Mafia's Pet

Aria sat on the edge of the bed, arms folded, legs swinging lightly.

She'd walked the entire mansion twice.

She'd seen the same damn chandelier twenty different times from different angles. The same velvet curtains. The same luxury that didn't mean anything to her.

She was bored out of her mind.

And still angry.

She didn't want the food. She didn't want the dress. She didn't want to be here.

She wanted out.

She leaned back, closing her eyes for just a second, when suddenly...

Knock. Knock.

She sat up fast. "Chi è?"

(Who is it?)

The door opened before she got an answer.

It was another maid , younger this time, stiff posture, eyes lowered.

"Il Signor Moretti vuole vederti. Ora."

(Mr. Moretti wants to see you. Now.)

Aria's heart dropped a little.

She stood up slowly, brain spiraling.

What now? Was he finally going to try something? Try to touch her? Was this it?

She followed the maid in silence, fists clenched at her sides.

The room she was taken to was huge , obviously.

Dimly lit, more cozy than the others. A big fireplace flickered in the far wall, casting orange shadows across the space.

And there he was.

Dante Moretti.

Sitting in front of the fire, alone, smoking a cigarette.

He didn't turn when she walked in. He just sat there like he owned the air.

She didn't say a word. Neither did he.

Then, slowly, he stood.

And for the first time… she saw him like this.

No suit. No jacket. No gun.

Just a white singlet, clinging to his chest , soaked slightly from sweat. He had clearly just finished working out.

Black pants hung low on his hips. Bare feet.

But what caught her off guard was the ink , a full sleeve of tattoos crawling from his left chest down to his wrist, curling around his shoulder like armor. Black, sharp designs she couldn't quite understand.

His damp hair was pushed back loosely, a few strands sticking to his forehead.

He looked like someone who didn't need to try to be dangerous. He just was.

Her jaw tightened.

So what if he looked like he was carved by God's angry hand? She still hated him.

He turned finally, looking at her.

His eyes scanned her face. Then her hands. Then back to her eyes.

He took one more drag from his cigarette before crushing it in the ashtray.

"Good. You came."

She stayed quiet.

She didn't sit.

She didn't relax.

She just watched him.

"Why did you call me?" she asked bluntly.

He smiled faintly. "To talk."

"About what?"

He started walking toward the mini bar in the corner.

"You'll find out."

Dante poured himself a drink

.

Then he turned, glass in hand, and walked toward her , slow, calm, and way too close.

Aria didn't move. But her chest tightened.

He stopped in front of her, just a foot away. The fire behind him made his tattoos look even darker, like they were moving.

He looked down at her like she was a puzzle he didn't quite want to solve yet.

Then he spoke. Quietly.

"How do you speak English so well?"

Aria raised a brow.

"That's what you called me here for?" she muttered. "You 'bought' me for eight million and didn't bother to find that out?"

He chuckled. Actually chuckled.

"No," he said. "I wanted something to talk to you with."

She rolled her eyes and folded her arms. "You're unbelievable."

He didn't answer.

He just stared.

Hard.

And it wasn't the usual cold, calculating stare.

This one was deeper. Slower. He was reading her.

Aria felt her breath catch , just for a second.

Her feet didn't move, but her fingers twitched. She looked away fast.

But that tension? That moment?

He noticed.

She stepped back slightly. Not much , just enough to create space.

"I went to school," she said, looking toward the floor. "I actually liked English. Took it seriously. And I… studied on my own after my mom died. Books, tapes. Whatever I could find."

He tilted his head slightly.

"Smart," he murmured. "Not just stubborn, then."

Her eyes flicked back to him , and they were sharp now.

"I'm not here for your compliments."

"No," he said. "You're here because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. And now… I don't know."

He sipped his drink.

"Maybe you're here because you're the first person who's ever looked at me like you don't give a damn."

He was close again.

Too close.

And still , he hadn't touched her.

But her heart was racing anyway.

The silence stretched too long.

Aria could feel the heat from the fireplace behind her… but it wasn't the fire making her skin burn.

It was him.

Dante.

Still standing there, glass now empty, watching her like she was a riddle he hadn't figured out yet.

She hated that look..Hated that she didn't understand it.

Hated him.

She kept her voice steady even though her fingers were trembling slightly.

"You're right," she said, lifting her chin. "I don't give a damn about you. I hate you, in fact."

His brow twitched, amused.

"You dragged me into this... like I'm a thing. You think because you threw some money at people who were already animals, you own me? Like I'm a toy?"

Her voice rose.

"You're sick. You're not some goddamn savior. You're worse!"

Dante didn't flinch. He just stared.

Then , without warning , he stepped forward.

And in one sudden motion, he grabbed her by the waist.

Aria gasped, stunned, her body freezing before her mind could even catch up.

"Che testarda..." he murmured under his breath.

(So stubborn...)

"La tua rabbia mi eccita."

(Your stubbornness turns me on.)

Her heart slammed against her chest.

No.

"Let go of me.." she hissed, struggling against his grip.

But he was strong. Way too strong. The drink in his hand dropped, shattering on the floor behind them.

Then, still holding her, he lifted one of her legs slightly , her thigh pressed to his side. Her dress shifted dangerously. His hands gripped under the fabric.

Too close.

Too fast.

"Stop..don't..stop it!" she snapped, breath catching in her throat.

Dante's breathing was heavy now, eyes burning into hers like he was seconds away from completely losing control.

Then....

His hand slid up her thigh.

And Aria, despite herself...let out the slightest moan.

Her own sound startled her more than anything.

She froze. Then her face twisted in panic.

"Bastardo schifoso!" she spat, yanking herself out of his grip. (Filthy bastard!)

She stumbled back, breathing hard, grabbing her leg as if it would erase the feeling of his touch.

He didn't chase her.

He didn't speak.

He just stood there ...staring.

And then...

He smiled.

Calm. Quiet. Like her fury was exactly what he wanted.

She glared at him with fire in her chest and pure hatred in her eyes. Then she turned and ran.

Out the door.

Down the hall.

Anywhere that was far from him.

Back Inside...

Dante sat back down in the chair slowly, the fire crackling behind him.

He picked up a new glass, poured himself another drink, and stared at the flames.

His expression?

Still unreadable.

Was he amused?

Regretful?

Angry?

Turned on?

Even he didn't seem to know.

He took a sip. And whispered to himself:

"Aria Bellini."