CHAPTER 6: Shoot without a gun 

Aria's Pov

"You've failed," Lorenzo said without turning, his voice like gravel wrapped in silk. "Vincent reports that your husband watches you like a hawk."

"I need more time," I replied, closing the distance between us with measured steps. "Milo suspects a betrayal, but he doesn't know the details. Not yet."

Lorenzo turned then, and I faltered. He was shirtless, his muscled torso gleaming in the lamplight, an angry red scar running from collarbone to sternum...a reminder of the violence that had shaped our family. At forty-five, my father's younger brother carried himself with the lethal grace of a predator, slate-gray eyes calculating beneath heavy brows.

"Time is a luxury we no longer have, Aria." His voice dropped lower as he moved toward me. "The De Luca family has sacrificed too much already."

My mother's face flashed in my mind...lifeless eyes staring at nothing, blood pooling beneath her broken body on our family's front steps. The message had been clear: cross the Manheims, and death would follow.

"I know what's at stake," I hissed, standing my ground as Lorenzo approached. "I live with his hands on me every day. I endure his scrutiny, his possessiveness, his—"

"And yet you've delivered nothing," Lorenzo interrupted, now close enough that I could smell the whiskey on his breath, the expensive cologne that clung to his skin. "7 years of marriage, and we're no closer to discovering where he keeps the ledgers."

My jaw tightened. "He's more careful than we anticipated."

Lorenzo's hand shot out, fingers gripping my chin with bruising force, tilting my face up to his. "Or perhaps you're enjoying your role as the Don's wife too much to remember where your true loyalties lie."

Something dark and unwelcome flared in his eyes as they raked over me, lingering on the décolletage of my gown, the curve of my waist. His thumb brushed across my lower lip, and I fought the urge to recoil.

"Don't forget why you're doing this," he murmured, voice dropping an octave. "Don't forget what they did to your father. What they did to you."

Memories crashed over me like a tidal wave...the basement of the Manheim compound, the hours of pain, the humiliation designed to break me. 

"I haven't forgotten," I whispered, and my voice held steel.

Lorenzo's grip softened slightly, but he didn't release me. His proximity was suffocating, the heat radiating from his bare chest like a furnace. His eyes...so similar to my father's...searched mine, looking for weakness, for hesitation.

"Then prove it," he challenged, his free hand coming to rest on my waist, fingers splaying possessively against the satin of my dress. "Prove your loyalty to the family."

Something primitive in me responded to the danger crackling between us...not desire, but the sharp awareness that preceded violence. I knew this dance, had learned its steps in the most brutal way. My body recognized the threat even as my mind calculated escape routes.

"I don't need to prove anything to you," I replied, not backing away—retreat would only trigger pursuit. "My commitment is to my father's memory, not to your ego."

A muscle ticked in Lorenzo's jaw, his eyes darkening to the color of thunderclouds. His fingers dug deeper into my waist, pulling me closer until barely an inch separated us. The scent of him...bourbon, sandalwood, and raw masculinity...enveloped me.

"Your father put me in charge," he growled, "and you would do well to remember that."

'Do well to remember that...' the word echoed in my ears 

"Dad..." Memories of that night came running back. The ripping of my clothes, the forces kisses, the squeeze...my head began to ache. 

"You're mine Aria. My property I can do as I please. Do well to remember that..." My foster father.

Then Lorenzo's grip on me tightened, his hand unmistakeably lowering to my ass cheeks. I tried to get out of his grip, my head pounding intensely. 

"No..." I let out. But his hands only traced upwards to my sensitive breasts. Not my uncle, not him. 

"Shh it's okay, I won't hurt you. Calm down. It's me." Then he lowered his head, his eyes locking to my lips. I knew what he was about to do, but I also wanted it. I wasn't stopping him.

Then the library door swung open, revealing a fuming Milo who had a death glare directed at the both of us. Without another word his hand gripped Lorenzo's throat, smashing him against the wall. His look primal, unlike the Milo I knew. 

"Milo stop." I blurted out of instinct as I noticed my uncle struggling to breathe. "You'll kill him!" I yelled, but he seemed to occupied with Lorenzo.

"The next time I see you with my wife." He warned in a tome that was certainly not his. "I'll cut off your fingers one by one and feed it to you." Then he released him, causing him to cough out loud. With that he turned to me. His piercing iris, lingering on me with so mu

ch intensity I thought I was going to die.

I was dead.