---
---
Pain was a familiar friend now.
Raiden lay on the makeshift bed in the wine cellar, his breath ragged, wounds bandaged in silence. The medic had left an hour ago, pale and trembling from the sight of the carnage upstairs.
Aria hadn't left his side.
She hadn't cried. Not once. But her eyes were swollen, red-rimmed, as if they were holding back oceans. Her hands trembled when she touched his chest—right over the place his heart should've stopped beating.
"You almost died," she whispered.
He gave a broken smile. "Almost doesn't count, baby."
She didn't smile back. "You bled out in my arms. You were cold. I thought—"
"You thought wrong." He reached up, brushing a thumb over her lips. "You're not that easy to get rid of, Aria."
She kissed his hand. Closed her eyes. And whispered, "Neither are you."
---
The days blurred.
The house was cleaned, bodies removed, new security installed. And in those quiet moments between rebuilding and watching him heal, Aria's mind began to shift.
This wasn't just attraction anymore.
It was need.
She wasn't afraid of his world now. She wanted in.
The night he finally stood without flinching, she cornered him in the hallway.
"I want you to teach me," she said.
Raiden raised a brow. "How to aim or how to kill?"
"Both."
He stepped forward, slowly. "Why?"
"Because I'm tired of being your weakness. I want to be your weapon."
The way he looked at her… it wasn't admiration. It was hunger.
"Don't offer things you can't survive, little lamb," he warned. "Once I sharpen you, you don't go back."
"I don't want to go back."
He stared a second longer.
Then nodded.
"Training starts tomorrow."
---
The next few weeks were fire.
Mornings were for bruises and blood. Aria learned how to disarm, reload, shoot, stab. He didn't go easy on her. Every fall, every slap of the ground, every scream was met with cold eyes and a single word—"Again."
And she did.
Again. And again. Until she could shoot straight, fight back, breathe through pain.
Evenings were for healing. He'd kiss every bruise, hold her close, slide his hands over the soreness like a prayer. And when she cried into his chest, he whispered her name like a promise.
And when they made love—it wasn't soft.
It was claiming.
"You're mine now," he growled one night, hand fisting in her hair, her back arching beneath him. "You bleed with me. You fight beside me. You die with me, Aria."
She looked up, eyes shining through the sweat and moans.
"And I'll kill for you, Raiden."
---
But peace never lasts in their world.
One phone call changed everything.
Raiden answered. His jaw clenched. His knuckles turned white.
When he hung up, he didn't speak.
Aria placed a hand on his arm. "What is it?"
He turned to her slowly.
"My father."
Her heart stopped.
"I thought he was—"
"Dead? So did I."
Raiden lit a cigarette, took a drag like it was oxygen. "Turns out, he's alive. And he's coming back for the key."
"The key they want from you—"
"It was never mine." He looked at her, the shadows on his face making him look like a man made of war. "It was his."
"And he wants it now?"
Raiden exhaled smoke through clenched teeth. "He wants you."
Silence.
"I don't understand—"
"He made a deal," Raiden snapped. "Years ago. Before he died. Promised your hand to one of the Italian syndicate heirs in exchange for a power alliance."
Aria staggered back. "My hand?"
"He faked his death and vanished. But now that you're with me, they think I stole what's theirs."
She felt the room spin.
"You're telling me my own father—"
"Sold you."
She swallowed the scream rising in her throat.
"And now he wants to finish the transaction."
Raiden crushed the cigarette. Walked over. Pressed her against the wall.
"You are not his to give. You never were. You're mine, Aria. Every damn inch of you."
Her voice broke. "Then fight for me."
His grip tightened on her jaw. "I already am."
---
That night, they set fire to the past.
Raiden brought her to the rooftop. No cameras. No guards. Just them, the stars, and the cold truth between their bodies.
He handed her a box.
She opened it slowly.
Inside, a velvet pouch. Inside that—a key. Old, golden, ancient.
"The real one?"
He nodded.
"What does it open?"
"Not a door," he said, voice low. "A vault. In Italy. Buried beneath a monastery. Inside is everything that could bring the mafia world crashing down. Names. Proof. Betrayals. Enough to start a war."
"And my father wants it."
"Badly enough to betray us all."
Aria closed the box.
And threw it off the rooftop.
Raiden watched it fall.
"That was stupid."
"No," she said. "That was war."
---
To be continued…