Chapter 100

Chapter 100
Damian’s POV
My phone buzzed at exactly 7 AM. Lorenzo's name flashed on the screen.
"Tell me you have something," I answered without preamble.
"Boss, I've got it. The evidence you needed." His voice carried the satisfaction of a job well done. "The main surveillance system at the Montrosso estate was tampered with—key segments from the banquet night were deleted. But they missed the backup system."
I sat up straighter in my study chair. "And?"
"Benedetta Russo was caught on camera. After Aria left the ladies' salon, Benedetta approached the coat area where the guests' personal items were stored. The footage is a bit grainy from that angle, but you can clearly see her near Adriana's coat, and there's a distinct motion of her placing something into a small bag."
Aria's handbag.
The pieces clicked into place with deadly precision. "Send me the footage immediately."
"Already encrypted and sent to your secure server. Boss, there's more. The timestamp shows this happened exactly seventeen minutes after Aria left the salon. Benedetta had plenty of time to retrieve the necklace from wherever she'd hidden it and plant it."
Rage burned cold in my chest. That calculating bitch had orchestrated everything. She'd deliberately destroyed Aria's reputation, shattered her trust with Antonio, all for what? Some twisted family loyalty to keep Adriana's position secure?
"Good work, Lorenzo. Now I need you to do something else."
"Name it."
"Contact Marco Torretti. He used to work security for Antonio before joining our organization. He owes my father a significant favor, and he knows the inner workings of the Montrosso household better than anyone."
"What am I asking him?"
"Everything he knows about Benedetta Russo. Her history, her relationships within the family, anything unusual about her behavior over the years. Pay particular attention to the time around Isabella's death."
"Isabella?"
"Ricardo's deceased wife. Adriana's supposed mother." I paused, letting my instincts guide me. "If Benedetta is willing to frame an innocent woman now, I doubt this is her first act of manipulation."
Two hours later, Lorenzo called back. The information Marco had provided painted a disturbing picture.
"Boss, you're not going to like this," Lorenzo said. "According to Marco, Benedetta's behavior became erratic in the months leading up to Isabella's death. She was obsessively protective of Adriana, almost possessive. After Isabella died, she took complete control of the girl's upbringing."
"Define complete control."
"Marco says she controlled who Adriana could speak to, what she learned about the family history, even what stories she was told about her mother. She's been shaping Adriana's entire worldview for over twenty years."
The implications hit me like a physical blow. "What else?"
"Here's the strange part—Marco mentioned that Benedetta always seemed to know things about family business that she shouldn't have had access to. Private conversations, financial details, personal matters between Ricardo and Antonio. Like she was gathering information for some purpose."
Or protecting secrets.
"And no one questioned this?"
"Antonio trusted her completely. Still does. She's been with the family for thirty years, helped raise Ricardo, was present for every major family decision. To him, she's practically family."
Which made her betrayal even more devastating. Benedetta hadn't just framed Aria—she'd violated decades of trust and loyalty. But why? What was she protecting?
"Keep digging," I ordered.
"Already on it. But boss, what do you want to do with the surveillance footage? We have enough to clear Aria completely."
I considered this carefully. The evidence was damning, irrefutable. But revealing it now, while Aria was already emotionally fragile, might not be the best strategy.
"We hold it for now," I decided. "First, I need to handle Jessica's situation. If Aria is worried about her sister's medical bills, she might make desperate decisions. I want that pressure removed before we expose Benedetta."
"Understood."
My next call was to Dr. Castellano, the director of Sant'Anna Hospital. We'd worked together before on various charitable endeavors—the kind of relationship that made difficult requests possible.
"Damian," he answered warmly. "How can I help you?"
"I need to discuss a patient of yours. Jessica. She's currently under Dr. Martinez's care."
"Ah yes, the young patient. Tragic case. Bright girl, but the financial situation is... challenging."
"I'll cover all her medical expenses—current and future. Whatever treatment she needs, whatever specialists are required, whatever experimental therapies might help. Money is no object."
There was a pause. "That's... extremely generous, Damian. But are you sure? We're talking about potentially hundreds of thousands of euros over the coming years."
"I'm sure. But I have conditions."
"Of course."
"I want the best possible care for her. Bring in specialists from Milan, from Switzerland if necessary. And I want all financial concerns hidden from the patient and her visitors. As far as Jessica knows, her treatment is fully covered and there are no outstanding bills."
"May I ask why the secrecy about the financial arrangements?"
"Let's just say there are people who might try to use her medical situation to manipulate someone I care about. I want that avenue of attack completely eliminated."
"I understand. I'll handle this personally. Jessica will receive the best possible care, and there will be no discussion of money in her presence."
"Thank you, Doctor. I'll have the initial payment transferred within the hour."

With Jessica's medical crisis resolved, I finally felt ready to face Aria. I found her in our bedroom, sitting by the window with a cup of tea that had clearly gone cold. She looked fragile in the afternoon light, smaller somehow than the fierce woman who'd stood up to my entire family.
But she was still here. Still fighting. That had to count for something.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, settling into the chair across from her.
She looked up, and I saw the exhaustion in her eyes. "Better, I suppose. Thank you for handling Jessica's treatment. I don't know how I'll ever repay you."
"You don't need to repay me, Aria. This isn't about debt."
"Then what is it about?"
The question hung between us, heavy with implications I wasn't sure I was ready to explore. But looking at her now, seeing the vulnerability she was trying so hard to hide, I found myself being more honest than I'd planned.
"It's about doing what's right. You shouldn't have to choose between your sister's life and your own wellbeing."
She studied my face carefully. "And the other situation? The theft accusation?"
I smiled slightly. "The person who framed you has made a critical mistake. They showed their hand too clearly, and now we have evidence of what really happened."
Her eyes widened. "You found proof?"
"We did. But I want to handle this carefully. The truth will come out, but when it does, I want to make sure you're protected from any fallback."
For the first time in days, I saw hope flickering in her expression. "You really believe someone framed me?"
"I don't believe it, Aria. I know it. And soon, everyone else will know it too."
She set down her teacup and stood up, walking toward me. When she stopped just in front of my chair, I could see tears gathering in her eyes.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For believing in me when no one else would."
I stood up as well, close enough now that I could smell her subtle perfume, could see the way her breath caught slightly as our eyes met.
Something shifted between us in that moment. The careful distance we'd maintained, the walls we'd both built—they seemed suddenly fragile, unnecessary.
I reached up and gently touched her cheek, watching as she leaned into the contact instead of pulling away.
"Aria," I said, her name a question and a prayer all at once.
She answered by stepping closer, eliminating the last inches between us. When I wrapped my arms around her, she melted into the embrace with a sigh that seemed to come from her soul.
This feels right, I thought. This feels like coming home.
We stayed like that for a long moment, holding each other in the fading afternoon light. I could feel her heart beating against my chest, could feel the tension leaving her body as she allowed herself to truly relax for the first time in days.
When she finally pulled back to look at me, her eyes were soft, vulnerable in a way I'd never seen before.
"Damian," she whispered, and there was something in her voice that made my chest tighten with emotion.
I cupped her face in my hands, searching her expression. "Are you sure?"
Instead of answering with words, she rose up on her toes and kissed me.

It was different from any kiss we'd shared before.
I kissed her back gently, reverently, as if she were something precious I was afraid of breaking. Because in that moment, that's exactly what she was.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
"I want this," she said quietly, her hands fisted in my shirt.
I lifted her into my arms, carrying her to the bed we'd shared but never truly shared. This time felt different. This time felt real.
I laid her down gently on the silk sheets, "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," she said.
I kissed her deeply, my hands tangling in her dark hair as she melted against me. When I pulled back to look at her, her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly swollen from my kisses.
"You're so beautiful," I murmured, tracing the line of her jaw with my fingertips.
She shivered at my touch, her hands moving to the buttons of my shirt. "I want to see you too," she whispered, her fingers trembling slightly as she worked to undress me.
I helped her, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it aside. Her eyes roamed over my chest, and when she placed her palms against my skin, I felt like I was burning.
"Aria," I breathed, her name a prayer on my lips.
"I know," she said softly. "I feel it too."
I kissed her again, slower this time, savoring the taste of her, the way she responded to every touch. My hands found the hem of her dress, and she lifted her arms to let me pull it over her head.
She was perfect. Absolutely perfect. The curve of her waist, the soft swell of her breasts, the way she looked at me like I was the only man in the world.
When I entered her, she gasped softly, her nails digging into my shoulders. I moved slowly at first, watching her face, making sure she was with me every step of the way.
"Damian," she whispered, and the way she said my name made my chest tighten with emotion.
"I'm here," I said against her lips. "I'm right here."
Her legs wrapped around my waist, her breath coming in soft pants against my ear.
"I love the way you touch me," she murmured, her hands sliding down my back.
"I love touching you," I replied, kissing her neck, tasting the salt of her skin. "I love everything about you."
The confession slipped out before I could stop it, but I didn't regret it. Not when she looked at me with such wonder, such trust.
"Damian," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "I—"
"You don't have to say anything," I told her, increasing my pace slightly as I felt her body tensing beneath mine. "Just feel this. Feel us."
 When her release hit, she cried out my name, her body arching against mine.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, our bodies slick with sweat, our breathing slowly returning to normal.