Chapter 22: The Perfect Liar

I always knew I was good at lying.

But tonight, I had to be perfect.

The hallway leading to my father’s study was lined with polished marble and silent portraits that judged me with their oil-painted eyes. I slowed my steps just before the door, fixing my face into the perfect blend of innocence and daughterly affection. My lips curled up just slightly. Soft. Sweet. Harmless.

Then I knocked.

“Come in,” came the gruff voice I knew better than my own heartbeat.

I opened the door and stepped inside, bathed in the golden glow of his desk lamp. My father sat behind his massive mahogany desk, pen in hand, glasses low on his nose, and suspicion already in his eyes.

“Aria,” he said slowly, like he was testing the weight of my name. “You don’t usually knock.”

I gave him my most saccharine smile and crossed the room, my boots silent on the rug.

“That’s because I usually come in here to argue. But not today.” I perched on the edge of the desk and folded my hands on my lap like a good little girl. “I just came to ask a favor.”

He set his pen down.

God, he was going to dissect every word I said. I could already feel it.

“What kind of favor?” he asked, squinting at me like he could see straight through the layers of sugar I’d lathered over my lies.

I widened my eyes just a bit, tilted my head. “It’s my friend Luca’s birthday tomorrow, and I really wanted to send him a gift.”

He blinked once.

“You have a friend named Luca?”

Shit.

“Yes,” I said quickly, breezily, waving a hand. “From the cooking classes last year. He loves wine, and I thought, since you won’t let me go out…” I paused, gave him a look of pure sorrow, “…maybe you could let me pick one of your fancy bottles to send to him.”

He said nothing, just watched me.

Then—slowly—he bent his glasses down his nose and stared at me with those sharp, mafia-honed eyes.

“You’re not up to something, are you?”

I laughed lightly, feigning offense. “Come on, Dad. I know I’ve been a handful lately, but really? Over a wine bottle?”

His eyes didn’t move. “You’re lying about something.”

Ugh. I hated how well he knew me. Hated how, no matter how skilled I was, he could still smell the deception beneath the perfume.

But I was better now. Smarter. Slicker.

“I just don’t want to disappoint him,” I said softly, looking away like I was embarrassed. “He’s always been so sweet to me. If I don’t send him anything, it’ll hurt his feelings.”

I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around him with a sudden hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re the best dad ever.”

He stiffened a bit, but I felt the exact moment he let out a sigh and gave in.

“Fine. One bottle. Nothing too rare.”

Victory danced on my tongue like champagne bubbles. I pulled back with a bright smile. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

I turned and all but skipped out the door.

But the second I stepped into the hallway and saw him, the victory soured.

Fucking Alessandro.

Leaning against the wall just outside the study like he was welded into the plaster. Arms crossed. Eyes dark and unreadable. The same ice-block expression he wore like a crown.

He didn’t speak. Just followed me with those glacier eyes.

I rolled my eyes and kept walking, letting my boots click sharply on the marble floor just to piss him off. Let him watch. Let him try to guess what I was planning.

He’d never figure it out.

Not this time.

I descended the staircase and headed toward the wine cellar, fully aware of the way his presence followed like a shadow stitched to my back.

I stopped at the cellar door and turned, meeting his stare head-on.

“I need to be alone.”

Alessandro didn’t speak. Of course he didn’t. But his brow lifted slightly, just enough to make my fists clench.

“You standing there will make me choose the wrong wine,” I said with a sneer. “Your energy’s bad for delicate decisions.”

Nothing.

Just a blank stare.

God, I wanted to throw the door in his face.

Instead, I forced a smile, opened it, and stepped inside.

Then I turned the lock behind me.

The air in the wine cellar was cool and damp, and the faint scent of oak and earth clung to the old stone walls. Shelves of reds and whites stretched into the dimness, but I wasn’t here for wine.

I moved quickly, ducking beneath the shelf in the back corner and pressing my fingers against the smooth panel of the wall. A slight push—and it gave way to a narrow hallway, hidden in the shadows.

I slid in, and walked toward the power room.

I reached the fuse box with my heart pounding in my ears. The room buzzed faintly with energy. Lights. Motion sensors.

Not anymore.

I flipped the master switch.

The entire estate went black.

The hum stopped. The silence felt thick, electric. Like the breath before an explosion.

Then I ran.

I turned on my heel and bolted down the second exit—the one that led straight outside through a side passage. My boots pounded the ground, my lungs burned, but I didn’t stop.

This was the window.

Before Alessandro noticed.

Before the guards regrouped.

Before anyone caught on.

I slipped out into the night, swallowed by the dark.

The moon was a sliver in the sky, barely bright enough to paint my outline as I ran through the garden and crouched behind the hedges. I took the path I knew better than any map—the one that curved around the back of the estate, hidden from cameras, until it ended in a bramble-covered slope that shielded the tunnel entrance.

I dropped to my knees and crawled through the tight opening, heart thudding like war drums. Dirt scraped my hands. Rocks dug into my knees. But I didn’t care.

I kept crawling until—

“Aria!”

Camilla’s voice, sharp with excitement.

I emerged from the tunnel, wild-haired, panting, triumphant.

They were there. All three of them. Standing by the black car, grinning like devils.

“You fucking did it!” Rosetta screamed, grabbing me into a hug.

“I told you she would!” Julia cried.

I laughed breathlessly, adrenaline still racing like fire in my blood. “Let’s go before they cut the power back on.”

Camilla jumped into the driver’s seat, and I slid into the passenger side. The engine roared to life.

As we sped off, Rosetta handed me a drink and yelled over the music, “To Aria fucking Moretti, the queen of escape!”

“To freedom!” Julia shouted.

“To chaos!” Camilla added, cackling.

“To making that bastard sweat,” I said, raising my drink high.

We clinked our plastic cups together in the dark, drunk on rebellion.

Because tonight?

Tonight, I wasn’t anyone’s prisoner.

Not my father’s.

Not Alessandro’s.

Not anyone’s.

I was the storm.

And they could all fuck off.