Chapter 2
The interior of the Ravello estate was as brilliantly lit as the gardens outside. Sunlight streamed through the massive skylights, casting a clean, neutral white light across the polished marble floors. The bright video colors of the expensive artwork and plush carpets were vivid and rich. Dominic walked with a slow, predatory grace, his polished leather shoes making almost no sound as he navigated the long corridors. The deeply masculine, unyielding aura around him caused the estate staff to immediately step aside, bowing their heads respectfully as he passed.
"Excuse me, Sarah," Dominic said, stopping a passing maid in the hallway. His voice was low, measured, and dangerously calm.
"Yes, Mr. Ravello?" the maid asked, her fair, rosy cheeks flushing with sudden anxiety under his intense, cold gaze. Her American accent trembled slightly.
"Have you seen Aria?" Dominic inquired. "She was scheduled to join the party."
"I saw her about twenty minutes ago, sir," Sarah answered quickly, eager to be helpful. "She was on the second floor. Miss Vivienne had dismissed the nanny, saying she wanted to spend some quality time with her future stepdaughter before the grand entrance."
Dominic’s jaw clenched so tightly the muscles ticked visibly beneath his fair skin. The charming, romantic look of the loose hair falling over his forehead was starkly juxtaposed against the absolute, murderous intent that instantly flickered behind his eyes.
"Vivienne dismissed the nanny?" Dominic repeated, the words dropping like heavy stones.
"Yes, sir," the maid nodded nervously. "I haven't seen them since."
"Return to your duties," Dominic commanded softly.
He didn't run, but his strides lengthened, eating up the distance to the grand staircase. He ascended the stairs, his mind racing through a hundred different scenarios. He had agreed to this engagement to secure a fragile peace with the Cross family syndicate, but he had established absolute, unbreakable rules regarding his three-year-old daughter. Aria was entirely off-limits. She was his heart, his blood, and the only remaining piece of his late wife.
As he reached the second-floor landing, the bright, natural light illuminated a long, quiet hallway.
"Aria?" Dominic called out, his deep American accent echoing slightly against the high ceilings.
There was no immediate answer. Dominic walked past the guest suites, his sharp ears straining for any sound. He approached the heavy mahogany doors of the master suite. They were slightly ajar.
"Aria, sweetheart, are you in there?" Dominic asked, his voice softening into a warm, paternal register that he reserved exclusively for his child.
A tiny, muffled whimper reached his ears.
Dominic pushed the door open. The room was bathed in bright, flawless light, offering no shadows to hide the heartbreaking scene. Three-year-old Aria was huddled in the far corner of the room, sitting on the plush carpet. She was dressed in her late mother’s old formal dress, a beautiful, delicate garment that had been carefully altered to fit her. She wore simple, polished flats on her tiny feet.
But as Dominic stepped fully into the room, the breath was completely knocked from his lungs.
"Aria," Dominic gasped, his voice cracking with a mixture of profound horror and an erupting, volcanic rage. He immediately dropped to his knees on the carpet, entirely disregarding his tailored dark three-piece suit.
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One entire shoulder of the delicate, vintage dress was violently torn, the fragile fabric hanging in jagged shreds. But infinitely worse was her fair, rosy face. Her left cheek was visibly, angrily swollen, the delicate skin bruised an ugly, mottled purple. Tears streamed down her face, her tiny chest heaving with silent, terrified sobs.
"Daddy," Aria whimpered, her tiny voice breaking as she looked up at him.
