Chapter 47: CAPTURED AGAIN
The night after their argument stretched endlessly. Aria sat curled up by the window, staring at the moonlit gardens she had once found soothing. Now they looked alien, shadowed and full of threats. She hadn’t spoken to Luca all day, hadn’t dared face him after hurling accusations that might never be forgiven.
The house was quieter than usual. Too quiet. She assumed Luca had ordered extra guards after their fight, but when she glanced from her balcony, she noticed fewer men patrolling the grounds. That struck her as odd, but she told herself it wasn’t her business anymore. She was too tangled in heartbreak to care about strategy.
Sometime after midnight, exhaustion pulled her under.
The sound of glass shattering ripped her awake. Before she could scream, a gloved hand clamped over her mouth. Shadows moved in the darkness, three, maybe four men, faces hidden beneath black masks. Panic surged through her veins. She thrashed, but one of them pressed a cold blade against her throat.
"Quiet, princess," a voice hissed. "Or the Don won’t get you back in one piece."
Terror gripped her. She tried to call for Luca, but the hand muffled her cries. They tied her wrists swiftly, gagged her, and dragged her toward the balcony. Her heart pounded, how had they gotten inside? Where were the guards?
They lowered her down with a rope, swift and efficient, like soldiers trained for this very moment. Within minutes she was shoved into the back of a van parked just beyond the estate’s walls.
Her last glimpse of the mansion was of its tall, proud silhouette shrinking into the distance, unaware its queen had been stolen.
The ride was long, jarring, and suffocating. The van reeked of gasoline and sweat. Aria’s wrists burned against the rope, her body trembling as fear battled fury. She had sworn never to be a victim again after the first kidnapping. And yet, here she was, bound, gagged, helpless.
Is this what my life will always be? A pawn to be taken and traded?
They finally stopped in what sounded like an abandoned warehouse. She was dragged inside, blindfold ripped away, and shoved into a chair. Dim light flickered from a single bulb overhead. Rusty chains lined the walls.
One of the men pulled down his mask. Recognition jolted through her, he was from the Romano family, a rival syndicate that had been circling Lucas’ territory for months.
"Well, well," he sneered. "The infamous bride of the DeLuca Don. You’re even prettier up close."
She glared, refusing to give him the satisfaction of fear.
Another man stepped forward, holding up his phone. "We’ll send him a little message. A picture, maybe a video. Remind him what happens when he thinks he can’t be touched."
The leader smirked. "We don’t just want money. We want blood. The great Luciano DeLuca will crawl on his knees for his darling wife or watch us carve her name into history another way."
The words chilled her. This wasn’t just about ransom. It was about humiliation. A power play to break Luca.
Meanwhile, at the DeLuca mansion, chaos erupted when Luca realized she was gone.
He had lingered outside her locked door half the night, hoping she’d open it, hoping she’d believe him. But when the sun rose and there was still silence, he forced himself to walk away. Pride, maybe. Or fear that if he pushed, she’d only hate him more.
When one of his men came running with news of a broken balcony lock, pride turned to horror. He stormed into her room, finding the overturned chair, the shards of glass, the rope fibers scattered across the floor.
"Where is she?" His roar shook the walls.
No one dared answer. Guards scrambled, phones rang, Matteo barked orders. But Luca stood frozen, chest heaving, as guilt tore him apart.
She thought I betrayed her. And now she’s gone again.
Back in the warehouse, Aria sat chained to the chair, refusing food, refusing water. Every time one of them touched her, her stomach twisted with revulsion, but she forced herself not to cry. She wouldn’t give them the victory of seeing her break.
When they finally recorded the video, she kept her chin high. They forced her to speak, demanding she call out for Luca, beg him to save her. But she spat the words like poison.
"Don’t come for me," she said, glaring into the camera. "If you do, they’ll kill you. And I don’t want your blood on my hands."
The Romano men laughed, but beneath their mockery, she saw a flicker of unease. She wasn’t playing the role they wanted. She wasn’t the helpless little pawn.
The video arrived on Luca’s private line less than an hour later.
He watched it in silence, Matteo at his side. Aria’s face appeared on screen, pale but unbroken, her eyes hard as steel. When she told him not to come, something in his chest shattered.
"She’s protecting you," Matteo muttered.
Lucas’ jaw clenched. "No. She’s begging me to be smarter than them."
For the first time in years, he felt powerless. Money couldn’t solve this. Brutality couldn’t fix it. If he rushed in, they’d kill her. If he hesitated, they’d break her.
"She’s the Don’s wife," Matteo reminded him, voice cold. "If you don’t move, the entire city will see weakness."
Luca’s hand curled into a fist. "Then I’ll move. But not like they expect."
Hours passed in the warehouse. Aria’s resolve began to fray. Exhaustion weighed on her, her wrists raw from struggling against the chains.
One of the Romano men crouched beside her, whispering in her ear. "Do you really think he’ll come? He doesn’t care about you. You’re just a contract, a pawn he can trade away. If he wanted you, he’d be here already."
Her throat tightened. The cruel voice echoed her darkest doubts, the ones she hadn’t been able to silence since hearing Luca and Matteo speak.
But then she remembered the way his eyes had burned when he swore he’d never let anyone touch her again. The way he had stood outside her door all night, silent and patient, even after she accused him.
Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back. "He’ll come," she whispered, surprising herself with how certain she sounded.
The man laughed. "We’ll see."
By midnight, the Romani received a response, one that shocked them.
Lucas himself had sent a message: Set the terms. Name your price. But if you harm her, there won’t be enough of your family left to bury.
The men jeered, tossing their phones aside. They thought they had him exactly where they wanted.
But Aria caught the look in their eyes, that flicker of unease again. They weren’t as confident as they pretended. Somewhere in the distance, the game had already shifted.
Alone in the darkness after they left her, Aria closed her eyes. For the first time since the kidnapping, she let herself believe Lucas would find her. Not because he was a Don, not because it was his duty, but because, despite the lies, despite the betrayals, something between them had always been real.
And she clung to that, even as footsteps echoed back into the room, even as the door slammed open and a new figure stepped out of the shadows.
"Hello, Aria," a familiar voice purred.
Her blood ran cold.
It wasn’t just the Romano family. It was Isabella.
Isabella’s silhouette cut through the dim light like a blade, her designer coat draped over one arm, heels clicking against the concrete floor with deliberate slowness. Her smile was all sharp edges, lipstick a slash of crimson against her pale skin. Aria’s mind reeled, fragments of old conversations surfacing, the venomous whispers at galas, the way Isabella had always circled Luca like a shark scenting blood.
"You look surprised," Isabella said, tilting her head as she approached. She waved off the Romano guard hovering nearby, who retreated with a grunt. "Did you think I was done meddling in your little fairy tale? Oh, darling, I’m just getting started."
Aria’s chains rattled as she strained forward, her voice muffled by the gag but her eyes blazing with questions. How? Why? Isabella had been Luca’s ex, a discarded flame from his wilder days, before the marriage alliance bound him to Aria. She’d vanished from the social whirl after the wedding, or so everyone assumed. Now here she was, orchestrating shadows.
Isabella knelt gracefully, her manicured fingers brushing Aria’s cheek in a mockery of tenderness. "Shh, don’t strain yourself. These brutes aren’t as refined as I like, but they serve their purpose." She untied the gag with a flick of her wrist, letting it fall like discarded silk. Aria gasped, tasting stale air and the metallic tang of fear.
"What do you want?" Aria croaked, her throat raw. "Luca will kill you for this."
Isabella laughed, a sound like breaking crystal. "Luca? My sweet, blind Luca. He never saw me coming, not then, and not now. This isn’t about him anymore. It’s about you. The perfect little wife, stealing everything I deserved. The power, the respect, the man. But tonight, we rewrite that ending."
She stood, pacing slowly, her shadow stretching long across the grimy floor. "The Romanos think they’re the villains here, pawns in their petty turf war. Fools. I fed them the intel, the weak spots in your security. A few bribes, a whispered promise of DeLuca’s empire split between us. They jumped at it like starving dogs."
Aria’s stomach churned. Betrayal layered on betrayal. "You’re insane. He’ll find out. He’ll end you."
"Perhaps." Isabella’s eyes gleamed with something feral. "But by then, it’ll be too late. See, I know Luca better than you ever will. He charges in, all fire and fury, because that’s what he does. He saves the day, claims the girl. But this time, I’ve rigged the trap. Hidden cameras in every corner, triggers on those chains. One wrong move, and..." She mimed an explosion with her fingers, nails glinting like knives.
Outside, in the DeLuca war room, Luca pored over maps and burner phones, his mind a storm of calculations. Matteo had pulled strings, tracing the van’s plates to an old Romano safehouse on the docks. But something gnawed at him, a whisper of deeper rot. Isabella’s name surfaced in a low-level informant’s ramble, dismissed at first as grudge-fueled gossip. Now it stuck, a thorn in his gut.
"Check her," Luca snapped, slamming a fist on the table. "Every call, every wire transfer. If she’s in this, I want proof before dawn."
Matteo nodded, already dialing. "On it. But Luca, if she is... Aria’s not just bait. She’s the spark."
Luca’s vision blurred with rage, memories flooding: Isabella’s clingy embraces, her tears when he walked away, the way she’d clawed for relevance even after. He’d underestimated her venom once. Not again.
Back in the warehouse, Isabella leaned close, her perfume cloying, floral and poisonous. "Tell me, Aria, does it hurt? Knowing you’re nothing without him? I could have been his queen, but you... you’re just the collateral."
Aria met her gaze, summoning steel from the embers of her fear. "You’re wrong. I’m not collateral. I’m the reason he fights. And when he comes, it won’t be for glory. It’ll be for me. For us."
Isabella’s smile faltered, just for a heartbeat. Then she straightened, signaling the guards. "Enjoy your illusions, pet. Dawn’s coming, and with it, your unraveling."
As the door clanged shut behind her, Aria sagged against the chains, breath ragged. But in the quiet, a new fire kindled. Isabella’s jealousy was a crack in the facade, a weakness Luca could exploit. She just had to hold on, buy time. Whispers of rescue echoed in her mind, distant but growing louder, like thunder rolling over the bay.