Mafia's Surrogate Bride Chapter 89

Aria’s POV

They saw me. They know I saw them.

The rational part of my mind tried to reassure me that it was just an affair, that plenty of powerful men had inappropriate relationships, that this wasn't necessarily life-threatening information. But the instinctual part of me—the part that had survived twenty-one years in a world where knowledge could be deadly—screamed at me to run.

Now.

I turned and fled before either of them could speak, my heart hammering against my ribs so violently I thought it might burst. The elegant emerald gown that had made me feel sophisticated just hours earlier now felt like a trap, its flowing fabric catching on bushes and slowing my escape. Behind me, I could hear voices—urgent, angry—but I didn't dare look back.

What if they follow me? What if they catch me? What if they decide I know too much?

I'd heard whispers about what happened to people who possessed inconvenient information about the crime families. Bodies that disappeared in the night. Accidents that weren't really accidents. Silence bought with blood.

My breath came in sharp, panicked gasps as I crashed through the carefully manicured gardens, no longer caring about maintaining any pretense of dignity or composure. The only thing that mattered was putting distance between myself and that grove, between myself and the secret I'd accidentally witnessed.

I should never have come here. I should never have left my room. I should never have—

A low-hanging branch caught in my hair, jerking me backward. I yanked free with a cry of frustration, not caring about the strands that pulled loose. Then my foot caught in the trailing hem of my gown.

I went down hard.

The impact drove the breath from my lungs, and I felt the delicate lace of my dress tear with a sound like ripping silk. Pain shot through my palms where they scraped against the stone pathway, and my knees burned through the torn fabric.

But it was another sound that made my heart skip a beat—a soft snap followed by the gentle chime of something small hitting the ground.

No.

I looked down to see the crimson threads scattered across the white stones of the path. My red cord—the one I'd worn around my ankle since childhood, the one the nuns at Saint Anna's had told me was there when they found me—lay broken beside me, its intricate braided pattern now unraveled and destroyed.

For a moment, the terror gave way to a different kind of anguish. That cord had been my only connection to whatever family had brought me into this world, the only clue to my origins that I'd ever possessed. Sister Maria had always said the weaving technique was unusual, possibly significant, that someone who cared about me had placed it there.

"This cord tells a story, little one," she'd said with her gentle smile. "Someday, when you're ready, perhaps you'll discover what story that is."

But what did it matter now? What did any of it matter?

I was alone. I had always been alone. The fantasy that somewhere out there was a family who had loved me enough to leave me with a token of their affection was exactly that—a fantasy. I was nobody, from nowhere, with nothing but my own wits to keep me alive.

And right now, those wits were telling me to run.

I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the burning pain in my palms and knees. The broken cord lay scattered on the stones like drops of blood, but I couldn't afford to gather the pieces. Every second I wasted was another second for them to find me.

Find somewhere safe. Find help. Find—

I rounded a corner in the garden path and collided with what felt like a wall of warm, solid muscle. Strong hands caught my arms before I could fall again, steadying me with a grip that was firm but not painful.

"Aria?"

The familiar voice made me look up through tears I hadn't realized I was shedding. Damian's dark eyes met mine, and for a moment I felt like I could breathe again.

"Damian," I gasped, not caring how desperate I sounded. Without thinking, without considering propriety or boundaries or the complex nature of our relationship, I threw my arms around him and pressed my face against his chest.

He went very still for a heartbeat, as if my spontaneous embrace had shocked him. Then his arms came around me, one hand settling at the small of my back while the other moved to cradle the back of my head with surprising gentleness.

"Cosa è successo?" he murmured in Italian, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. "What happened, piccola?"

The endearment—little one—spoken in that tone of protective concern, made me tremble. I buried my face deeper against his chest, inhaling his scent of expensive cologne and something uniquely masculine that made me feel safer than I had any right to feel.

"I saw..." I started, then stopped, my voice catching. "I saw something I shouldn't have seen."

His hand stilled in my hair for just a moment. "What did you see?"

I pulled back enough to look at him, and the words tumbled out in a broken whisper: "Ricardo and Benedetta."

Understanding flickered in his dark eyes, followed by something that might have been resignation. He glanced around us, ensuring we were alone, then gently but firmly placed a finger against my lips.

"Shh," he whispered. "Ascoltami attentamente—listen to me carefully. This matter stops with me. It goes no further. Do you understand?"

I nodded against his finger, but the terror was rising again. "They saw me. They know I was there. What if they—what if they—"

"What if they kill you?" he finished quietly.

The blunt way he said it—acknowledging my fear instead of dismissing it—somehow made it both more real and less terrifying. He understood the danger. He wasn't going to lie to me or treat me like a child who didn't comprehend the gravity of the situation.

I nodded again, unable to speak past the tightness in my throat.

Damian studied my face for a long moment, taking in my torn dress, my scraped palms, the tears streaking down my cheeks. When he spoke again, his voice carried that particular tone I'd heard him use before.

"Look at me, Aria."

I met his eyes.

"You're crying like a frightened little kitten that got lost in the rain," he said, but there was no mockery in his words. Instead, there was something almost tender, as if my tears affected him in ways he hadn't expected. "All dirty and shaking and convinced the world is going to end."

His thumb moved to wipe away a tear from my cheek, the gesture so gentle it made my breath hitch.

"But you know what?" he continued, his voice dropping to that low, soothing tone that seemed to reach something deep inside me. "Even lost little kittens can find their way to safety. Even frightened girls can learn to be brave."

God, why does his voice make me feel like this? Why does he make me feel protected and cared for when I should be running from him too?

"I don't know how to be brave," I whispered. "I'm not like you. I don't know how to survive in this world."

"You don't have to survive alone," he said firmly. "Do you remember what Antonio offered you tonight?"

"The adoption," I said, my voice barely audible.

"Sì. The adoption." His hands moved to frame my face, forcing me to maintain eye contact. "If you accept his offer, you become untouchable. You become family. And in our world, famiglia means protection."

"But I told him no. I said I needed time to think."

"Then call him," Damian said simply. "Tell him you've thought about it. Tell him yes."

The logic was undeniable. As long as I remained Aria Rossi—nobody from nowhere—I was vulnerable. I was expendable. But as a Monterosso, even an adopted one, I would have the protection of one of the most powerful families in Italy.

It means giving up any chance of a normal life. It means becoming part of this world forever.

But what normal life had I ever really had?

"They won't hurt me if I'm Antonio's granddaughter," I said slowly.

"They wouldn't dare," Damian confirmed. "Antonio Monterosso's family is sacred. Even his enemies know better than to threaten what belongs to him."

I took a shuddering breath, feeling some of the terror begin to subside. "And you think he'll still want to adopt me after... after I ran away?"

Something that might have been a smile flickered at the corners of Damian's mouth. "Antonio has wanted to protect you since the moment he met you. Nothing has changed except that now he has even more reason to make it official."

He was right, I realized. Antonio's offer hadn't been casual or conditional. It had come from some deep place of genuine affection and protective instinct. My momentary panic wouldn't change that.

"Okay," I whispered. "I'll call him."

"Brava ragazza," Damian murmured, his approval evident in both his voice and the way his thumbs traced gentle circles on my cheekbones. "Good girl."

"Will you stay with me when I call him?" I asked, hating how small my voice sounded but unable to hide my need for his presence.

"If that's what you need," he said simply.