Aria's POV
Nicholas's questioning tone dissolved into silence as my cold, indifferent response landed like a blade across the line. I heard his breath catch, that small involuntary sound a man makes when the ground shifts beneath him. I didn't wait for whatever came next. I ended the call and leaned back against the leather of the passenger seat, watching the darkened streets blur past as the car carried me toward Castellano territory.
The moment I stepped out onto the gravel drive of the compound, something deep in my gut twisted with unease. The moon hung high and swollen over the estate, its pale light silvering the tops of the old oaks that lined the property wall. It felt like being watched. Like the night itself could sense the war raging inside my chest. My phone buzzed against my thigh through the fabric of my coat, dragging me back to the world I was trying to leave behind. Nicholas's group chat, the one he kept with his inner circle and senior associates, had exploded. The unread message count had climbed into the dozens.
Curiosity won. I opened it.
The first thing I saw was a photograph Selena Russo had posted. Nicholas, down on one knee in what looked like her apartment, sleeves rolled to his elbows, fixing the wiring behind a wall panel. His shirt clung to the lines of his back from the effort, and she'd angled the shot to make it look intimate, domestic. Something possessive. My stomach clenched hard enough to hurt.
"Who else has a Boss this considerate?" Selena's caption read. "I'd devote my life to this Family's prosperity! Can I sign a lifetime contract?"
Below her message, the replies from Nicholas's soldiers and lieutenants had piled up like men jostling for position.
"I've never seen Don Valenti like this. All those stories about him being impossible to please don't hold up here!"
"Look at those arms. I bet he could handle a lot more than just wiring."
"Selena, quit rubbing it in. We all know you're the future Donna!"
I gripped the phone so hard the case groaned under my fingers. She was weaving her web with the precision of a woman who had studied her craft, stitching Nicholas to her in every visible way, making it public, making it permanent in the eyes of the Family. When I had been at his side, Nicholas had done the same thing. He'd post photographs of us together at charity galas, at the harbor watching his ships come in, sharing espresso on the terrace of the estate while the morning fog burned off the river. Back then, it had felt like what we had was ironclad. Unbreakable. A thing forged in years and sealed by something deeper than strategy.
Now I was a ghost in his history, and Selena Russo stood exactly where I had once stood, basking in the glow of his attention like she'd earned it.
I closed the chat and blocked the notifications. My decision to move forward sat solidly in my chest, even as a sharp pang of loss carved through me like a stiletto between the ribs. I shook it off and walked through the front door of the house that had been mine for so long. Eight years. Eight years of my life were packed into this space, pressed into the walls and the floorboards and the particular way the light fell through the windows in the late afternoon. Memories clung to every corner, every worn edge of every piece of furniture. But tonight, I would leave them behind.
Something inside me ached, a low, mournful pull as I started gathering my things. My hands moved mechanically, folding clothes, collecting the few personal items I'd kept here, until my gaze landed on the large leather-bound album sitting on the coffee table.
Our album.
It had been Nicholas's idea, his tradition. He'd insisted on it from the beginning. Each photograph inside captured a moment from the years we had spent together. His promise had been to fill it with 9,999 memories before making me his wife, before putting the ring on my finger and standing with me before God and the Families. He'd said he wanted me to choose him not because of what our fathers had arranged, not because of obligation or alliance, but because of his devotion.
The album was nearly full. Only one blank page remained. But all those promises felt hollow now, shattered and scattered like broken glass by the way he had drifted into Selena Russo's orbit. My jaw tightened. Sadness and anger braided together in my chest until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
I picked up the album. It was heavy in my hands, heavier than leather and paper had any right to be. I carried it outside, across the manicured grounds to the stone fire pit where Family gatherings were held on warm evenings, where soldiers told stories and toasted to the old country and the night smelled like woodsmoke and red wine. The moonlight flooded the open space, turning the flagstones pale as bone.
I crouched and built a small fire. Kindling first, then a few dry logs from the stack by the garden wall. When the flames caught and steadied, breathing orange and gold into the darkness, I placed the album on top.
I watched it burn.
The leather cover warped first, then the edges of the pages curled and blackened, photographs bubbling and distorting, our faces melting into each other and then into nothing. Smoke rose in a thin column, carrying away years of love, promises, and heartache, dissolving into the cold night air above the compound walls.
Nicholas arrived moments later.
I smelled his cologne before I saw him. Cedar and something else, something that was only him, a scent that had once made my pulse quicken and now made my stomach turn to stone. He materialized at the edge of the fire pit's glow and froze, his dark eyes locking onto the burning album. The color drained from his face in an instant, and then he was moving, sprinting forward with a desperation I had never seen from a man who prided himself on control.
"What are you doing?" he snarled, his voice cracking through the night with the force of a man accustomed to absolute obedience.
I didn't flinch. His authority had lost its hold on me.
He lunged toward the fire, reaching into the flames with his bare hands, trying to drag the album free. The heat caught him immediately. He hissed through his teeth as the fire seared his skin, his palms reddening, blistering. He didn't stop. He stomped on the remains that had tumbled from the pit, grinding his heel into the smoldering pages, trying to extinguish the blaze that was consuming everything we had been.
"You're out of your mind!" he shouted, wheeling on me. His eyes burned with something feral, his composure cracked wide open, and in that moment he looked nothing like a Don. He looked like a man watching his world turn to ash. "Do you even realize what you've done? Years of memories, gone! Why, Aria? Why would you do this?"
I met his gaze without wavering. Something rose inside me, something that had been silent for too long, and it steadied my voice like a hand pressed flat against a trembling table.
"Because memories don't mean anything if the promises tied to them are broken." My voice was quiet, but it carried. "You wanted to give me 9,999 reasons to choose you. But you let Selena take over before we even reached the end."
His jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle jump beneath the skin. Something dark and conflicted moved behind his eyes, a war he was losing.
"You don't understand," he said, his voice dropping. "Selena—"
"Selena," I cut him off, steady as a blade laid flat, "has claimed exactly what you allowed her to claim. You think I don't see what she's doing? The photograph in the group chat. The comments. The way she positions herself next to you at every gathering, touches your arm, speaks for you. It's all calculated, Nicholas. Every last move. And you let it happen."
He took a step closer. The firelight caught the sharp lines of his face, and when he spoke again, his voice had softened, shifted into that low register he used when he wanted something badly enough to set aside his pride.
"Aria, it's not what you think. She's part of the Family, and as the head of this organization, I have a responsibility to—"
"Don't." I raised a hand, palm out, and he stopped as though I'd pressed a gun to his chest. "Don't insult me by pretending this is about Family business. You made your choice, Nicholas." I held his gaze for one final, unbroken moment, letting him see every year, every silence, every humiliation reflected back at him. "Now I'm making mine."
