twelve (12) months, effective immediately. She will reside within Valtieri Tower for the duration of this agreement to facilitate full cooperation between parties.**

My mouth goes dry.

“Reside,” I repeat. “Here.”

“In my world.” His tone doesn’t change, but something in his eyes does. Darkens. “Where I can control what leaks. Who talks to you. Who you talk to. What information leaves this building.”

“You want to keep me as your hostage,” I say.

“Hostages don’t sign contracts,” he replies. “And I don’t do long-distance negotiations, Ms. Moretti. If I’m protecting you…” He steps closer, his voice dropping. “I keep you where I can see you.”

It’s framed like logic.

It feels like obsession.

“My daughter is not collateral,” my father snaps.

“Today she’s both,” Valtieri says quietly. “Because you let it get this bad.”

The words punch the air out of my lungs.

My father flinches like he’s been hit.

I look at him.

At the deep lines around his eyes. The way his hand shakes. The way he can’t quite look at the contract.

You knew.

You knew he’d ask for me.

And you came anyway.

“What guarantees do we have?” I ask, dragging my eyes back to the man across from me. “That you’ll actually help. That Luca will…that he’ll come back alive.”

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” he says. “If I say I’ll find him, I will.”

It’s not enough.

It’s also the only thing on the table.

My gaze drops to the photo of Luca again. I see him not just as a man tied to a chair but as a boy, twelve and grinning, holding my hand so I wouldn’t be scared of the dark on the old roof.

If I sign this, I don’t come back the same.

If I don’t, I might never see him again.

“Aria,” my father rasps. There’s something like an apology in his eyes. It stings more than anger would.

“How long do we have to decide?” I ask.

“You don’t,” Valtieri says. “By tomorrow morning, your creditors will start pulling public strings. By the end of the week, your private enemies will know how exposed you are. The ones who took your brother will realize you can’t pay their price. You’re out of time.”

He holds out a pen.

Gold. Heavy. The kind of pen people use to sign away things they can’t get back.

“You can walk out now,” he says softly. “Take your pride. Take your father. Try your own luck. Or…” His gaze drifts to my mouth, back up. “You can sign. And trust that my obsession with control works in your favor.”

My hand doesn’t shake as I take the pen.

That feels important.

I hover for a heartbeat over the line with my name printed beneath it, feeling the weight of every life I’m trading for this one.

Then I sign.

Aria Moretti.

When I lift the pen, Damon Valtieri exhales, just once, too quiet for anyone but me to notice. Like something he’s been waiting for, he just slid into place.

He takes the clipboard, verifies the signatures, and closes it.

“Good,” he says. “Welcome to Valtieri Tower, Ms. Moretti.”

He turns to my father.

“You can go,” he adds. “Your daughter is under my protection now.”

“Protection,” I breathe. It sounds a lot like possession.

“My wife will want—” my father starts.

“I’ll handle your wife,” Valtieri says. “You handle your mess. If you stay, the deal is off.”

My father looks at me. Just looks.

I force a smile onto my face, and it feels like stretching cracked porcelain.

“Go, Papà,” I say. “Find Mom. Tell her I’m okay.”

It’s a lie.

But I’ve always been good at those.

His eyes shine, just for a second. Then he nods once, stiffly, as if he’s afraid anything more will shatter him. He turns away, walking slower than he did coming in.

Elena appears soundlessly to escort him. The elevator doors close around them.

And then it’s just me.

And him.

And the city.

The silence is vast.

He moves past me toward the far wall. Taps the face of his watch.

A section of glass flickers to life.

Luca appears on the screen. Same chair. Same ropes. Same cut on his cheek—but now I see the slow, shallow rise and fall of his chest. The concrete room around him is dim, a hooded man pacing behind him with a gun in his hand.

“What is this?” I whisper.

“Live feed,” Damon says. “Encrypted. They like to remind me what they’re holding.”

The hooded man stops. Looks straight at the camera.

Straight at us.

The feed cuts to black.

My stomach drops.

“You—you had that. You could have shown me—”

“I wanted you to understand the contract before you understood the countdown,” he says.

Cold certainty slides under my skin.

This isn’t a deal.

It’s a clock.

“Make yourself at home, Ms. Moretti,” he adds softly. “Every second you waste fighting me is a second they have with your brother.”

He turns toward the glass staircase that leads upward, expecting me to follow.

And I do, my pulse beating hard and fast in my throat.

This isn’t where I break.

It’s where he learns what I’m made of.

**End of Chapter One**

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