Chapter 3 Beneath the Ice, Fire

Morning After (Aria's POV)*

The morning after their wedding was quiet. Unnaturally so.

Aria woke to sunlight bleeding through sheer curtains, painting gold streaks across the king-sized bed she'd barely slept in. The air held the remnants of last night's storm-and the memory of Dante's touch still clung to her skin like wildfire refusing to die.

He hadn't stayed. Of course he hadn't.

Typical Moretti.

Even when they burned, he left before the ashes settled.

Aria sat up slowly, her spine stiff from tension, heart still beating with a traitorous rhythm she hated. Last night, for one breathless moment, she almost let herself forget who he was. Almost believed the fire in his voice when he said she made him want more.

But she didn't trust beautiful words.

Especially not from men with blood on their hands and ice in their smiles.

She stood, slipping into a silk robe, tying it tight like armor. From the window, she could see the sprawling city-cold towers, ruthless pace, the empire Dante was bred to control.

And now, she was part of it.

Or rather, part of his façade.

She had to remember why she was here. Not for love. Not for peace. But for survival.

*And maybe revenge,* whispered a darker part of her.

The door clicked behind her.

She turned sharply.

It was him.

Dante.

Tailored suit. Perfectly disheveled hair. That same unreadable calm that made men afraid to speak first.

"Didn't mean to wake you," he said. "I have a meeting in an hour."

Aria folded her arms. "Then don't linger."

He gave her a long look. Not cruel. Not cold. Just... observant.

"We're not enemies, Aria."

She scoffed. "Aren't we?"

His jaw tensed. "Not here. Not in this house. Out there, yes-let them think whatever keeps the wolves at bay. But in here..." His voice dropped. "Don't lie to yourself."

And just like that, he was gone.

Leaving her with nothing but questions-and the scent of his cologne laced with regret.

The Meeting (Dante's POV)*

The boardroom was glass, steel, and silence.

Twelve men sat at the long table, some from the old bloodlines, others corporate sharks who had clawed their way up. But all of them paled slightly when Dante Moretti entered.

He didn't speak immediately. He never did.

He let silence stretch. Let discomfort bloom.

Then he sat, adjusted his cufflinks, and said, "Let's begin."

The meeting was about a high-risk acquisition-an international shipping line tied to weapons, intel, and, unofficially, one of the syndicate's biggest laundering routes. The Valente name had once dominated this trade.

Now it was Moretti's turn.

"We move in by end of month," Dante said, voice ice-smooth. "No leaks, no press. If the CEO resists, he disappears. I want full control before Q3."

One man-young, cocky-shifted. "That's... aggressive."

Dante's gaze slid to him.

"Do you know what happened to the last person who called me aggressive?" he asked calmly.

The man swallowed. "No, sir."

Dante smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Exactly."

Silence again.

Another executive cleared his throat. "And if the other families-especially the Solari group-push back?"

Dante leaned forward, eyes sharp as a blade. "Then we remind them who runs this city. Politely. With fire."

He stood, ending the meeting with one sentence: "Make it happen, or I'll find people who can."

As he exited, his phone buzzed. A message from his right hand:

*"Solari just moved funds into offshore protection. They're expecting war."*

Dante replied:

*"Then give them one. Quiet. Clean. Fatal."*

* (Aria's POV)*

Hours later, Aria stood in the library of the Moretti estate-a room straight out of a villain's castle. Floor-to-ceiling shelves, old leather-bound books, the faint scent of tobacco and forgotten wars.

She wasn't looking for a story. She was looking for leverage.

Dante's empire ran on secrets. So did her survival.

She trailed her fingers along a row of books, pausing when one spine looked newer than the others. Not dusty. Slightly off-color. She pulled it, and the shelf gave a soft mechanical click.

A hidden door swung open.

"Of course," she whispered.

The passage led to a smaller room, more modern. Monitors. Files. Lockbox. A private war room. On one screen, her own face stared back-surveillance footage from months ago. Cafes. Her apartment. Her brother's funeral.

He'd been watching her long before the marriage was proposed.

"You bastard," she whispered, throat tight.

She didn't know whether to feel flattered or terrified.

Footsteps. She spun around.

Dante.

"I told you not everything is what it seems," he said quietly.

Aria's voice was ice. "You spied on me."

"I protected you," he replied, stepping inside. "Your uncle had a hit out on you six weeks before the wedding deal was even struck. He wanted to tie loose ends. I tied his instead."

Aria blinked.

"You... killed him?"

Dante's jaw ticked. "Would you have preferred I let him kill you?"

She didn't answer. Couldn't.

This wasn't black and white. Nothing ever was in this world.

"You're not the only one who's had to survive, Aria," he said. "I was raised to be steel. But you... you made me hesitate. You still do."

A beat passed. Then another.

And she hated that a small, traitorous part of her wanted to believe him.

(Dante's POV)

That night, the Solari family held a closed-door gala-security thick, political smiles thicker. Dante arrived fashionably late, flanked by his top enforcer and a simple black gift box.

He was offered champagne. Declined.

A Solari lieutenant greeted him. "Didn't expect you."

Dante smiled without warmth. "I'm full of surprises."

He handed over the gift box. "For your Don."

The man opened it. Inside: a black chess king, cracked down the middle.

The message was clear. Checkmate is coming.

Dante leaned in. "Tell him I don't bluff."

Then he turned and walked out-cool, untouchable, already planning who would fall first.

Later that night, Dante returned home to find Aria waiting in the hall, dressed in silk the color of vengeance.

"I want the truth," she said. "No riddles. No control games. Why me?"

He looked at her for a long time. Then stepped closer.

"Because when I was fifteen, you stood up to your father at a meeting full of men who would've killed you for speaking. Because you wore scars like crowns. Because you were the only person in this world I never wanted to destroy."

She stared at him, eyes flickering. "And now?"

He touched her jaw. "Now I want to see if love can survive fire. And if not-then maybe we burn the world together."

Their mouths collided in a kiss that was half war, half surrender.