Chapter 3 Invisible but Watched

Aura's fingers trembled as she stared at the photograph.

The man in the picture was laughing-mid-laugh, actually. His eyes were squinted in a carefree smile, one hand raised as if waving off a joke. The scene looked candid, ordinary. But the smear of red ink scrawled across the bottom turned the moment sinister.

Next.

That single word bled across the glossy photo like a slash to the throat.

Aura dropped it as if it burned her skin.

"You're serious," she whispered, her voice caught between disbelief and fury. "This isn't just theatre to you."

Dante didn't respond immediately. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, watching her with the stillness of a predator. That same eerie calm she'd come to associate with something dangerous beneath the surface.

Aura stepped back, bumping into the edge of the ornate console table behind her. Her hands grasped the cold marble for stability.

"You think threatening someone's life will make me obedient?" she asked, her voice rising despite herself. "Do you think I scare that easily?"

"No," Dante said quietly, "I think you love too easily. And that is far more dangerous."

Her eyes flared, breath catching in her throat. "You had someone follow him?"

"He wasn't hard to find," Dante replied. "A journalist's Instagram is essentially a blueprint for surveillance. He tagged your favorite bookstore in London. Took a selfie near your family's summer villa in Sorrento. Tell me, Aura-how long were you planning to keep your past so visible?"

She swallowed hard. "He doesn't know anything about this world."

Dante stood, slowly walking toward her. "That's precisely why he's vulnerable. Do you think your enemies would hesitate to use him? I've kept you protected all these years, and you've left the door wide open."

"You don't protect me," she snapped. "You own me."

For a heartbeat, Dante's eyes flashed with something primal. But it vanished just as quickly, replaced with cold command.

"You're not a prisoner, Aura. But you are... accounted for. Every minute."

Her stomach clenched. "Why? Why this level of control? Why-me?"

A pause.

Dante's jaw tightened, the first real sign of emotion breaking through the armor.

"Because I made a promise to your father," he said finally.

Aura's pulse skipped. "My father is dead."

"Exactly."

He turned away, and without another word, tossed the photo and envelope into the fireplace. The flames devoured the threat, but not the message.

Aura watched the edges curl and blacken, smoke rising into the vaulted ceiling.

"I never asked for this," she said softly, unable to tear her gaze from the fire.

"No one ever does," Dante said.

And just like that, the conversation was over. He exited the east salon without looking back, his footsteps muffled by the Persian carpet.

She stood there long after he was gone.

The corridors of the mansion felt different after that.

Aura walked them slowly, as though expecting the walls to whisper her secrets aloud. A surveillance camera blinked red from the ceiling corner. She paused beneath it, chin tilted up, and glared directly into the lens.

"You think you can watch me into submission?" she muttered under her breath. "Go ahead. Watch."

But the anger only lasted so long. Beneath it, fear simmered.

She'd barely known the journalist-an old friend from university, someone she'd once kissed beneath a stormy Paris sky. But that didn't matter. What mattered was how easily Dante had found him... and how easily he could make him disappear.

She turned a corner-and froze.

A man stood at the end of the hallway. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in black. Unfamiliar.

He didn't speak. He didn't move.

Aura took a tentative step forward. "Are you one of Moretti's men?"

The man inclined his head, his eyes never leaving hers. "Security."

"For me?"

"For the house," he said, flashing a badge clipped to his belt. "But that includes you, Miss Moretti."

Before she could ask another question, footsteps clicked sharply behind her. Mrs. Cossimo emerged from a hidden side door, expression like iron.

"That corridor is off-limits," she said crisply. "Step away, Signor Ricci."

The man's lip curled in a smirk, but he obeyed, slipping past Aura with a slight nod.

Mrs. Cossimo's eyes narrowed. "Avoid unnecessary contact with the security team. Most are loyal to Signor Moretti. Some are loyal to... others."

Aura blinked. "Others?"

The housekeeper's mouth thinned into a grim line. "That's all you need to know."

By evening, the east wing glowed with golden lights and subtle menace.

A formal gathering had been arranged-though no one explained what it was for. Aura was summoned by a quiet knock and dressed by silent maids in a gown of midnight velvet, so soft it clung to her like fog.

She descended the main staircase with her head high, heart pounding like a drumbeat of warning. When she entered the ballroom, every head turned.

And there he was-Dante Moretti. His suit tailored to lethal perfection, his presence magnetic even from across the room. He stood in a loose circle of men who spoke with reverence and calculation, flanked by guards pretending to blend in.

Aura approached like a sleepwalker, her heels barely making a sound on the polished floors.

When she reached him, Dante didn't speak. He merely slipped his hand around her waist, pulling her close. A silent claim.

Mine.

The musicians struck up a low, jazzy tune. The laughter around them felt brittle, calculated. Conversations paused as guests cast her careful glances.

Aura leaned in just enough to speak. "What is this, a test?"

"It's a message," Dante said without turning his head. "To everyone who's been waiting to see if I'd protect you."

"Protect me or parade me?" she asked.

He looked at her now, and his smile was thin.

"Sometimes," he murmured, "they're the same thing."

Her skin prickled.

She stayed by his side, speaking little, offering polite nods to strangers whose names she'd never remember. She could feel the tension in the room. It clung to the walls like smoke.

And then it happened.

She felt it first-the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

Not the idle curiosity of wealthy socialites or security cameras.

Something else.

Aura turned her head slowly, her eyes scanning the crowd-and locked on him.

A man. In the shadows beyond the marble columns. Watching her.

He didn't look away. He didn't blink.

And on his lips, a slow, deliberate smile.

She couldn't explain why it chilled her blood, only that it did. Something in his expression-calm, confident, cruel-told her she was being hunted.

Aura touched Dante's arm.

He leaned in.

"There's a man," she whispered. "Over by the column. He's watching me."

Dante turned slightly, but by the time he did-

The man was gone.

Vanished like mist into the crowd.

Aura's fingers tightened around her champagne flute. Her throat was dry.

She didn't know his name. She didn't know why he'd looked at her that way. But she knew this much:

He was a threat.

And he wasn't afraid.