Chapter 3

Dante Ricci.

My grandmother's right hand. The man who had run the family's blood and business for five years. The man I'd been desperately, foolishly in love with at twenty-two — before I ran from everything, including him.

He was harder now. Sharper. The kind of dangerous that made a room go silent without a word. A black suit, a scar I didn't remember threading his eyebrow, and eyes fixed on me like he'd waited five years for this exact second.

"Dante," I said.

"It's good to see you, Aria." He crossed the hall and stopped close — close enough that I caught smoke and leather and something darker underneath. "Though I'll say it. Your taste in men got considerably worse while you were gone."

The council shifted, uneasy.

"You know about Matteo," I said.

"I know everything about Matteo." His jaw flexed. "I've known for two years. Your grandmother had me watch him."

I stared. "Two years. You knew he was cheating, knew how they treated me, and you said nothing—"

"She forbade it." His voice was low, leashed, but something burned beneath it. "She said you had to come home of your own will. That if I interfered, you'd never forgive yourself for needing saving." He paused. "It was the hardest order I have ever obeyed."

The hall had gone deathly quiet.

"Why was it hard?" I whispered.

He looked at me for a long moment.

"Because I had to watch a man who didn't deserve to breathe your air destroy you," he said, "and do nothing. Every single day."

Heat flooded my face. I stepped back, grasping for control. "I'm not the frightened girl who ran. I don't need saving now, either."

"Good." A slow, lethal smile. "Because I'm not offering to save you, Aria. I'm offering to help you raze his entire world to the ground." He turned to the council. "Where are we on Falcone?"

Bruno cleared his throat. "Donna De Luca has called every debt. Full seizure."

Dante's eyes cut back to me, and something hot and approving flared in them.

"There she is," he murmured.

My phone buzzed. A text from Matteo.

Aria, we need to talk. The family is in trouble. You always understood the business better than me. I need a favor.

I almost choked. Then a second message landed, and my blood ran cold.

Also — my mother wants the penthouse by tomorrow. Gianna's pregnant, she needs the space. You understand.

Dante read it over my shoulder. I felt him go very, very still.

"He wants your home," he said. No anger in his voice. That made it worse. "While begging you for mercy. In the same breath."

"Dante—"

"Tell me one thing." He turned me to face him, his hand warm and heavy on my shoulder. "When this is finished — when he has nothing, when his family crawls to your door — do you want him to know exactly who you are? Or do you want to watch them learn it the hard way?"

I thought of Gianna's sorrowful little smile over my daughter's coffin. Of his mother calling me gutter trash for two years.

"The hard way," I whispered.

Dante's smile turned to frost.

"Then put on something beautiful," he said. "There's a gala tonight. The five families. The Falcones will be there, on their knees, begging for backers." He held out his hand. "And you, Donna De Luca, will walk in on the arm of the man who owns every dollar they're begging for."

I looked at his hand. I thought about the waitress they'd thrown away.

I took it.