His Bride, His Blood Price
Chapter 21 — Masks and Motives
Aria's POV
The envelope was black.
Heavy, expensive, sealed in silver wax bearing the crest of the Palazzo Argento family — allies of the Morettis for nearly a decade. But Aria didn't need to recognize the symbol to feel its weight.
It meant something.
She looked up from the table just as Lucien entered the room, already dressed in a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. No jacket. No tie. Just quiet power wrapped in shadow.
He didn't glance at the envelope.
He already knew.
"You're going," she said softly.
Lucien picked up the invitation, turned it once in his hand, then placed it back down without breaking eye contact.
"We're going."
Aria's breath caught. "Me?"
"You're my wife," he said, as if that settled it. "And the De Lucas invited both of us."
She crossed her arms.
"Is it safe?"
Lucien's eyes darkened — not with fear, but calculation.
"If it weren't, they wouldn't have dared to send this."
---
Later That Night
The estate was quieter than usual as Aria stepped into her dressing room. Clara stood waiting, eyes warm but alert. A dress hung on a gold rack behind her — sleek, midnight blue, with a plunging back and subtle crystal detail along the waist.
Aria stared at it.
"You don't have to go if you don't want to," Clara said gently.
"I do," Aria replied.
She didn't just want to attend — she needed to.
Lucien was letting her into his world, and she wouldn't let herself be a shadow in it.
Not anymore.
---
Lucien was already waiting by the car when she stepped out.
His eyes locked on her immediately — unreadable, but far too still.
She approached slowly, chin up, hands steady.
"You're staring," she said.
Lucien tilted his head slightly. "I'm calculating how many men I'll have to shoot if they stare like I just did."
She bit back a smile. "That many?"
He didn't blink. "At least."
He offered his arm. She took it.
---
The Gala — Villa Palazzo Argento
It was a palace dressed in candles and silk.
Marble floors. String quartet. Champagne flowing like water. The Argento family spared no expense — not for allies, and certainly not for appearances.
Aria had been to formal events before — charity galas with her father, debutante balls in Florence. But nothing like this.
This was theater.
A beautiful, dangerous performance where every smile hid a knife.
Lucien didn't leave her side.
But he didn't cling either.
He introduced her once — "My wife, Aria" — and after that, everyone's eyes changed. She wasn't just an accessory. She was part of the puzzle now.
She held her head high and said very little.
But she watched everything.
And so did Lucien.
She didn't need coaching.
Aria moved through the ballroom like she belonged, even when every glance dared her to prove it.
She noticed what he noticed — who whispered, who flinched, who watched her too long.
And when Argento finally approached with his crystal glass and too-smooth smile, Lucien felt the cold edge of politics settle in his gut.
"Lucien," Argento said with a nod, eyes flicking to Aria. "And the mysterious bride we've heard so much about."
"Only good things, I hope," Lucien replied.
"Of course." Argento's smile didn't reach his eyes. "She's… lovely."
Lucien said nothing.
Just shifted slightly so that Marco was no longer looking at her — but across from her.
It was subtle.
But Aria noticed.
And so did Argento.
He laughed quietly and excused himself a moment later.
Aria leaned closer as they turned.
"What was that about?"
Lucien's voice was quiet. "He wanted to see how far he could look before I stopped him."
"And?"
"I stopped him."
---
Aria's POV
She should've been overwhelmed.
But instead… she felt something else.
Centered. Aware.
Seen.
The power around her wasn't hers, not yet — but it responded to her.
And Lucien… he was the storm, yes. But tonight, he stood beside her like an anchor.
They drifted to the edge of the ballroom, near the open terrace. The air was cooler there. Quieter.
Until a voice broke through it.
"Strange," the man said, behind them. "You usually attend alone."
Aria turned.
He was tall. Dark suit. Mid-forties. Scar just below his jawline.
Not introduced. Not familiar.
Lucien's shoulders shifted slightly.
"Aria," he said calmly, "go get a drink."
She didn't move.
"I said—"
"I heard you," she cut in gently. "But I'm not leaving."
Lucien turned to her — not angry. Just… surprised.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then the man laughed quietly. "She's brave, I'll give her that."
Lucien's eyes didn't leave Aria's. "Too brave."
And then he nodded.
"You stay."
He turned back to the man. "Say what you came to say."
The man smiled slowly.
And handed Lucien a card.
Black. Embossed. Blank except for a single symbol in red ink.
Lucien's jaw clenched.
But he pocketed the card.
And said nothing.
---
Back at the Estate — Midnight
The ride home was silent.
But different this time.
Lucien's hand rested between them on the seat, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for hers.
But didn't.
Aria leaned against the window, heart racing with everything left unsaid.
There was danger coming. Real danger.
And somehow, she no longer feared it the way she once had.
She feared losing the quiet between them.
The closeness.
The slow way he was beginning to need her beside him.