Chapter 12: Aria's Escape Plan

I've done a lot of insane things in my life.

I once took my father’s Bentley for a joyride through downtown Milan just to make a point about curfews. I once fake-engaged myself to a Spanish pop star to piss off my ex. Hell, I once lit a cigarette with a candle in the Vatican.

But nothing—nothing—was as stupidly glorious as what I was about to do.

I stepped up onto the windowsill, clutching my makeshift rope like it was spun from destiny and recklessness. The wind whipped my hair around my face, cool and wild and free—like it knew I was about to raise hell.

This wasn’t just a great escape.

This was war.

And I was done playing the princess locked in the tower.

“Showtime,” I whispered as I straddled the windowsill in my black stilettos like a deranged gymnast and took a breath.

“You’ve got this,” I said to myself. “You’re not just any girl. You’re Aria freaking Moretti.”

And with that, I pushed off.

The landing wasn’t graceful, exactly.

I hit the bushes with a muffled thud, let out a hiss that would’ve made a snake proud, and rolled like an action hero in stilettos—which is to say, not very far and not very smoothly.

“Shit,” I muttered, brushing thorns off my arm. “Okay. That could’ve gone worse.”

I crouched beneath the hedge, listening.

No barking dogs. No angry footsteps storming toward me. Perfect.

I grabbed my small crossbody bag, fixed my lipstick with one swipe from a compact mirror, and stepped out into freedom.

The cool, crisp air kissed my skin as I moved quietly, heels clicking softly on the stone path as I cut toward the south gate. The scent of roses and fresh-cut grass lingered around me, almost mocking in its serenity.

I didn’t see a single guard.

Which was weird.

Suspicious, even.

But I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

I kept my pace casual, deliberate, confident. Like I belonged there. Like I wasn’t a rich mafia princess sneaking out of her own house like a teenage delinquent on parole.

I was almost past the second hedge row when I spotted him.

One of the guards.

Stationed near the old fountain.

Shit.

I dropped to the ground in a split second, heart pounding in my throat.

Stay calm. Stay quiet. Don’t ruin your heels.

I crawled low across the path, ducked behind a marble statue of Saint Gabriel—who was apparently now my guardian angel—and peeked around.

Clear.

I exhaled slowly and started to turn toward the gate when I slammed into something solid.

Something that felt suspiciously like a man’s chest.

A very hard, very warm chest.

I froze.

No.

No no no no no.

I knew that smell—spiced cedarwood and expensive danger. I knew those arms—like iron bars in tailored sleeves. And I especially knew that unreadable expression, because I’d been cursing it for the last two hours.

I slowly tilted my head up and found Alessandro’s icy blue eyes staring right into mine.

Unblinking. Silent. Judging me like I just peed in the family wine cellar.

“Going somewhere, Miss Moretti?” he said coolly.

I groaned. “Oh, for the love of God.”

I tried to sidestep him, but he grabbed my wrist.

“Let me go,” I snapped, yanking against his grip.

“Can’t do that.”

“Ugh—what is wrong with you?! I’m not some petulant five-year-old! I’m an adult woman trying to take a walk without being kidnapped!”

He didn’t flinch. Just stood there, tall and infuriating, holding my wrist with that ridiculous calm he always wore like a bulletproof vest.

“I’m not going back,” I hissed, trying to twist away.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m—”

“Aria!”

The voice cut through the air like a thunderclap.

I froze.

Alessandro’s grip tightened just a fraction as my father’s voice boomed again. “What the hell is going on here?!”

Great. Just great.

I turned around slowly to find my father standing on the terrace, flanked by two more guards. His face was thunderous. Hair slicked back. Suit impeccable. Fury radiating from every cell.

“I asked you a question,” he growled.

I squared my shoulders. “What does it look like, Papa? I was trying to leave.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Why?” I barked out a laugh. “Because I’m not a prisoner in my own home! Because I got locked in my room like a rabid animal! Because I’m tired of being treated like some porcelain doll you can dress up and hide away!”

“You were locked in for your own safety,” he snapped. “And don’t raise your voice at me, young lady.”

“Are you saying I don’t know what’s good for me?” I said, jaw clenched, voice shaking with rage. “Are you seriously telling me I don’t have the right to decide when I can leave my own house?!”

“You are not listening—”

“No, you are not listening! I’ve been followed, silenced, dismissed, and now I’m being locked up like I’m some bargaining chip in one of your deals. I’m not a pawn, Papa! I’m a person!”

He stepped forward, pointing a finger. “You will behave, Aria.”

I laughed bitterly. “Behave? What am I, five?!”

“You are being reckless.”

“Oh, I’m being reckless? And what, you’re being reasonable? Do you even hear yourself?! You’ve got a personal army patrolling our gardens like we’re under siege. And why? Because someone pissed off the wrong person in your twisted business empire and now I get to suffer for it?”

My father’s face darkened. “That’s enough.”

“No, it’s not.”

I turned to Alessandro, fire crackling behind my eyes.

“And you—” I hissed. “I fucking hate you.”

His jaw twitched, but he said nothing.

“You’re a fucking piece of shit that thinks he's anything.” I spat in anger.

He still didn’t flinch.

Just stared at me like I was a tantruming child and he was the adult who had to endure it.

“You're such a fucking asshole Alessandro, I'll—"

“Enough!” my father barked again. “Back to your room. Now.”

I looked at him, wild and furious and shaking with the need to scream.

“I’m not a baby,” I said.

“Then stop acting like one!”

I staggered back like he’d slapped me.

The silence crackled between us like live wires.

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

My father’s gaze didn’t soften. If anything, it got colder. “Alessandro is doing what I pay him to do—protect you. He’s risking everything by keeping you safe, and you’re making his job impossible.”

“Maybe I didn’t ask to be protected!”

“Well, I did!” he roared.

And there it was.

The truth.

He wasn’t doing this for me. He was doing it for himself. For his image. For the fragile illusion of control he clung to like a drowning man.

I turned on my heel, eyes stinging but refusing to cry.

Not in front of them.

Not in front of him.

“You’ll regret this,” I whispered.

“Aria—”

I whirled around, locking eyes with Alessandro one last time. “I hate you.”

He didn't blink, didn't look at me, just stood there like a fucking statue.