Chapter 22 The Estate
Aria's POV
Tuesday morning arrived cold and gray, the sky heavy with rain that hadn't yet fallen.
Aria stood outside her father's estate gates at eight fifty-five, staring up at the security cameras she'd never really noticed before. Now they felt like eyes. Watching. Recording. Just like the anonymous photos on her phone.
The gates swung open with smooth precision. She drove through, hands tight on the steering wheel, past manicured gardens and marble fountains that suddenly looked less like beauty and more like wealth built on questions she'd never thought to ask.
The villa loomed ahead, all honey-colored stone and terracotta tiles glowing in the overcast light. Home. Except it had never really been home just a place she visited, a museum of her father's success that she'd been kept carefully separate from.
Now she wondered why.
Maria opened the door before Aria could knock, her weathered face creasing into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Signorina Aria. Your father is waiting in the breakfast room." She lowered her voice. "He's been pacing since six this morning. Whatever this is about, tread carefully."
The warning made Aria's stomach clench. Maria had been with the family since before Aria was born. If she was concerned, this was serious.
"Thank you, Maria."
Aria walked through halls lined with expensive art her father's supposed profession and tried to calm her racing pulse. This was just breakfast. Just a conversation. Her father loved her. He'd never hurt her.
But Dante's words echoed in her mind: Men who get too close to you tend to have accidents.
The breakfast room overlooked the gardens, floor-to-ceiling windows letting in pale morning light. A table was set for two with crystal and porcelain that probably cost more than most people's cars.
Bruno stood by the window, phone to his ear, speaking rapid Italian too quiet for her to catch. When he saw her reflection in the glass, he ended the call immediately.
"Aria, tesoro." He turned, arms open, expression warm. "You came."
"You made it sound important." She accepted his embrace but felt the tension in his shoulders, the too-tight grip that lasted a second longer than comfortable.
"Sit, please. Maria's prepared everything you love." He gestured to the table laden with pastries, fruit, and espresso. A feast for a conversation she didn't want to have.
They sat. Aria poured coffee she didn't drink and watched her father arrange his napkin with meticulous care.
"How's work?" he asked. "You mentioned a conference paper last time we spoke."
"It's going well." She wasn't going to make this easy. "But you didn't summon me here to discuss my research, Papa."
Bruno's smile faded. He set down his coffee cup with deliberate precision.
"No. I didn't." He pulled a manila envelope from beside his chair and slid it across the table. "I need you to look at something."
Aria's hands didn't want to move. She somehow knew that opening that envelope would change everything.
She opened it anyway.
Photos spilled out. Her and Dante on the rooftop. Multiple angles, professional quality. The kiss. The embrace. His hand in her hair, her body pressed against his. Moments that had felt private, intimate, now exposed and clinical under surveillance lenses.
Heat crawled up her neck. "You're having me followed."
"I'm protecting my daughter." Bruno's voice remained calm. Reasonable. "And these photos prove you need protection. From yourself, if necessary."
"These are from Friday night. A private moment between two consenting adults." Aria met his eyes. "I'm twenty-five years old, Papa. Not fifteen. You don't get to approve of my relationships."
"When the man in question is Dante Moretti? Yes, I do." Bruno stood, moving to the window. "Do you know who he is? Really?"
"He's a patient with a cardiac condition that requires ongoing monitoring. That's why we spend time together."
"Is it?" Bruno turned, and his expression had shifted. The warm father was gone, replaced by something colder. Harder. "Because these photos suggest your relationship has become significantly less professional."
Aria's jaw tightened. "My personal life is my own business."
"Not when it puts you in danger. Not when you're involved with a man who—" He stopped, seeming to choose his words carefully. "Dante Moretti is not who he appears to be. He's dangerous, Aria. Connected to people and activities that could destroy you."
"You mean he's involved in Rome's underworld. I know." She forced herself to sound calmer than she felt. "I'm not naive, Papa. I understand he's not a traditional patient. But his heart condition is real. He needs medical care, and I'm qualified to provide it."
"And that's all it is? Medical care?" Bruno gestured at the photos. "That looks like considerably more than a doctor treating a patient."
Aria's face burned, but she held her ground. "What happens between me and my patients outside of medical appointments is—"
"He's using you." The words were sharp, cutting. "Men like Dante Moretti don't fall in love with surgeons and live happily ever after. They use people. They find weaknesses and exploit them."
"What weakness? I have nothing he could possibly want."
"You have me." Bruno's voice went quiet. Dangerous. "You're my daughter. My only family. And that makes you valuable to anyone who wants leverage against Bruno Salvini."
The name hung in the air. Not "your father" or "me." Bruno Salvini. Like he was talking about someone else. Someone separate from the man who'd raised her.
"Why would anyone need leverage against you?" Aria asked slowly. "You're an art dealer. What could you possibly be involved in that would make your daughter valuable as leverage?"
Bruno's expression shuttered. "That's not relevant to this discussion."
"It's completely relevant. You're telling me Dante is using me to get to you, but you won't explain why anyone would bother. Unless—" The pieces clicked together. "Unless you're involved in something that makes you a target."
"Aria—"
"You are, aren't you? That's why Gavino isn't just a driver. That's why this estate has more security than the American embassy. That's why men I've never met treat you with the kind of respect that looks more like fear." Her voice rose. "What are you really involved in, Papa?"
"This conversation is about your safety. About the fact that you're sleeping with a man who—"
"I'm not sleeping with him." The words came out sharper than intended. "Not that it's any of your business if I was. But our relationship is complicated, and it's mine, and you don't get to dictate who I see based on vague accusations and surveillance photos."
Bruno's hands clenched into fists, then deliberately relaxed. When he spoke again, his voice was controlled. Too controlled.
"I know about his heart condition."
Aria went still.
"Long QT Syndrome. Genetic. Potentially fatal without proper monitoring and medication." Bruno's eyes bored into hers. "I know he needs monthly appointments. That you've been treating him personally rather than referring him to another cardiologist. That he's become dependent on your medical expertise to stay alive."
"How do you know that?" Aria's voice came out strangled. "That's protected medical information. You shouldn't have access to—"
"I have access to everything that concerns my daughter's safety." He moved closer, his expression softening fractionally. "Don't you see what he's doing? He's making himself vulnerable to you. Making you feel responsible for his life. It's manipulation, tesoro. Classic manipulation."
"Or maybe he just has a medical condition that requires treatment from a qualified cardiologist."
"Who happens to be the daughter of a man he has reason to hate."
The words dropped like a stone.
Aria stared at her father. "What does that mean?"
"It means Dante Moretti isn't in your life by accident. It means he has a history with our family that you don't know about. And it means—" Bruno's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, jaw tightening. "It means this discussion is over. For now."
"You can't just drop something like that and walk away."
"Watch me." He moved toward the door, then paused. "I've arranged for you to meet someone. Lorenzo Lazzari. Tommaso's son. He's a lawyer. Respectable. Appropriate. You'll have dinner with him Friday night."
Aria's blood ran cold. "I'm not going on some arranged date because you disapprove of—"
"This isn't a request." Bruno's voice hardened. "You will meet Lorenzo Friday. You will be polite. And you will end whatever you have with Dante Moretti. Those are my terms."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I'll be forced to take steps to protect you. Steps you won't like." He met her eyes. "I love you, Aria. More than anything in this world. But I will not watch you destroy yourself over a man who's using you for revenge against me."
"Revenge? Papa, what are you talking about?"
But he was already gone, footsteps echoing down the marble hallway, leaving Aria alone with scattered photos and questions that multiplied faster than answers.
She grabbed her phone with shaking hands and texted Dante: We need to talk. Now. What history do you have with my father?
The response came immediately: Where are you?
Leaving his estate. He knows everything. About us. About your condition. He's arranged a date for me Friday and forbade me from seeing you.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Don't go Friday. Please. I'll explain everything but not over text. Come to my apartment. I'll send you the address.
Dante, what did you do?
I'll tell you everything. I promise. Just come.
Aria stared at the message, at the photos on the breakfast table, at the empty doorway her father had disappeared through.
Two men. Both keeping secrets. Both claiming to protect her. Both lying about something.
She had to choose which liar to trust.
Her phone buzzed with Dante's address.
Aria grabbed her keys and ran.