Leverage

Leverage

“Dante doesn’t want a wife. He wants leverage.”

The first thing I noticed was the wine.

Not the guards at the door, not the over-polished marble floors of Dante Navarro’s private estate, not even the way the chandelier glinted like it was watching me. Just the wine. Red. Unpoured. Waiting.

He wanted to play polite tonight.

I didn’t sit until he did. And even then, I stayed on the edge of the seat, spine straight, fingers steepled in my lap like I hadn’t fantasized about stabbing them through his throat a thousand times.

“You came,” he said, swirling his glass without drinking.

“You called,” I answered. “I was raised to answer family.”

He smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “We’re not family yet.”

“Then say what you need to say, Dante. I don’t like being summoned.”

His tone softened, but his eyes didn’t. “It doesn’t have to be like this, Aria.”

I didn’t respond.

He poured the wine and pushed the glass toward me. I didn’t touch it.

“What if I told you,” he began, “that we could give them what they want?”

“Them?”

“The council. Your father. Everyone watching.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

Dante leaned forward, the flicker of candlelight catching the edge of his smirk. “A marriage. Public. Political. Controlled. I won’t touch what’s yours. Your power, your territory. You keep running your empire. I keep mine. But together, we present a united front. No bloodshed. No scandal.”

“No love,” I said.

He tilted his head. “Was there ever going to be?”

That made me pause.

Because he was right. Love died with my mother. With Silas. With every lie that tasted like honey and broke like glass.

“You don’t want a wife,” I said.

He nodded. “I want leverage. And you need protection.”

I swallowed hard. “Protection from what?”

Dante took a long sip of wine. Then:

“From the people closest to you. From betrayal. From Silas.”

That name hit me like a slap. My hand twitched under the table.

“You don’t know anything about him.”

“Don’t I?” he said calmly. “He’s the one who disappeared when your mother died. The one who broke you. And now? Now he’s back, slipping into your shadows, risking everything for what? You think he’s here for love?”

“You don’t get to speak his name.”

He laughed softly. “He made his choice, Aria. You just refuse to see it.”

“And what choice is that?”

Dante stood slowly, walked behind me, then leaned down until his breath brushed my neck.

“He chose to leave you. To let you rot under your father’s thumb. To disappear when it mattered most.”

I stood, fast and sharp, the chair scraping against the tile.

“Careful, Dante. You’re not immune to blood on your hands.”

He didn’t flinch. “And neither are you.”

I turned to leave.

“You say no now,” he said behind me, “but think about this: how many more graves are you willing to dig for love?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I was already thinking about the answer. And it terrified me.

Back at the estate, the hallway lights felt colder. Luna wasn’t in her room. The guards nodded as I passed, but none of them met my eyes.

When I reached my bedroom, I locked the door behind me and let my hands shake.

Silas had made his choice.

Or maybe he hadn’t.

Maybe the world had chosen for him. And maybe—just maybe—I was starting to understand what it really meant to survive.

Not to live.

But to play the game so ruthlessly that no one dared call your bluff.

And maybe, just maybe, I was ready to become the devil they all feared.

He was almost to the door when I said it.

“Wait.”

Dante paused, hand on the knob. The fire crackled behind me, casting long shadows across the walls like ghosts trying to claw their way out of the dark. I stood there—raw, shaking—but steady enough to meet his gaze.

“What did you mean?” I asked. “When you said Silas already made his choice.”

He turned slowly, eyes sharp with satisfaction. “I mean,” he said, voice low, “ask him about the night your mother died.”

My heart stuttered.

“Ask him,” Dante repeated, smirking. “See if he tells you the truth.”

And then he left.

I didn’t remember running to Silas. Just the slam of the church crypt door against the stone wall as I stormed in. He was already inside—leaning against the altar, eyes half-shadowed, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. Or years.

“Is it true?” I demanded.

His eyes didn’t move. “What did he tell you?”

“He told me to ask you.”

I was shaking again—this time with fury. “Did you know she was going to die?”

Silas didn’t respond.

“Did you leave her?” My voice cracked. “Did you leave me?”

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t deny it.

I punched him.

Hard.

His jaw turned with the impact, but he didn’t strike back. Didn’t even raise a hand. Just stood there, letting me hit him again—flat against his chest this time, my fists trembling.

“You left me with her body!” I screamed.

Still, no answer.

The silence tore something open in me. A howl that never left my throat. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t understand how he was just standing there—stone-faced, unshaken, when I was falling apart in front of him.

“I trusted you,” I whispered. “She trusted you. And you—”

“I saved you,” he said finally.

It didn’t sound like justification.

It sounded like a wound.

I blinked at him, stunned by the words. By the way they hollowed out the room.

“I saved you,” he said again, voice low. “And I’ll never stop paying for it.”

But I wasn’t ready to forgive.

Not yet.

I stumbled back, swallowed the sob clawing its way up my throat, and ran. Out of the crypt. Out into the air that felt too thick and not thick enough.

I didn’t stop running until I reached Fiora’s office at the edge of the city. She was the only person left who didn’t look at me like I might shatter. She didn’t ask questions—just shoved a mug of coffee into my hand and started flipping through files.

Hours passed.

I didn’t speak. Neither did she.

Until she froze.

“Aria,” she said slowly, almost disbelieving. “You need to see this.”

She handed me a file. My name was on the top. So was Silas Raveen’s.

And a red stamp:

“DECEASED.”

Time of declaration: 9:46 PM.

Signed by: Vittorio De Luca.

Date: The night my mother died.

Two hours before the explosion.

I couldn’t speak.

My fingers went numb around the edges of the paper.

Two hours before she died… my father declared Silas dead.

Why?

Why fake a death… unless you were clearing the board for something worse?

I looked up at Fiora. “What the hell did he do?”

She didn’t answer.

And that silence told me everything I needed to know.