Chapter 12 — Between Pages
Aria's POV
The door to Lucien's study creaked open without resistance.
She hadn't stepped into this room before — not without permission. But this morning, he'd told her plainly:
> "There'll be a book on my desk. I think you'll like it."
It wasn't a request.
It wasn't a warning.
It was something else.
Trust?
No. Not quite.
But it wasn't a trap, either.
So now, wrapped in a soft sweater and slippers, her hair still damp from the shower, Aria walked through the room like it was a sacred space.
Dark walnut shelves lined the walls, filled with thick volumes of history, philosophy, military strategy, and rare fiction. The windows were open just slightly, letting in the crisp scent of morning rain.
His desk was clean. Organized. Cold.
Except for one thing.
A single book, placed dead center.
Il Principe — The Prince, by Niccolò Machiavelli.
Leather-bound. Old. The corners worn, pages annotated in black ink.
She touched the cover with her fingertips.
He marked this one. Personally.
Flipping through it, she found a folded page with a small line circled:
> "It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both."
In the margin, Lucien had written:
Not always.
Aria stared at it.
The words hit her harder than they should have.
Lucien Moretti — the man who ruled empires with guns and silence — once believed love was still an option.
Or maybe… he still did.
---
Later That Evening — 7:24 PM
The estate was quiet when she heard the front gates open.
A low hum of engines.
Lucien was home.
She didn't rush to meet him. She stayed upstairs, by the window, watching as two black cars pulled in. His silhouette stepped out of the first one. Tall. Composed. Hands in his pockets like always.
He looked up once — toward the house.
Maybe toward her window.
Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
---
Lucien's POV
She didn't greet him at the door. She didn't hover or ask how the meeting went.
He liked that.
Expected it.
But when he passed her in the hallway an hour later — her eyes meeting his, steady as always — he felt something tighten in his chest.
Did she read the book?
Did she see the note?
He didn't ask.
Instead, he handed her the envelope.
No words. Just a heavy cardstock envelope with gold trim.
She arched a brow, accepting it with her usual calm.
"What is it?"
"A gala," he said. "Tomorrow night."
"A business event?"
"No."
"A threat?"
A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. "Not yet."
She opened it.
The lettering was elegant. Formal.
An invitation to the annual Moretti Foundation Gala — a high-society event with foreign diplomats, crime families, and billionaire donors all under one roof.
Dress code: Black Tie.
Time: 8:00 PM.
Location: Palazzo d'Oro, Rome.
"You want me to go with you?" she asked carefully.
Lucien met her gaze.
"I want them to see you."
---
Aria's POV
That answer hit harder than it should have.
She wanted to ask why.
Why now?
Why her?
But instead, she nodded slowly and tucked the invitation under her arm.
"I'll be ready."
Lucien studied her for a moment.
Not her dress. Not her face.
Her.
Then he said softly, "You looked good this morning. In my study."
Her breath caught.
But she held it together.
"So that wasn't a trap?"
He stepped just a little closer.
"It was a door."
And just like that… he was gone again.
Leaving her heart pounding like it had something to prove.