Divorcing the Mafia Heir

Aria's POV

The west wing was ablaze.

Flames roared through the old corridor like a living thing, swallowing doors, curtains, furniture—anything in reach. Thick black smoke rolled along the ceiling and poured down the hallway, clawing into my lungs the moment I inhaled.

Children were crying everywhere.

Some had already been ushered outside into the courtyard, coughing and terrified. Others were still trapped deeper inside, their small voices cutting through the chaos as staff members scrambled to reach them.

“What happened?” I demanded hoarsely, grabbing the arm of one of the caretakers. “How did this start?”

She was crying so hard she could barely speak. “Your stepsister… she was in the kitchen. She kept tampering with the gas lines on the industrial cookers. We told her to stop. Then it just—” She broke down. “It exploded.”

For a split second, rage blinded me.

Camilla.

But fury could wait. The fire couldn’t.

“Get every child outside,” I ordered sharply. “Count them. I’ll sweep the rooms.”

Without waiting for a response, I plunged into the smoke.

The heat hit me instantly, searing my skin, stealing my breath. I covered my mouth with my sleeve and moved through the hallway, forcing open doors, calling out names.

“I’m here! Follow my voice!”

I found two boys huddled beneath a desk in one room, their faces streaked with soot. I dragged them out, one in each arm, ignoring the pain tearing through my muscles. My lungs burned with every breath, but I kept moving.

Room after room.

Child after child.

I didn’t stop.

My baby hadn’t been given a chance to live.

These children would.

Even if it cost me everything.

The fire spread faster than I expected. The ceiling above crackled ominously as embers fell around me. My vision blurred from smoke and exhaustion, but I forced myself deeper into the wing, checking the last rooms.

“Is anyone else inside?” I shouted, though my voice came out ragged.

No answer.

After a final sweep, I staggered back toward the main corridor, coughing violently as the smoke thickened.

I could barely see anymore. The air was heavy and suffocating. I kept one hand against the wall, feeling my way forward.

Then something slammed into me.

I stumbled backward, nearly falling.

“Camilla?” I choked.

She stood there, coughing, her face streaked with soot. Panic flashed across her features when she recognized me.

“I didn’t mean for this,” she sputtered, waving smoke away uselessly. “I just wanted to scare you. I didn’t think it would spread.”

My disbelief cut through the haze.

“Are you insane?” I shouted. “You set fire to a building full of children?”

She shook her head wildly. “I only wanted to upset you. I know how much this place means to you.”

The ceiling groaned above us.

“Move!” I grabbed her arm and shoved her aside just as part of the structure crashed down in front of us.

Debris blocked the nearest exit.

We were trapped.

Camilla began to cry, backing away. “I don’t want to die,” she sobbed. “Enzo! Enzo!”

Through the roar of the flames, I heard it.

“Aria!”

Enzo’s voice.

My heart stuttered.

“He’s still inside!” someone shouted from outside.

Moments later, he burst through the smoke, face streaked with ash, eyes wild. He was holding two gas masks—pulled from the emergency kit in his car.

His gaze found me immediately.

“Aria!” he yelled, rushing toward us.

For a fraction of a second—just one—I believed he had come for me.

That I mattered.

Then Camilla whimpered.

“Enzo…” she coughed weakly. “I can’t breathe… the baby…”

His expression shifted instantly.

He hadn’t known she was inside.

He moved toward her without hesitation.

“No,” I croaked, reaching for one of the masks.

He jerked them away from me. “She needs them,” he snapped. “What if one fails?”

Before I could respond, he secured a mask over Camilla’s face and lifted her carefully into his arms.

The second mask remained in his hand.

Unused.

Our eyes met.

There was no apology in his.

No regret.

Only calculation.

He turned away and carried her toward the flames, disappearing through the smoke.

And just like that, I understood.

He had chosen.

The heat intensified around me. The fire crept closer, devouring everything in its path.

I sank to my knees.

The air was nearly gone. My body felt too heavy to move. My lungs screamed, my skin burned, but I didn’t fight it anymore.

If this was how it ended, then so be it.

Through the roaring in my ears, I thought I heard footsteps.

Then arms—strong and steady—wrapped around me.

A familiar voice, low and firm, reached me through the haze.

“I’ve got you,” he said close to my ear. “Stay with me.”

I tried to lift my head, but everything felt distant.

“You’re safe,” he murmured. “I’m here.”

I didn’t need to see his face to know.

Dominic.

I let my body go limp against him as he carried me through the inferno, his voice repeating steady reassurances while the world around us blurred into darkness.

That day, the woman who had once answered to Aria Russo died in the fire.

And something far colder rose from the ashes.

Enzo Russo—

One day, I will make you pay.