Aria's POV
"Isabella wants me dead?" I couldn't move. "My own sister wants to kill me?"
Dante's face didn't change, but something flickered in those ice-blue eyes. He finished his phone call and stepped closer to the bed.
"Not sister," he corrected coldly. "Half-sister. And apparently, your presence is inconvenient for her."
I shook my head, trying to understand this nightmare. "That doesn't make sense. I've stayed away from the family. I've never asked for anything. Why would she—"
"Because secrets have a way of surfacing." Dante sat in the chair across from me, studying my face like I was a problem he couldn't solve. "Isabella is about to marry into the Castellano family—one of the most powerful crime groups in the country. A bastard half-sister is a stain on her perfect picture. Easier to erase you than explain you."
"But I'm nobody. I don't matter—"
"You matter enough to kill." His voice was harsh. "Wake up, Aria. Your family doesn't ignore you because you're useless. They ignore you because accepting you would complicate their lives. And now that complexity needs to disappear."
Tears burned my eyes. All my life, I'd told myself my father kept me at a distance to protect me from his world. That he sent money because he cared, even if he couldn't show it. That somewhere deep down, I was still his daughter.
But the truth was so much worse.
I wasn't safe. I was hidden. Like trash swept under a rug.
"So what happens now?" My voice came out broken. "You keep me locked up here while my sister sends killers? Or do you just hand me over and let her finish the job?"
Dante leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I could do that. It would be poetic—Lorenzo's daughter killed by Lorenzo's daughter. Not the payback I planned, but effective."
My heart stopped. "Please—"
"But I won't." He stood suddenly, pacing like a caged animal. "Because I'm not like them. I don't kill innocent people just because they're unpleasant."
"You kidnapped me!"
"To hurt your father, yes. But I won't kill you." He stopped moving and looked at me with an expression I couldn't read. "However, you can't go back to your old life. Isabella's people know where you live, where you work. If I free you, you'll be dead within a week."
The room tilted. Everything I'd built—my classroom, my students, my small safe life—all gone. Destroyed by a family that never wanted me in the first place.
"Then what do I do?" I whispered.
"You have two choices." Dante moved closer, his presence overwhelming. "Choice one: Stay here as my prisoner. I'll keep you alive, but you'll spend every day locked in this room, waiting for your father to care enough to save you. Which, based on the facts, will never happen."
"And choice two?"
His eyes locked onto mine. "You help me destroy Lorenzo Morelli. Completely. Publicly. You stand beside me and show the world what he really is—a man who abandons his children, who values power over family, who would let his own daughter die to protect his image."
I looked at him. "You want me to betray my father?"
"I want you to tell the truth about him." Dante crouched beside the bed so we were eye level. "You said it yourself—he's never been a father to you. He's a name on a check and a source of shame. Why protect him? Why stay loyal to someone who would trade your life for his convenience?"
"Because—" I stopped, realizing I didn't have a good answer. Why was I loyal to Lorenzo? What had he ever done to earn it?
"I'll give you time to think," Dante said, standing. "But understand this: Isabella's detective is already looking. And when he finds this location—and he will—I'll have to move you somewhere else. Somewhere more safe. Somewhere that feels less like a bedroom and more like a jail." He walked to the door. "Or you can choose to fight back. To become someone they can't ignore or erase."
"I don't know how to fight," I said quietly.
Dante stopped at the door. "Neither did I once. Lorenzo Morelli taught me. It's time someone taught you."
He left, and I was alone again.
But this time, I wasn't just crying. I was thinking.
My whole life, I'd made myself small. Quiet. Invisible. I'd told myself that being forgotten was better than being rejected. That if I just stayed out of everyone's way, maybe someday my father would notice me. Would claim me. Would love me.
But he never would. And his other daughter wanted me dead.
I thought about Mia Rodriguez's handmade birthday card. About Sophie Chen's mother blaming me for her daughter's flaw. About Elena, probably terrified because I'd vanished without explanation.
I thought about my violin—old and taped together but still capable of making beautiful music.
And I thought about Dante Salvatore, who'd lost his entire family to violence, who'd spent fifteen years building himself into something powerful enough to fight back.
He was a monster. A thief. A man driven by anger.
But at least he was honest about what he was.
My family had smiled and hidden me and left me to die.
The door opened again. Marco, the scarred man, stepped inside with a tray of food. He set it down carefully, his face unreadable.
"You should eat," he said. Not unkind, just truthful.
"Marco?" I asked before he could leave. "What happened to Dante's family? What did my father do?"
Marco studied me for a long moment. Then he sighed. "Fifteen years ago, Lorenzo ordered a hit on the Salvatore family. They were competition—rising too fast, threatening his land. He sent men to their home in the middle of the night. Burned the house with everyone inside."
My stomach turned. "Everyone?" "Dante's mother. His father. His eight-year-old sister, Sofia." Marco's scarred face clenched. "Dante and I were out that night, doing a job for his father. We came home to find everything burning. We heard Sofia screaming. Dante tried to run inside, but I held him back. The building fell before we could reach her. "
I covered my mouth, bile rising.
"Dante was twenty years old," Marco continued. "He had nothing—no family, no money, no power. Just me and the memory of his sister dying alone and frightened. And he decided that the only thing left worth living for was making Lorenzo feel that same pain."
"So he took me," I whispered.
"He took what he thought Lorenzo valued." Marco moved toward the door. "But he was wrong. And now he doesn't know what to do with you."
He left me alone with food I couldn't eat and a choice I didn't want to make.
Three hours later, I knocked on the locked door.
A guard opened it. "What?"
"I need to speak to Dante," I said, surprised by how steady my voice sounded. "Tell him I've made my decision."
Dante arrived within minutes. He stood in the doorway, watching me with those cold blue eyes.
"Well?" he asked.
I stood up, my legs shaking but my resolve solid. "I'll help you. But not for revenge."
His eyebrow raised. "Then why?"
"Because you're right—my father doesn't deserve my respect. And Isabella doesn't get to erase me just because I'm bothersome." I took a breath. "But I have conditions."
"You're not in a position to negotiate."
"Yes, I am." I met his eyes. "Because you need me. You need someone who knows Lorenzo's secrets. Someone who can hurt him in ways violence never could. And that's me—the daughter he claimed didn't exist."
Something almost like respect flashed across Dante's face.
"Name your conditions."
"First, you don't hurt innocent people. Whatever we do to my father, we don't become like him." I stepped closer. "Second, when this is over—when Lorenzo pays for what he did to your family—you let me go. No more cages. No more payback. I walk away free."
"Agreed."
"And third..." I swallowed hard. "You teach me to live in your world. Because I'm never going to be weak again."
Dante studied me for a long moment. Then he extended his hand.
"Welcome to the war, Aria Morelli."
I took his hand, sealing a deal with the devil.
And somewhere in the darkness, I heard the first notes of a song I didn't recognize—something that sounded like freedom and tasted like payback.
But as our hands touched, Dante's phone buzzed again.
He read the message, and his entire face went white.
"What?" I asked. "What's wrong?"
He showed me the screen.
It was a photo of Elena—my best friend—being dragged into a black car by guys in suits.
Below it, a message: We know you have Lorenzo's daughter. Trade her for this one, or the nurse dies tonight.