Chapter 5

Aria's POV

The fluorescent lights of Sant'Anna Hospital flickered overhead as Sofia and I hurried down the sterile corridor toward the intensive care unit. My heart hammered against my ribs with each step.

Dr. Martinelli was waiting for us outside Jessica's room, his expression grave. Through the glass window, I could see my little sister's fragile form connected to a maze of tubes and machines, her chest rising and falling with mechanical assistance.

"Miss Rossi," the doctor said quietly, "I'm afraid Jessica's condition has deteriorated significantly. Her kidneys are failing, and we need to put her on dialysis immediately to buy us time."

"Time for what?" My voice came out as barely a whisper.

"For a kidney transplant. It's her only chance for long-term survival." He paused, studying my face carefully. "However, the dialysis machine alone costs three thousand euros per week. And that's just to maintain her current condition."

The number hit me like a physical blow. Three thousand euros. Per week. I made barely that much in a month at the bar, and that was assuming I still had a job after tonight's disaster.

"How long would she need it?" Sofia asked, her hand finding my shoulder in support.

"Until we can find a compatible donor and arrange surgery. Could be weeks, could be months." Dr. Martinelli's tone was professional but not unkind. "I know this is overwhelming, but without immediate intervention..."

He didn't need to finish the sentence. We all knew what he meant.

"I'll find the money," I said firmly, though I had no idea how. "Do whatever you need to do. Start the dialysis tonight."

Sofia squeezed my shoulder. "Aria, I have some savings. It's not much, but I can cover the first few days."

I turned to look at my best friend, tears blurring my vision. Sofia worked just as hard as I did, lived paycheck to paycheck just like everyone else in our world. Her offer meant she'd be sacrificing her own security for Jessica.

"I can't ask you to—"

"You're not asking. I'm offering." Her voice was fierce with determination. "Jessica is family. We take care of family."

Dr. Martinelli cleared his throat gently. "The payment for the first week needs to be settled before we can begin treatment."

Sofia was already reaching for her purse, pulling out a worn envelope. "I keep emergency money at home. This should cover the first few days, at least."

As she counted out the bills, my phone rang. The caller ID made my stomach drop: Enzo.

"I need to take this," I mumbled, stepping away from the others.

"Aria." Enzo's voice was strained, defeated. "I'm sorry, kid. I really am. But I got word from upstairs. You're done. Don't come back to the bar."

The phone slipped from my numb fingers, clattering to the hospital floor. The sound seemed to echo endlessly in the quiet hallway.

"Aria?" Sofia was beside me instantly, having heard the phone hit the ground. "What happened?"

I stared at the broken screen of my phone, seeing my own reflection fractured into a dozen pieces. "I'm fired."

The words felt surreal coming out of my mouth. After everything—all the humiliation, all the nights I'd gone home feeling dirty and ashamed, all the plans I'd made about working extra shifts to save money for Jessica—it was over.

"What?" Sofia's voice rose sharply. "They can't fire you over an accident!"

"They can do whatever they want." I bent to pick up my phone, noting absently that the screen was spider-webbed with cracks. "Men like the Cavalieris don't forgive, Sofia. They don't give second chances."

"Then I'll go talk to them. I'll explain what happened, tell them it was my fault for not training you properly."

The suggestion sent ice through my veins. I grabbed Sofia's arm, perhaps harder than necessary. "No. Absolutely not."

"But Aria—"

"You didn't see what happened tonight." My voice was low and urgent. "You didn't see him clean that gun like it was a ritual. You didn't see Valentina get carried out bleeding and broken. These aren't men you negotiate with, Sofia. They're predators."

Sofia's eyes searched my face, and I could see her picking up on something in my tone, some knowledge I wasn't sharing.

"How do you know so much about Damian Cavalieri?" she asked slowly.

I froze. The question hung in the air between us like a loaded weapon. How could I explain that night three weeks ago? How could I tell her that I'd seen another side of him—not just the cold, calculating businessman, but the man who could make me surrender completely with just a look?

The memory crashed over me unbidden.

I remembered walking into that hotel bar, drowning my sorrows in wine after another rejection letter, another door slammed in my face. I'd been so lost, so desperate for any kind of connection, any proof that I mattered to someone.

And then I'd seen him.

Even in a room full of powerful men, Damian Cavalieri had commanded attention without saying a word.

"You're drinking alone," he'd observed, his voice carrying that slight Italian accent that made everything sound like a command.

"Is that a crime?" I'd replied, surprised by my own boldness.

"Dangerous," he'd said simply, his dark eyes never leaving mine. "A woman like you shouldn't be alone in a place like this."

"And what kind of woman am I?"

His smile had been slow, dangerous. "Lost. Desperate. Looking for something you don't even know you want."

The accuracy of his assessment had stolen my breath. Within an hour, I was in his hotel room, and everything I thought I knew about myself had crumbled under his touch.

I remembered the moment when everything shifted—when his hand had cupped my face, forcing me to meet his gaze even as my body trembled with need and fear.

"Look at me," he'd commanded. "When you're with me, you look at me. Do you understand?"

I'd nodded, unable to speak, unable to do anything but obey.

"Say it," he'd demanded. "Tell me you understand."

"I understand," I'd whispered, my voice breaking.

"Good girl." The praise had sent electricity through my entire body. "Now tell me what you want."

"I don't know—"

"Yes, you do."He tied my hands and legs apart and tied them to the four corners of the bed, and slowly rolled up his shirt sleeves.

His riding crop slid across my pussy.

I felt my pussy getting wet, and water was dripping down my thighs.

He whipped me lightly with the riding whip and ordered me: "Tell me. What do you want?"