Chapter 9 Signora Lucia's

Aria's POV

Sunday morning arrived wrapped in golden light, the kind that made Rome look like something out of a Renaissance painting. Aria had been awake since six, cycling through three different outfits before settling on dark jeans and a soft gray sweater that somehow managed to be both casual and deliberate.

Dark enough to hide bloodstains, if that anonymous text had been serious.

She'd told herself this wasn't a date. Just coffee with a former patient. Professional. Innocent.

She'd never been a good liar, especially to herself.

By seven-forty, she was walking through the doors of Signora Lucia's café, the brass bell announcing her arrival. The morning crowd was light, a few regulars scattered at tables with newspapers and espresso. The air smelled like fresh bread and dark roast, comforting and familiar.

Too familiar. Too normal for what those anonymous messages had warned was coming.

"Buongiorno, Dottoressa." Signora Lucia looked up from behind the counter, her weathered face creasing into a knowing smile. "You're here early. And you look nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

"Of course not." Lucia's eyes sparkled with something that looked almost like concern. "That's why you've checked your phone three times since walking in and keep glancing at the door like you're expecting trouble."

Aria felt heat creep up her neck. "Just meeting someone for coffee."

"Someone who makes you look like you're preparing for battle, not breakfast." Lucia began preparing Aria's usual double espresso without being asked. "This someone... I hope he's worth whatever's coming."

The words made Aria's skin prickle. "What do you mean, whatever's coming?"

Lucia just smiled and set the espresso on the counter, then added a pastry Aria hadn't ordered. "On the house. For courage. You'll need it."

Before Aria could ask what that meant, the bell chimed.

And Dante Moretti walked in like he owned not just the café, but the entire city.

He wore black jeans and a charcoal henley that stretched across his shoulders in ways that should be illegal, his left arm no longer in a sling. The tattoos on his forearms were visible, ink against tan skin, and when his gaze found hers across the room, the intensity stole her breath.

But it was what happened next that made her pulse spike.

A second man entered behind Dante. Tall, scarred, with the kind of watchful eyes that missed nothing. He swept the café with a professional assessment, then took up position near the door.

Security. Dante had brought security to a coffee date.

Which meant somewhere in this café, Gavino was watching too. Just like the anonymous text had warned.

Aria took her coffee to the corner table, the one with a view of both the door and the street. Her surgeon's hands, usually so steady, trembled slightly as she lifted the cup.

Dante moved toward her with easy confidence, people shifting out of his way without seeming to realize they were doing it. Even Signora Lucia, who feared nothing and no one, watched him with cautious respect.

"Dottoressa." He stopped beside her table, and up close he was even more devastating. "I was worried you'd change your mind."

"I almost did." She gestured to the empty chair, keeping her voice steady despite her racing heart. "You brought a friend."

Dante's eyes flickered with something surprise, maybe, that she'd noticed. "Rome can be unpredictable on Sunday mornings. Just a precaution."

"Funny. My father uses the same logic." Aria watched his face carefully. "Security is always just a precaution. Until it isn't."

"Smart father." Dante sat, his movements measured in a way that told her he was still healing, still in some pain he refused to acknowledge. "But then, Bruno Salvini is known for being thorough."

The casual way he said her father's name made something cold slide down Aria's spine.

"You know my father?"

"I know of him. Art dealer, right? We move in similar circles." His smile was slight, controlled. "Rome's a small city when you're in certain businesses."

It sounded reasonable. Logical. But something about it felt rehearsed. Too smooth.

Signora Lucia appeared before Aria could press further, setting an espresso in front of Dante without asking what he wanted. "You look like a double espresso, no sugar, kind of man."

"Perceptive."

"I've been serving coffee for forty years. You learn to read people." Lucia's gaze moved between them, something knowing in her expression. "You two be careful. Rome is beautiful, but she's also treacherous. Especially when you're not paying attention."

She walked away, leaving those words hanging like a warning.

"She's cryptic," Aria said.

"She's right." Dante lifted his cup, his attention never leaving Aria's face. "So. Are we going to pretend this is a professional follow-up about my cardiac health? Or are we going to be honest about why we're really here?"

"Which is?"

"You can't stop thinking about me. And I can't stop thinking about you. And we both know this is probably a terrible idea, but we're here anyway." He leaned in slightly. "The question is: what are we going to do about it?"

The directness stole her breath. No games. No pretense. Just raw honesty that she wasn't prepared for.

"I'm not good at terrible ideas," she said quietly. "I make deliberate decisions. I don't take risks."

"Everyone takes risks. The question is what you're willing to risk and for what." He was close enough now that she could smell his cologne. "What are you risking by being here with me, Aria?"

The sound of her name in his voice did things to her nervous system.

"My peace of mind. My professional reputation. Probably my common sense." She met his gaze. "What are you risking?"

Something flickered in his eyes. Something that looked almost like conflict.

"Honestly? I don't know yet. But I'm willing to find out."

They sat in silence for a moment, the café humming with quiet conversation around them. Aria traced the rim of her cup, trying to organize thoughts that refused to be organized.

She should tell him about the photos. About the anonymous calls. About her father's conversation that she'd overheard.

But something held her back. Some instinct that warned once she opened that door, there would be no closing it.

"My father mentioned you last night," she said finally, testing the waters.

Dante went very still. Not obviously, but she'd spent enough time studying human bodies to notice the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tightened fractionally on his cup.

"Did he?"

"He seemed... concerned. Said I should be careful around men from Rome's underworld." She watched his face. "He warned me to stay away from dangerous people."

"Smart advice." Dante's voice was neutral, controlled. "Your father sounds protective."

"He is. Always has been." Aria paused. "It's strange though. The way he said your name. Like he knew you. Or knew of you. More than just passing familiarity."

"Like I said, we move in similar circles. He's probably heard things. Rumors. The kind of stories that get exaggerated in certain social circles."

It was a smooth deflection. Too smooth.

"What kind of stories?"

"The kind your father is right to want you to stay away from." Dante set down his cup. "I'm not a good man, Aria. I've done things that would probably horrify you. Made choices that can't be undone. Your father is right to warn you away from me."

"Then why are you here? Why pursue this if you think I should stay away?"

"Because some things are worth the risk." His gaze held hers, intense and unwavering. "And you... you're something I didn't expect. Something I'm not sure I know what to do with."

The honesty in his voice made her chest tight.

"I don't understand what this is," she admitted quietly. "I save lives. I follow rules. I don't get involved with patients, and I definitely don't get involved with men my father warns me about. But here I am."

"Here you are." Dante leaned forward, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. "The question is: what do you want to do about it?"

Aria opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, Dante's expression shifted. Subtle, barely noticeable, but she saw it. A flicker of pain crossing his features. His hand pressed flat against his sternum. His breathing changed, becoming shallow, controlled.

Her medical training kicked in instantly.

"What's wrong?" She was already reaching across the table, fingers finding his wrist, checking his pulse. Elevated. Irregular. Exactly what she'd feared. "Dante, what are you feeling?"

"It's nothing. Just—" He grimaced, his jaw tight. "My heart. It does this sometimes."

"Since the surgery?"

"Since this morning."

Aria's fingers moved to his neck, finding his carotid pulse. The rhythm was off, inconsistent. The Long QT Syndrome was acting up, probably triggered by stress.

"We need to get you to the hospital. Now."

"No." The word came out strained. "No ambulance. No hospital."

"Dante, you're experiencing arrhythmia. This is exactly what I warned you about." She was already pulling out her phone.

His hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her. Not rough, but firm. Desperate.

"Please. Just you. Help me. Please."

The vulnerability in that last word cracked something inside her. This man who projected nothing but strength, asking her for help.

Aria's mind raced, calculating options. Her apartment was two blocks away. She had a portable EKG monitor at home, emergency medications.

She could help him. She just had to get him there.

"Can you walk?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Then we're going to my apartment. Two blocks. I have equipment there." She stood, pulling him up with her. "But if you collapse, I'm calling emergency services. Understood?"

"Understood."

The scarred man Rocco was at their side immediately, taking some of Dante's weight without being asked.

They moved toward the door. Aria's eyes swept the street outside.

And froze.

Gavino stood across the street, leaning against a black car, watching everything with cold, professional interest.

Their eyes met.

Gavino pulled out his phone.

He was calling her father. Right now. Reporting that Bruno Salvini's daughter was helping a dangerous man to her apartment.

Reporting that she'd chosen a side.

"Move," Aria said, and they pushed through the door into the bright Roman morning.

As they half-carried Dante down the sidewalk, Aria's phone buzzed in her pocket.

Papa.

She ignored it.

Whatever happened next, whatever consequences came from this choice, she'd deal with them later.

Right now, Dante needed her.

And despite everything the warnings, the photos, the secrets, the lies she wasn't going to let him die.

Even if saving him destroyed everything else.