Was she crying? Pacing? Planning escape? Or had she given up? Resigned herself to the nightmare future my father had planned?
No. Not Aria. She was stronger than that. Fierce. She'd fight until the very end.
But what if fighting wasn't enough? What if I couldn't get to her in time? What if the Council didn't act fast enough and she ended up my stepmother before I could stop it?
The thought made my stomach turn. Made rage and helplessness war in my chest.
I should have been smarter. Should have listened to Marco. Should have waited until morning to tell Aria about the recording. Should have controlled myself better instead of letting emotion override logic.
But I'd never been good at controlling myself around her. From that first night in the club, she'd obliterated every carefully constructed defense I'd built. Made me feel things I'd spent years suppressing. Made me want things I had no right to want.
Made me love her.
And love made me stupid. Made me reckless. Made me do insane things like step in front of bullets and challenge my father in his own study.
My mother had loved my father once. Before he'd shown her who he really was. Before the violence and control and cruelty had broken her spirit piece by piece.
She'd tried to leave. Packed bags for herself and me and Lia. Made plans to disappear.
He'd found out. Stopped her. Made it look like suicide when really he'd murdered her for daring to defy him.
I'd been fourteen. Old enough to know the truth even if I couldn't prove it. Old enough to start planning revenge that had taken twelve years to execute.
And now, when I was so close to bringing him down, he'd taken the one thing that mattered more than revenge.
He had Aria.
I couldn't let her end up like my mother. Couldn't let him break her. Couldn't fail her the way I'd failed to save my mom.
The night stretched on forever. Each hour feeling like ten. Pain and worry and guilt mixing into a toxic cocktail that made rest impossible.
I thought about Aria constantly. The way she'd looked at me in the garden when we'd shared our first real conversation. The way she'd felt in my arms that night in the club. The way she'd said she loved me like the words cost her something.
The way she'd screamed my name when they dragged me out bleeding.
I'd promised her we'd survive this. Promised I'd save her. Promised a future that seemed more impossible with every passing hour.
But I meant those promises. Every single one.
I'd burn down the entire world to keep them. Would paint this city in blood if that's what it took. Would sacrifice every principle, every rule, every piece of my soul if it meant she walked away free.
That's what love did. Made you willing to become a monster to protect the one person who made you feel human.
My father had taught me violence. Had trained me to separate emotion from action. Had turned me into a weapon he could point at his enemies.
But he'd forgotten one critical thing. Weapons don't care who they're aimed at.
And I was about to turn every lesson he'd taught me back on him.
Dawn finally broke. Gray light filtering through thecurtains. I hadn't slept. Hadn't even really rested. Just lay there planning. Preparing. Going over every detail of what needed to happen.
Marco knocked at six. Came in with coffee and a look that said he knew I hadn't slept.
"How's the arm?"
"Functional."
"That's not what I asked."
