Aria’s POV
The soft glow of morning spilled through the curtains like warm honey, brushing over my face and pulling me from sleep. I blinked slowly, groggy but strangely… calm. The events of the past few days still sat heavy on my chest, but the weight wasn’t quite as crushing today.
I lay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling. My guest room was quiet, the kind of silence that could either feel comforting or lonely. Today, it felt somewhere in between. Part of me wanted to stay buried beneath the covers forever, to avoid everything and everyone. But before I could decide, a gentle knock came at the door.
“Aria?” Chiara’s soft voice called. “Mamma wants to cook today. She asked if you’d help.”
I sat up slowly. My body felt sluggish, but the idea of doing something–anything–was better than drowning in my thoughts.
“Okay, I murmured. My voice was hoarse, but I forced myself up and opened the door.
Chiara stood there with a hopeful smile and a red–checkered apron slung over her arm.
The kitchen was warm and sunlit, filled with the mouth–watering scent of garlic, onions, and ripe tomatoes. It smelled like comfort. Like family. Like a memory I never had.
Rita turned from the stove with flour on her hands and love in her eyes.
“There she is,” she said, drying her hands on a towel. “Come, tesoro. We make gnocchi today. No cheating.”
Chiara giggled beside me. “She means no store–bought dough. We’re going full traditional.”
And Dante? He set off the fire alarm trying to make pancakes. Matteo… ah, Matteo was the quiet one. Always watching. Thinking.”
Chiara groaned. “Don’t let her start. We’ll be here all day with her stories.”
I glanced at her, a soft warmth blooming in my chest. “I don’t mind,” I said quietly. “This feels… safe. I didn’t think I’d ever feel that again.”
Both Rita and Chiara went quiet for a second. Then Rita reached over and gently squeezed my hand.
“You are safe, Aria.”
Later, we moved to the parlor. Plates were cleared. Faces were washed. We curled up with glasses of juice and some leftover broadsticks.
“So,” Chiara asked, tucking her legs under her. “If you could be any singer, dead or alive, who would you be?*
“Whitney Houston,” I said without hesitation.
“Yes! Good one,” she grinned.
Rita chuckled. “I always wanted to be Tina Turner. Those legs, my dear.”
I giggled, my cheeks sore from smiling.
We talked about music, movies, even silly childhood crushes. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt like I belonged somewhere.
1/4
Chapter 145
And then… everything shifted.
It started with the sound of shoes. Sharp, confident, echoing down the marble hallway.
Chiara sat up straighter. Rita turned her head slightly.
The triplets entered like shadows. All dressed in black, they looked like danger wrapped in silk.
I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. Chiara tied the apron around my waist and handed me a bowl of soft potatoes.
“Mash these,” she said. “Pretend they’re your enemies.”
I laughed. Really laughed.
The three of us moved around the kitchen like we had done it a hundred times before. Rita gave instructions in her smooth, lilting voice. Chiara cracked jokes while sneaking olives from a small bowl. And me? I mashed, stirred, rolled, and smiled.
For a while, I forgot the pain. I forgot the betrayal. I forgot the triplets.
“They were so naughty as boys,” Rita said fondly as she kneaded the dough. “Enzo once tried to hide a frog in my shoe.
And Dante? He set off the fire alarm trying to make pancakes. Matteo… ah, Matteo was the quiet one. Always watching. Thinking.”
Chiara groaned. “Don’t let her start. We’ll be here all day with her stories.”
I glanced at her, a soft warmth blooming in my chest. “I don’t mind,” I said quietly. “This feels… safe. I didn’t think I’d ever feel that again.”
Both Rita and Chiara went quiet for a second. Then Rita reached over and gently squeezed my hand.
“You are safe, Aria.”
Later, we moved to the parlor. Plates were cleared. Faces were washed. We curled up with glasses of juice and some leftover breadsticks.
“So,” Chiara asked, tucking her legs under her. “If you could be any singer, dead or alive, who would you be?”
“Whitney Houston,” I said without hesitation.
“Yes! Good one,” she grinned.
Rita chuckled. “I always wanted to be Tina Turner. Those legs, my
I giggled, my cheeks sore from smiling.
dear.”
We talked about music, movies, even silly childhood crushes. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt like I belonged somewhere.
And then… everything shifted.
It started with the sound of shoes. Sharp, confident, echoing down the marble hallway.
Chiara sat up straighter. Rita turned her head slightly.
The triplets entered like shadows. All dressed in black, they looked like danger wrapped in silk.
Polished shoes echoed down the marble hall.
214
Chapter 145
The triplets entered like shadows made flesh. Enzo in a black turtleneck and velvet blazer, his watch glinting. Dante with his sleeves rolled, a silver chain pecking from beneath his collar. Matteo in a sleek three–piece suit, the obsidian ring on his finger catching the light.
My heart stuttered.
Enzo kissed his mother on the cheek, then Chiara. Dante followed, flashing a smirk
Then they turned to me.
Matteo said nothing, only watched me.
Enzo stepped forward first. I leaned back slightly, but he kissed my cheek anyway. Soft. Warm. Too familiar..
Dante grinned. “Stay warm for us, princess,” he whispered as he kissed my other cheek. I flinched.
And then… Matteo.
He didn’t hesitate. His hand came up to cup my face, fingers gentle against my skin. My body locked up. His thumb brushed my cheek.
“Matteo,” I whispered, unsure if it was a plea or a warning.
He leaned in.
Not to my cheek.
To my lips.
It was slow. Intentional. My hands twitched, but I didn’t push him away.
And then it was over. He pulled back, eyes darker than ever, holding mine for a moment that stretched too long.
Then they were gone.
“Whew!” Chiara fanned her face dramatically.
Rita chuckled. “They’re a lot, I know. But they love deeply when they love.”
I said nothing. My lips still tingled. My heart still pounded.
To distract me, Chiara planned a spa day.
Steam. Facials. Massages. Soft robes and even softer music. I let myself relax, let the tension melt from my shoulders. We took silly pictures and wandered the gardens barefoot. I laughed until I cried.
For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel broken.
But the peace didn’t last.
When we walked back into the mansion, something was wrong. The air was too still. The triplets were already back, sitting in the lounge. Suits still on. Expressions
