Chapter 27
Aria’s POV
The moment my chair scrapes against the hardwood floor, a thick silence falls over the room. The air shifts, charged with something I can’t fame, something dangerous and unrelenting.
Three pairs of eyes follow me as I stand, my breath caught somewhere between defiance and uncertainty.
I need to leave.
I need out.
I turn toward the door, each step feeling heavier than
ce
But just as my hand wraps around the handle, Enzo’s slices through the quiet.
“You always do this, don’t you?”
The low, calm tone of his voice stops me cold.
A chill prickles my skin.
Do what?
Enzo leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable, but there’s something sharp in his eyes–something knowing.
“Walk away when things get uncomfortable.”
My pulse stutters.
Before I can force a response, Dante’s voice follows. “Run.”
The word hits me like a strike to the chest.
I turn slowly, my fingers still gripping the doorknob, my heart pounding against my ribs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Matteo tilts his head, his lips curling at the edges. “That’s cute.”
I scowl. “What is?”
His smirk deepens, eyes gleaming with something dangerously amused.
“You think you have control.”
The words sink into my skin like hooks.
Heat rises in my chest, a mixture of anger and something else entirely–something I can’t name.
“I do,” I snap.
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“Do you?”
The room is suffocating. Every inhale feels thick, charged, and burning.
My throat tightens. I refuse to let them get to me. I have to leave before they pull me further into their world a world i never asked to be a part of.
I reach for the door handle.
It doesn’t turn.
I jolt, trying again, but it doesn’t budge. My heart spikes.
I whirl around. “You locked it?”
I grip the doorknob harder. “Let me go.”
Matteo exhales slowly, shaking his head. “You locked yourself in here the moment you sat down, Piccola.”
Enzo lifts his wine glass, swirling the deep red liquid. “You can leave when you stop running.”
My fingers tremble against the door handle. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Dante’s voice is so quiet I barely hear it.
My pulse pounds. The worst part isn’t the door–it’s them. They’re right.
I am running.
And I hate that they see it.
Silence stretches, thick with something dangerous, unspoken.
My stomach twists.
I don’t know what’s worse–the fact that they see through me, or the fact that they might be right.
The silence drags, stretching tight and unbearable.
Then Enzo speaks again.
“You don’t like being seen, do you?”
My breath catches.
Before I can answer, Matteo leans forward, elbows resting on the table, his smirk fading into something quieter.
“Maybe that’s why no one ever does.”
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A sharp pain flares in my chest.
My grip tightens on the chair in front of me, nails pressing into the wood. “You don’t know anything about ma*
Dante’s eyes are steady, dark and piercing. “Then tell us.”
My throat closes.
I want to.
I don’t want to.
Their words unearth something deep inside me, something buried for years–the loneliness, the way my mother turned cold after my father died, the suffocating weight of being invisible.
The whispers. The stares. The feeling of never belonging.
I force it all down, swallowing past the ache. “I don’t owe you anything.”
Dante watches me, expression unreadable. “No. You don’t.”
I exhale sharply, feeling the weight of their attention pressing into my skin.
But for the first time, they don’t push.
They just… watch me.
Like they already know.
Like they see me.
I need to leave.
I force my feet to move, heading for the door, my heart hammering.
But before I can reach it, Enzo stands.
He moves in front of me, his presence steady, unshakable.
Then–without a word–he presses a slow, lingering kiss to my forehead.
Warmth blooms in my chest, flooding through me in waves.
My breath hitches.
I don’t know why that of all things breaks me.
His lips linger for a moment before he pulls away, his dark eyes searching mine.
Before I can even process it, Matteo steps up next.
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His touch is lighter, teasing–his lips brushing against my forehead, slow and deliberate.
“Sleep well, Piccola.”
My stomach twists. My hands tremble.
And then, finally, Dante.
He doesn’t hesitate.
One large hand cups the side of my face, his thumb grazing my cheek as he presses his lips to my forehead.
His touch is Steady. Grounding.
His voice is the softest of them all.
“You’re not alone, Aria.”
A single tear slips down my cheek.
I don’t even realize it’s there until Enzo brushes it away with his thumb.
He doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t need to.
Because they all know.
They all see.
And for the first time in a long time… I feel it.
Letting Go
They don’t push.
They don’t demand.
They don’t cage me in.
They just… let me go.
I grip the door handle tightly, my chest aching.
I turn it, stepping out of the dining room, my pulse thrumming in my ears,
But just as I leave, Matteo’s voice follows me, soft and knowing.”
“You can run, Piccola… but you’ll always find your way back to us.”
Chapter 27
The worst part?
I already know he’s right.
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