Aria walked out onto the balcony and looked over the rooftops of Paris. The Eiffel Tower beckoned in the distance, the city every bit as magical as she’d dreamed. She sighed and leaned against the iron railing, not at all concerned about the fact that she was naked.

She felt invincible.

Invisible even, in the best of ways.

Here in Paris, she and Damian were just like everyone else. For now, at least.

The last two days had been a dream. They’d christened the suite’s plush bedroom the first afternoon by making love — twice. She would have been more than happy to remain there for the duration of their stay, but Damian had insisted on making good on his promise to take her shopping. They’d spent half of the first day at small, specialty boutiques on the Rue du Rivoli, walking arm in arm, going into stores on a whim.

She’d resisted at first. She’d never needed luxury. Primo had insisted on their expensive apartment in New York, and she’d only ever bought what she needed in spite of the credit cards that were freely given to her and paid for by Primo’s business.

She’d spent her free time at the community garden, had been more than happy to stop at the market on the way home and cook for her and Primo in the apartment’s kitchen.

But Damian wouldn’t take no for an answer, and after the first few stores she slowly relented. It was obvious he was enjoying himself, his customarily dark expression traded for an occasional smile or lascivious grin when she emerged wearing something see-through or skimpy — or better yet, when she pulled him into the dressing room with her to make sure the item in question could be easily worked around should the mood to make love strike them.

It always did.

They’d had dinner on the lower level of a tiny bistro hidden away from the world just like them. Candles flickered on the table, and the wait staff had been hushed and reverent as they’d served creamy foie gras with triangles of toast, lobster bisque, an array of fresh cheeses, moist duck with crispy skin.

They’d walked back to the hotel arm in arm and made love in the claw foot tub. By the time Aria had nestled into Damian’s arms her body had been loose and tired. She’d slept like the dead and woken to crispy waffles and fresh strawberries in the suite.

Damian had upped the ante, leading her away from the small but expensive boutiques of the day before in favor of the designers on Rue St. Honore. He’d passed his credit card to the staff again and again in stores like Chanel and Prada, Hermes and Collette. Eventually she’d forgotten to be embarrassed. It was overwhelming, but there was a kind of freedom in giving herself over to it, to letting Damian lead the way. After her long weeks of solitude and squalor in Greece, she had to admit it was comforting to be surrounded by silk and satin, by clean, crisp cotton and smooth cashmere.

She’d thought they were done for the day when Damian led her to a salon called David Mallett. She knew it was expensive the moment they stepped into the space, a luxe, minimalistic space that looked more like a high fashion designer showroom than a salon.

Damian had settled happily into one of the antique chairs with a glass of champagne while Aria was led away for a deep wash and condition, a cut and color. She’d considered changing it — going blond, or even platinum.

Something different.

But she’d already lost two months of her life. She wanted to recognize herself when she looked in the mirror, and she’d opted for the same burgundy rinse she had before she’d been kidnapped in Capri.

They’d completed her treatment with a wax and she’d left the salon feeling a bit like her old self.

Damian had wanted to take her out again, but she’d been too tired, and they’d spent the night eating room service in the suite’s giant bed, pausing old movies to explore each other’s bodies, relearning every angle and curve with a zeal that bordered on religious.

She was still trying to forget, still trying to banish the nightmares that haunted her when she let go of consciousness each night. But there was no place her kidnapping seemed further away than when she was in Damian’s arms, lost to the sensation he provoked in her body.

She walked back into the suite, slipped on a robe, and poured a cup of coffee, then picked up the note Damian had left on the tray when he’d gone to Christophe’s cyber lab that morning.

She smiled to herself and lifted the piece of paper to her nose, hoping to catch his scent, but it only smelled of thick hotel paper, and she set it down on the tray and walked back into the bedroom to choose something from her new wardrobe. She didn’t know how long Damian would be gone, but he’d promised her a boat ride on the Seine, plus a trip to the top of the Eiffel Tower.

She was flipping through the silky underthings when she saw the phone on top of the bureau. It was the same one Damian had given her before they’d left Tuscany.

The one she wasn’t supposed to use to contact Primo.

No one had the number but Damian. Who else did she have in her life?

She picked it up, sat on the bed and turned it over in her hand. She’d agreed when Damian asked her not to contact Primo, but it hadn’t been easy. Primo was her brother. They’d been looking out for each other since the death of their parents. She’d never gone more than a few hours without being in contact with him.

Without making sure he was okay.

She thought about Malcolm’s visits in Greece. What if they pointed to more than the fact that Malcolm had been behind her kidnapping? Damian had said her brother was underground. What if he was worse than underground — what if he was being controlled by Malcolm?

Or worse — what if Malcolm had done something to hurt him?

She wouldn’t put it past Malcolm to hurt Primo, or even to kill him. She’d always known Malcolm would only keep Primo around long enough to build the Fiore organization on his back.

She opened the phone and hesitated over the numbers. She knew Primo’s number by heart. She wouldn’t stay on the line long, just long enough to make sure he was okay.

And she would tell Damian. She would tell him she’d had to know Primo was okay.

Damian would understand.

She dialed the number and held it to her ear before she could change her mind. Primo answered on the second ring.

“Bella?”

She froze. “Primo… How did you know it was me?”

He exhaled on the other end of the phone. “I’ve been waiting. My god, I’ve been worried sick. Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m okay,” she said, catching her breath. “Malcolm took me, Primo.” She was surprised to find tears sting her eyes. She hadn’t cried once since she’d been rescued in Greece. Not once. “He took me from Italy and kept me in Athens.”

“What are you talking about, bella? What do you mean?”

He was surprised. She could hear it in his voice. She’d been right; he hadn’t known.

“He was tracking me, Primo. He let the Greeks take me,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“Things are out of control here,” he said. “I need to see you to explain.”

She shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

“We’re family, Aria.” His voice rose in volume and pitch the way it always did when he was desperate. “You’re the only one I can trust.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “You set fire to that shelter,” she said softly. “You could have killed all those children, all those women…”

“That was Malcolm’s idea!” he said, his voice growing urgent. “I can’t control him anymore, Aria. I need to talk to you. Maybe… Maybe Cavallo was right.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Maybe it’s time to get out.” He was whispering like he was afraid someone would overhear him. “Do you think he’ll still buy the territory?”

Hope flared in her like a match. “You can talk to him,” she said. “I can put you in touch.”

“Not yet,” he said. “I want to see you first. I want to talk to you. Just the two of us, like old times. You and me.”

“I… I can’t.”

“You can,” he said. “I know you can help me figure this out.”

She recognized the desperation in his voice. Recognized the hint of hysteria that meant he was hanging on by a thread. He wouldn’t last long under Malcolm in this condition.

“I’m not even in New York,” she said.

“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll come to you. Just tell me where you are.”

Damian would be furious, but only until Primo surrendered. Then he’d understand why Aria had done what she was going to do.

He would have to.

Besides, Primo was her brother. No one could tell her what to do with her family.

Not even Damian.

“I’m in Paris,” she said.

“Paris.” He breathed the word like he couldn’t believe it. “Okay, that’s good. I can be there tomorrow. Just tell me where.”

“I’ll call you in the morning,” she said. “We’ll set something up then.”

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. This is good, bella. This is so good. I feel so much better already. I know we can figure this out together. You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too, Primo, just… don’t make me regret this.”

She disconnected the call and stared at the phone in her hands, threw it on the bed like it was hot to the touch. Her hands were still shaking when she went to run the shower.