Chapter 5 my father’s Pinky ring.

Aria’s POV.

I sat on the edge of the bed, the velvet ring box open in my hand, my father’s pinky ring staring back at me, blood crusted along its gold band. The note beside it was in Enzo’s sharp handwriting.

My stomach twisted, part fear and part something else I would rather not name, something that felt like a pulse between my thighs. What had Enzo done to my father? Was he dead, beaten, or just humiliated like I was? The blood could mean anything, but the note meant Enzo wanted me to wonder, to dread what tomorrow held.

I traced the ring’s edge, my mind racing, trying to piece together what game he was playing. Was this revenge or something bigger? I hated how my body buzzed with a strange excitement, like I was waiting for his next move and craving it even.

I couldn’t stay here, staring at this ring like some scared little girl. I needed answers, now. The house was quiet, too quiet, like the kind of silence that made you feel watched.

I slipped off the bed, still in the black slip from earlier, the collar tight around my neck, just a reminder of how I’d let him mark me. My bare feet hit the cool floor and I moved to the door, easing it open and checking the hallway.

Nothing but shadows and the faint smell of his cologne lingering like he’d just been here. I crept down the corridor, with my heart pounding and toward the study where I’d seen him disappear before. If he was hiding something, I’d find it.

The study door was ajar and a sliver of light was spilling out. I pressed myself against the wall, listening. Enzo’s voice, low and sharp, came through, speaking Italian too fast for me to catch every word, but I heard “deal” and “fucked up” and my father’s name.

My breath caught. He was on a call, pacing, his shadow moving across the floor. I peeked through the crack, saw him in a black shirt, sleeves rolled up, tattoos dark on his forearms and phone pressed to his ear. “No, we move now,” he said, voice like steel, “or the De Luca empire falls tonight.” My chest tightened. Was he planning to destroy my family completely? I pushed the door open, not caring if he saw me.

He turned, eyes locking on mine, but he didn’t stop talking. “Handle it,” he said into the phone, then hung up, tossing it onto the desk. “Aria,” he said, calm but dangerous, “you should be sleeping.” I stepped inside, holding the ring box up, blood glinting in the dim light.

“What did you do to him?” I asked, my voice steady even though my hands shook. He didn’t answer, just walked closer, his gaze flicking to the collar, then back to my face.

“You don’t get to ask questions yet,” he said, stopping inches away, close enough I could feel his heat. “I’m not your fucking pet,” I snapped, shoving the box against his chest. “Tell me.”

His hand caught my wrist, not hard, but firm, holding me there. “You want the truth?” he said, voice low. “Then earn it.” Something snapped inside me, anger mixing with that damn heat I couldn’t shake.

If he thought he could control me with secrets and blood, I’d show him I could play dirtier courtesy of all the movies, novels and articles I have been reading and watching.

I dropped to my knees, right there on the study floor, my hands reaching for his belt and his eyes widened, just for a second, before narrowing. “What are you doing?” he asked, but he didn’t move away. “Punishing you to earn the truth,” I said, yanking his pants open, my fingers finding him already hard. I didn’t wait for permission and didn’t care if he wanted it. This was my move and my way to make him talk.

I took him in my mouth, slow at first, tasting the salt of his skin, and feeling him tense under my hands. His fingers tangled in my hair, not gentle, pulling just enough to make me gasp around him.

“Fuck, Aria,” he groaned, but I didn’t stop, moving faster and sucking harder, my tongue swirling over him. I wanted him to lose control, to spill secrets with every thrust. He gripped my hair tighter, guiding my pace, taking over and I hated how much I liked it, how my body ached for more. My lips stretched around him, wet and messy, my knees digging into the hardwood and the collar rubbing my throat. “You think this gets you answers?” he said, voice rough, but he was breathing hard and losing it. I pulled back just enough to speak, my lips brushing his cock. “Tell me, or I stop.”

He laughed, low and dark, then yanked me up, spinning me to face the desk. My palms hit the wood and the ring box falls, blood smearing the surface. “You don’t make demands,” he said, his hand sliding under my slip, finding me bare, already wet.

I bit my lip, hating myself for wanting this, for wanting him to keep going. His fingers teased me with slow circles that made my legs shake, but he didn’t give me what I needed.

“What did you do to my father?” I gasped, trying to hold onto my anger. He leaned in with his mouth against my ear. “Not dead,” he said, “but he will be, unless you play nice.” My heart stopped. Not dead? Then why the blood?

Before I could ask, his fingers pushed inside me, hard and fast, stealing my breath. I moaned so loud that my body was arching against the desk, papers scattering.

He fucked me with his hand, relentlessly, while his other hand tugged the collar, reminding me who held the leash. “You’re mine,” he said, “and you’ll learn to like it.”

I wanted to scream that I wasn’t, but my body betrayed me, clenching around him and chasing the edge. I came hard, shaking, my nails scratching the desk, hating him and hating myself more. He didn’t stop, drawing it out until I was panting and wrecked. “Good girl,” he murmured, pulling his hand away, while leaving me empty.

I turned with my legs weak, ready to demand more, but he picked up the ring box, opened it and pulled out the note. “Look closer,” he said, holding it up.

I grabbed it with my hands still trembling and saw it: faint scratches under the ink, a hidden message only visible in the light. “De Luca ordered your death,” it read, in my father’s own writing, a code I’d seen him use before. I was so confused and choose not to believe it. I told myself that it’s Enzo’s hand work to turn me totally from my father, but at the same time I asked myself if this is true.

My blood ran cold. Not just a trade with Luca, but a kill order? My own father wanted me dead? I looked at Enzo, his face unreadable. “Why show me this?” I asked, voice shaking. “Because I’m not the monster you think,” he said, “but I’m still keeping you.”

My mind spun, trying to make sense of it. Was Enzo protecting me from my father’s plan, or using me to destroy him? The ring’s blood wasn’t my father’s death; it was a warning and a piece of his betrayal.

I wanted to scream and to hit him, but that heat in my core wouldn’t let go. I stepped closer, my slip barely covering me and grabbed his shirt, pulling him into a deep kiss, rough, all teeth and need.

He kissed me back, hands gripping my hips, while lifting me onto the desk. I wrapped my legs around him, grinding against him, wanting to punish him for making me feel this way, for making me question everything.

His hands slid up my thighs, pushing the slip higher, exposing me completely. “You want to fight me?” he said, breaking the kiss, his fingers digging into my skin.

“Then fight.” I didn’t answer, just reached for him again, stroking him through his pants, feeling him harden under my touch. I wanted control, even if it was just for a moment.

I slid off the desk, back to my knees, taking him in my mouth again, faster this time, my hands gripping his thighs. He groaned, his head tilting back, but he didn’t let me lead for long.

His hand fisted in my hair, setting the pace, fucking my mouth like he owned it. I gagged, tears stinging my eyes, but I didn’t pull away, didn’t want to.

The thrill of it, the power and the shame burned through me. He pulled me up again, bending me over the desk, my chest pressed against the wood, the ring box inches from my face.

“You’re going to scream for me,” he said, his voice a low growl, and I felt him behind me, hard, ready. He didn’t enter me, not yet, just teased, rubbing his dick against my vagina, making me beg without words.

“Say it,” he demanded, his hand smacking my thigh, sharp but not cruel. “I’m not yours,” I gasped, even as my body arched, wanting him inside. He laughed, then pushed in, slow and deep, stretching my still-tight hole until I couldn’t breathe.

I moaned loudly, the desk creaking under us and my nails digging into the wood. He fucked me hard, each thrust a claim, a punishment and a promise. I hated how much I needed it, how my body shook and how it's chasing another release.

I came again, crying out, my legs trembling, but he didn’t stop, driving into me until I thought I’d break. “You’re mine,” he said, his voice rough, close to the edge.

I didn’t answer, couldn’t, my mind blank with pleasure and rage. He finished with a grunt, pulling out, leaving me panting and sprawled across the desk. I turned to face him with my slip tangled and my body slick with sweat.

“Why save me?” I asked, voice hoarse. He didn’t answer, just adjusted his pants and his eyes darkened. “You’ll see,” he said, stepping back.

Before I could push for more, a knock sounded at the door, sharp and urgent. I froze, my heart jumping.

Enzo’s face changed, not scared, but alert, like he’d been expecting this. He walked to the door, his hand brushing my arm as he passed, a touch that felt too soft for what we’d just done.

“Stay quiet,” he said, opening the door just a crack. I couldn’t see who it was, but his body tensed, blocking my view. “What do you want?” he asked with his voice low.

A voice answered, familiar and chilling, like a voice I have had before. “We need to talk, Boss,” he said, “about her.” Enzo glanced back at me, his eyes hard and whispered, “Someone from your past.”