1. Aria #3
“Yes.” No point in softening it now.
Something flickers across his face—hurt, maybe, or rage. “So instead you gave him this.” He gestures around the shabby gallery. “Poverty. Hunger. Charity food.” He growls. “You call that better?”
The accusation stings because there’s truth in it and I wince.
I’ve done everything I could, worked myself to exhaustion, but it’s never been enough.
Daniel’s had to go without so many things. New clothes. Regular meals.
The stability every child deserves.
But he’s had me. He’s had love. And he’s been safe from bullets and blood and men who kill without hesitation.
“I did the best I could,” I say quietly. I refuse to be cowed by this man. I’ve done everything to keep Daniel safe.
“Well, your best wasn’t good enough.” He shoots back coldly.
“You kept my son from me for seven years. You stole my heir. You let him suffer when he could have had everything.” He pauses, and I see the decision in his eyes before he says it.
“Now you’re both coming home with me—willingly or by force. Choose.”
It feels like all the air has been sucked from the room and my world blackens slightly before I get a grip of myself. “No.” I shake my head even though I’m internally screaming. “I’m not going anywhere with you. And neither is Daniel.”
“That wasn’t a request.” He pulls out his phone again. “I have a car waiting three blocks away. You have thirty minutes to pack what you need for the boy. Then we’re leaving.”
I gape at him. “You can’t just—we can’t just—”
“We can, and we are.” He looks up from his phone, and his eyes are hard.
“I’ve waited eight years to find you. I’ve spent five months watching my son from a distance, learning about him, mourning everything I’ve missed.
” His voice drops and the hair on the back of my neck rises.
“I’m not waiting another day. Pack your things, wake Daniel, and come with me. Or I’ll have my men do it for you.”
“And if I refuse?” I ask boldly. I already know the answer, but I have to ask.
“Then I’ll have them pick you both up tonight.
” He says it matter-of-factly, like he’s discussing the weather.
“You’ll wake up in a different city, in my home.
And you’ll never see this place again.” He pauses.
“I’d prefer you come willingly. It’ll be easier on Daniel.
But make no mistake, Aria—you’re both mine now.
The only question is whether we do this the hard way or the easy way. ”
My hands are shaking so badly I can barely stand.
Every instinct screams at me to fight, to run, to do something.
But what?
I have no money or friends/family.
I’ve burned every bridge to keep us hidden, and now that safety is gone.
“How do I know you won’t hurt us?” My voice is barely a whisper.
His expression softens, just slightly. “I would never hurt my son,” he says, as if he’s insulted. “Or you.” He adds on as if an afterthought. I don’t believe him.
“You’re a killer.” The words escape before I can stop them.
His eyes narrow and I want to die. “What did you say?”
Ice floods my veins. You fucking idiot. “Nothing,” I say quickly. “I didn’t—”
“No. You said something.” He moves around the counter, and I back up until I hit the wall. “You called me a killer. Why?”
My eyes dart around, looking for any potential exit. He shifts closer so I can only see him. “I—I just meant—”
“What do you know, Aria?” He’s close enough that I can smell his cologne. Cedar and leather. Achingly familiar. “What did you see that night?” His voice is low.
“Nothing.” The lie is automatic. “I didn’t see anything.”
“You’re lying.” His hand comes up, and I flinch. He freezes, something that might be pain flashing across his face. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says almost gently. “But I need to know what you saw. What scared you enough to run.”
I press my lips together and say nothing.
His face hardens. “Fine.” He steps back. “Keep your secrets. For now. But you’re still coming with me.” He glances at his watch. “Twenty-five minutes. After that, we’re leaving whether you’re ready or not.”
I want to argue, but I can see in his face that he means every word. And somewhere upstairs, my son is sleeping, innocent and unaware that his entire world is about to be torn apart.
Again.
“I’ll pack,” I hear myself say. “But I’m the one who wakes Daniel. I’m the one who explains this to him. Not you. Not your men. Me.”
He studies me for a long moment then nods once. “Fine. You have twenty-five minutes.”
He steps back, giving me space to move past him toward the stairs.
As I walk by, my arm brushes his, and I feel the same electric current that I felt eight years ago.
The same pull that made me fall for him in the first place.
I hate that it’s still there.
I hate that the stupid, irrational part of me is almost relieved that the running is over.
But mostly, I hate that I have no choice but to follow him into the darkness and pray that somewhere in the man I once loved there’s still something worth saving.
Because my son’s life depends on it.