Chapter 3 COWARD
Aria POV
The lock clicked again at sunrise.
I hadn't slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I kept replaying Dante Blackwood’s parting look—that absolute, terrifying certainty in his dark gaze.
The door swung open, and a young woman with a sharp jawline and a tray of food stepped inside. She paused, eyeing me up and down.
"Eat," she said, setting the tray on the dresser before I could open my mouth.
"I'm not hungry."
"You're going to need your strength if you plan on surviving this place," she replied, her tone surprisingly neutral. Not unkind, but hardened by the atmosphere of the compound. "My name is Maya. I handle supplies. And before you ask—no, there's no backdoor, and yes, Dante will notice if you try to pick the lock."
I stared at her. "How long am I staying here?"
Maya offered a grim little smile. "Until Ethan shows his face. Or until Dante gets tired of waiting. Either way, don't hold your breath."
She turned and walked out, the door shutting behind her with that familiar, soul-crushing click.
I looked at the tray: black coffee, a bagel, and fruit. Simple, but more than I expected from a biker gang holding a prisoner. I ignored the food, crossed the room, and tested the window bars again. Solid iron. Deeply embedded in the concrete.
Fine. If I couldn't break out, I would figure out how to navigate my way through.
An hour later, the door unlocked once more. This time, it wasn't Maya.
It was Carlos—the guy with the ice pack taped across his nose. He rubbed the bridge of it gingerly, wincing as he looked at me.
"The boss wants to see you," Carlos grunted.
"Tell your boss I'm busy."
"I'm not telling him that," Carlos said flatly. "And you don't want to keep him waiting. Trust me, nobody keeps Dante waiting twice."
I didn't want to give them the satisfaction of making me cower, but I also knew being locked in that room would get me nowhere. I squared my shoulders, smoothed down my clothes, and motioned for him to lead the way.
We walked down the long corridor and descended the metal staircase into the main clubhouse. It was quieter now than it had been the night before; only a few mechanics worked on bikes near the open garage doors, and the smell of grease and old beer hung thick in the air.
Carlos led me past the main room and down a narrower, cleaner hallway at the back of the compound. He stopped in front of a heavy oak door—a stark contrast to the metal and concrete everywhere else—and knocked twice before pushing it open.
"She's here."
"Send her in."
Dante's voice cut through the space. Carlos stepped aside, gesturing for me to enter. I didn't hesitate. I walked right past him and into the office, letting the heavy door slam shut behind me.
The room was surprisingly spacious. Bookshelves lined one wall, packed with ledgers and files. A massive oak desk sat in the center, littered with maps, paperwork, and a heavy laptop.
Dante sat behind the desk. He had shed his leather vest, wearing only a fitted black t-shirt that showed off the intricate tattoos wrapping around his forearms. He wasn't looking at me; he was studying a document spread out before him.
"Sit," he said, without looking up.
"I'd rather stand."
That finally made him raise his head. His dark eyes locked onto mine, unreadable and sharp. A slow, faint smirk touched the corner of his mouth.
"You really don't know how to do anything the easy way, do you?"
"I don't take orders from kidnappers," I fired back, stepping closer to the desk. "If you brought me here to intimidate me, you're wasting your time. Just tell me what kind of leverage you think you have, because Ethan isn't coming."
Dante leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers together. "You're lying."
"I'm not."
"Your voice hitched on the word isn't," Dante noted smoothly, standing up. He was taller than I realized, forcing me to tilt my chin up slightly to maintain eye contact. "You know as well as I do that Ethan is protective of you. He might be a thief and a traitor, but he raised you after your parents died. He doesn't have anyone else."
My chest tightened, but I forced my expression to remain blank. "You don't know anything about our family."
"I know everything I need to know about the people who cross me," Dante said, walking slowly around the edge of the desk. He stopped just a few feet away. The air between us suddenly felt heavy, charged with a strange, unpredictable tension. "Your brother took encrypted files containing every route, every contact, and every drop point my syndicate uses. He tried to sell them to the Morosov cartel."
The name dropped like a lead weight. Even I—outsider that I was—knew the Morosovs. They were butchers.
"If those files go public," Dante continued quietly, his gaze never leaving my face, "my entire operation goes up in smoke. People die. Loyal men lose everything. Do you think I'm just going to sit back and let him walk away with that?"
"No," I whispered, the reality of what Ethan had done finally sinking in. A cold dread pooled in my stomach. What were you thinking, Ethan?
"So," Dante closed the remaining distance between us, his voice dropping to a low, intimate hum. "You see why I can't just let you walk out that door?"
I swallowed hard, refusing to step back, though my heart was hammering against my ribs. "And keeping me hostage makes him surrender?"
"It brings him to the table," Dante corrected softly. "And when he gets here, he'll hand over the drives, or I will take them from his cold hands."
"And what happens to me then?" I challenged, my chin lifting defiantly. "Once you have what you want? Am I just collateral damage?"
Dante stared down at me for a long, agonizing moment. His gaze flicked briefly to my lips before rising back to meet my eyes. The intensity in his expression made it hard to breathe.
"When this is over," Dante murmured, his voice laced with a dangerous promise, "you'll go free."
"I won't hold my breath."
"You should," he replied, stepping close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. "Because right now, Aria... you're the only thing keeping your brother alive."
