Chapter 3: Trembling Ground

The space between them feels charged, like the air before lightning strikes. Dominic stands frozen beside the fountain, every instinct warring between retreat and surrender. Six months of brutal discipline, of throwing himself into the darkest corners of their business empire, of convincing himself that distance would kill whatever madness had taken root in his chest—all of it crumbles under the weight of Aria's knowing smile.

She's close enough now that he can count her eyelashes, see the way her pulse flutters in the delicate hollow of her throat. Close enough that her jasmine scent wraps around him like a drug, making his head spin and his resolve fracture.

"You're staring," she observes, her voice pitched low and husky. There's amusement dancing in her storm-gray eyes, but underneath it lies something far more dangerous—confidence. This isn't the tentative girl who used to peek around corners to catch glimpses of him. This is a woman who knows exactly what she's doing.

Dominic forces himself to take a step back, putting physical distance between them even as his body screams in protest. "You should go inside, Aria. Your father will be wondering where you are."

"Should I?" She tilts her head, studying him with the intensity of a predator sizing up prey. "And what if I don't want to? What if I'd rather stay out here and talk to you?"

"We have nothing to talk about." The words taste like ash on his tongue, another lie in a growing collection. They have everything to talk about and nothing safe to say.

Aria laughs, the sound like silk sliding over steel. "Don't we? Two years in the university is a long time, Dominic. I have so many things I want to tell you." She takes another step closer, deliberately invading his space. "So many things I want to ask you."

He should walk away. Every rational part of his brain is screaming at him to turn around and leave before this conversation goes somewhere they can't come back from. Instead, he finds himself asking, "Like what?"

"Like whether you thought about me while i was gone." Her words are barely above a whisper, but they hit him with the force of a physical blow. "Because I thought about you. Every single day."

Dominic's hands clench into fists at his sides, his knuckles going white with the effort of maintaining control. This is dangerous territory, the kind of conversation that could destroy everything he's built with Vincenzo, everything he's worked for. But looking into her eyes, seeing the raw honesty there, he can't bring himself to lie.

"Aria..." Her name comes out rough, torn from somewhere deep in his chest.

"That's not an answer," she says softly, moving closer still. Now there's barely a foot of space between them, and the air feels thick enough to drown in. "Did you think about me, Dominic? Did you wonder what I was doing, who I was meeting, whether I was thinking about you too?"

The truth burns in his throat like acid. Of course he thought about her. She'd haunted his dreams, invaded his waking thoughts, made him question everything he thought he knew about himself. Every business deal, every moment of violence, every quiet hour had been shadowed by memories of storm-gray eyes and sweet laughter. That's the reason he sent himself on a six-month suicide mission.

"You're nineteen years old," he says instead, falling back on the one argument that should matter, the one barrier that should be insurmountable.

"Almost twenty," she corrects, the same response she'd given in her father's study. "And you keep saying that like it means something. Like there's some magic number that makes this"—she gestures between them—"acceptable."

"There is." But even as he says it, the conviction in his voice wavers. "You're too young, too innocent—"

"Stop." The single word cuts through his protest like a blade. Aria's eyes flash with something that might be anger, but underneath it burns something far more dangerous. "Stop treating me like a child, Dominic. Stop pretending you don't see what's right in front of you."

"What I see," he says carefully, "is Vincenzo's daughter. A girl I've known since she was seven years old. Someone I'm supposed to protect, not—"

"Not what?" She steps closer, close enough that her breath fans across his face. "Not want? Not desire? Not think about late at night when you're alone?"

The questions hang in the air between them like live wires, crackling with electricity. Dominic's composure, already strained to its breaking point, begins to show visible cracks. His breathing grows shallow, his jaw tight with the effort of holding back words that could damn them both.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he manages, but the protest sounds weak even to his own ears.

Aria's smile is pure feminine triumph. "Don't I? Then why are your hands shaking?"

Dominic looks down and realizes she's right. His hands, steady enough to handle explosives or aim a gun in the middle of a firefight, are trembling like a teenager's. The sight of his own betrayal sends a surge of something between rage and desperation through his system.

"This is impossible," he says, more to himself than to her. "This can't happen."

"Why not?" Her voice is soft now, coaxing, dangerous in its gentleness. "Because of my father? Because of your job? Because of what people might think?"

"Because of all of it." The admission tears from his throat like a confession. "Because I'm not good for you, Aria. Because I'm dangerous and damaged and twenty-one years older than you. Because you deserve better than someone like me."

For a moment, something vulnerable flickers across her features—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. But it's gone so quickly he might have imagined it, replaced by that confident smile that's been driving him insane.

"What if I don't want better?" she asks quietly. "What if I want exactly this? What if I want you?"

The words hit him like a physical blow, stealing the breath from his lungs and making his vision blur. This is his worst nightmare and deepest fantasy all rolled into one—Aria Moretti, beautiful and forbidden and completely off-limits, telling him she wants him.

"You don't know what you're asking for," he says desperately, his last line of defense crumbling. "You don't understand what I am, what I've done—"

"I know you're my father's enforcer," she interrupts. "I know you've killed people. I know you're dangerous." She reaches out then, her fingertips barely grazing his chest, and the simple touch sends electricity shooting through his entire nervous system. "I also know you're gentle with children and kind to the staff. I know you've protected this family for sixteen years. I know you read poetry when you think no one's watching."

The last observation stops him cold. "How do you—"

"I pay attention," she says simply. "I've been paying attention to you for years, Dominic. Watching you, learning you, wanting you." Her hand spreads flat against his chest, right over his racing heart. "And I know you want me too, no matter how hard you try to deny it."

The touch of her palm against his chest is like fire, burning through the expensive cotton of his shirt and searing his skin beneath. He should pull away, should put distance between them, should do any number of things that would preserve what's left of his sanity.

Instead, he covers her hand with his own, pressing it more firmly against his chest so she can feel the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat.

"This is insane," he whispers, but his voice carries no conviction, only desperate longing.

"Maybe," she agrees, her eyes never leaving his. "But it's also inevitable. We both know it. We've known it for years, maybe longer."

She's right, and the knowledge terrifies him. This attraction, this need, this impossible wanting—it's been building between them for longer than he wants to admit. Every careful distance he'd maintained, every professional boundary he'd erected, every rational reason he'd given himself to stay away—all of it has been nothing more than delaying the inevitable.

"Your father would kill me," he says, grasping for any argument that might penetrate the haze of desire clouding his judgment.

"Only if he found out." Aria's smile turns wicked, full of promises and threats in equal measure. "And who's going to tell him?"

The question hangs between them like a challenge, like a dare, like the first domino waiting to fall. Dominic stares into her eyes and sees his own destruction reflected there, beautiful and terrible and absolutely inescapable.

His thumb traces across her knuckles where their hands are joined against his chest, and he watches her eyes flutter closed at the simple caress. Such an innocent touch, but it feels like crossing a line from which there's no return.

"Aria," he breathes her name like a prayer and a curse combined.

When she opens her eyes again, they're dark with desire and bright with victory. She knows she's won this round, knows his defenses are crumbling faster than he can rebuild them.

"Yes?" The single word is loaded with invitation, with possibility, with the promise of things that could destroy them both.

And standing there in the courtyard with her hand pressed against his heart and her eyes full of dangerous promises, Dominic Romano struggles to acknowledge the truth he's been running from for years: he's already lost.