NICCO

I am enjoying myself way too fucking much, but Aria does not need to know it. She can go to hell.

With my palm still cradling her lush, rounded bottom, I refuse to grant her any satisfaction, spitting back, "As much as I enjoy choking on glass."

"You can stop at any time, you know," she growls, "if that's how you really feel."

I pretend not to hear her. I would rather run my Ducati off a cliff than stop. Unable to help myself, my hand drifts down to tease her pussy. She's fucking soaked, even wetter than before, and I have never craved inside her more. Her hips writhe in my lap. As though Aria can read my mind, she chooses this very second to rub against my weeping cock. The friction is the cruelest form of torture. Pain coils around my heart, a warning that I should not be fucking around with the woman who broke me, but I am a weak man. Too weak to stop. Heat and desire threaten to swallow us whole as we continue to play this toxic game of ours. My hand disciplining her ass. Her smart mouth turning my cock harder than stone.

Breathless and panting, she begs softly, "Let me come."

"No."

"What can I do to change your mind?"

"Nothing."

"You sure?"

"I want you to suffer."

"Is that so?" Sharp gray eyes drift toward my raging boner. She licks her lips. My stupid dick pulses eagerly in response.

I grunt, "Quit looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you want to suck out my soul."

"Through your dick?"

"SÌ."

Aria releases a pained laugh. "Maybe I do."

"Is that what you want, principessa? To choke on my cock? To take me in until I punch the back of your throat?"

"Not going to lie, Nicco, that sounds fucking hot."

"You are bent."

"Not as bent as you."

"Do you ever shut up?"

"Only when there's eight inches in my mouth."

I laugh sharply. I am about to ram my eight inches into her mouth. But she does not deserve my dick. Instead, I shove two fingers between her lips to shut her up. "Suck on this."

A warm, wet suction tightens around me. Her tongue swirls around my fingertips, lighting up my senses, and my imagination runs wild. Dio. If only this was my cock. Then, gritting my teeth, I continue to punish her as though it might quell my desire instead of stoking it hotter, making me more desperate. More destructive.

Smack.

"Diciotto..."

Each subsequent blow does nothing to lessen the hurt and resentment that festers within. My heart remains irreparable.

Smack.

"Diccianove..."

Aria is setting me ablaze with every moan and every whimper. There is something so deliciously dark and satisfying about bending her over my knee when she absolutely deserves it. I can feel her pain and pleasure like it is my own. My cock is dripping at the tip. Straining for release.

Smack.

"Venti..."

Dio.

Is it possible to come hands-free, mouth-free, and pussy-free?

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

Right as I near thirty strikes, I am panting, dying, on the brink of climax, and the fucking door swings open.

"I'm glad I finally found you, Mr. Vitale."

Gasping, Aria's head snaps toward the door. "The fuck."

My body tenses up, and the overwhelming need to fuck Aria dies a little death. In my peripheral, I see a man's shadowy figure appears in the doorframe. My eyes trail Aria's gaze, locking on to the same target. This intruder offers both a deeply welcome and unwelcome distraction. Alarm rises when I realize that it is Oliver. He strides toward us. His eyes feast on Aria's perfect curves and dips, and an irrational surge of anger pumps through my veins.

Again, I drape my blazer over Aria's nakedness. I glare at him. "Can't you see we are busy?"

Oliver's expression hardens. "Not too busy for me, I hope?"

"Depends on what you want."

He does not look happy with me. "Mira and Candy told me that you disappeared on them."

Snitches.

Clearly, Oliver was planning to use them to sink his claws into me. I shrug. "They were not my type."

"Pity." He arches an eyebrow. "I'll make a note of that in the future."

His gaze pierces mine. A battle of wills simmers beneath the façade of our civilized conversation. It no longer feels like Oliver and I are talking about Mira and Candy.

"You should know," I taunt, "I play hard to get."

Translation: I will not let you push me around during negotiations.

"I was hoping you'd warm up to my girls."

Translation: I expected you to bend over and let us fuck you in the ass.

"If you are sincere about your offer, millions are on the line here. My feelings about those two should not stand in the way of our partnership."

"You think you have earned my trust?"

"I think I have gifted plenty of leverage just now that can be used against me." Possessively, I run my hands over Aria's curves. Melting into my touch, she plays her part like a good little sinner. "As you can see, I share a rather inappropriate relationship with my subordinate. Do what you will with this information."

"Oh, please. Who doesn't fuck around with their assistants?" Wearing a bored look on his face, Oliver insists, "I want some grittier shit on you."

Greedy son of a bitch.

I snap, "Either we talk now. Or never. My patience is running thin."

"Now or never, huh?"

"If I like what you have to say, I promise, you will learn many more of my dirty, little secrets."

"I never thought of you as a cautious sort of fellow."

"Stick around long enough, and you will see that I am full of hidden depths."

"Very well. We can take this one step at a time." Oliver's gaze drifts back to Aria. "But what about her?"

Translation: Do you trust this bitch enough to have our discussion in the same room?

Over my dead body.

With a cough, Aria appears to read my mind when she answers for us, "You two should go somewhere else to talk. I can entertain myself for a while. Don't worry about me."

My gaze grows thin with suspicion.

Why is she being so accommodating?

Leaving her behind is probably for the best, but Aria seems rather eager to get rid of us. I do not want her to overhear anything that transpires between Oliver and me tonight.

"In that case," Oliver prompts, "should we get going, then, Mr. Vitale?"
I shove Aria off my lap even while I leave my blazer with her. It is a few sizes too big, swallowing her smaller frame, but I like the way it looks on her.

"Stay out of trouble," I whisper in warning tones.

Aria smiles back at me like a devil masquerading as an angel. "Always."

"If only I believed you."

"Believe what you want. It's your loss."

Then, she shuffles away from me, tugging her dress back in place to make herself look far more presentable and much less fuckable. My cock misses her already. I remind myself that Aria means nothing to me now. I can't get distracted.

Refusing to spare her another glance, I rise to full height and walk away with Oliver.

***

ARIA

Heat lingers between my legs, pulsing, throbbing, as I watch Nicco and Oliver disappear out the door. Suddenly, I am the only one in the bedroom, left alone to ponder what they are scheming together, while chaos continues to reign just beyond these walls.

Fucking Nicco.

I resent him for getting me all hot and bothered without finishing the job. Wetness is still dripping down my thighs. My heart's a goddamn mess, even though, just now, my wayward ass adored being disciplined. I hate how much I love it, actually. Being draped over Nicco's lap was kind of twisted, but, at the same time, the connection between us felt fucking honest. For once. I betrayed him. His anger is valid. We both enjoyed my punishment a little too much. I feel like I was seconds away from fucking him against my better judgment.

In a way, I should be grateful that Oliver interrupted us. Nicco and Oliver are not the only ones with important shit to discuss. Minutes ago, when the opportunity arose to break free from their company, I jumped on the opening. Manning's key card is still sitting in my purse, after all, and I have shit to cross off on my list, too.

Right before he left, Nicco warned me to stay out of trouble. God, I hope I don't get caught. Setting my jaw, I slip out the door. As I push past the craziness around the suite, I wrap Nicco's blazer tighter around my chest like a protective armor. Expensive cologne lingers faintly on the fabric, and I can't help but revel in his scent. Fresh and woodsy with a touch of smoke. The smoke catches me slightly off guard.

Was Nicco smoking cigarettes?

Weird. Seems unlike him. Still, the fresh, woodsy cologne is familiar and comforting, especially when I'm feeling so out of my element. Anxiously, I make my way toward the elevator and discreetly tap the down button. Everyone around me looks higher than the moon, and they're either too busy fucking or being fucked to notice when the doors chime open. I slip inside the elevator shaft. With another soft chime, both doors slide shut, and I punch the button for Manning's floor. The elevator begins to sink downward.

I step out on the fourth floor of the hotel and follow the signs to Room 411. Manning's room looms before me. I take in a deep breath and remove the key card from my purse.

Here goes nothing.

The key card slides right into the slot on the door. A green light blinks on. I hear the gears unlock. The door opens, and I enter Manning's room as though it's my own. There's an open suitcase on the bed. Carefully, I start sifting through everything. Manning's laptop. His clothes. Cabinets. Drawers. I take care to leave everything exactly where I found it.

In one of the bathroom drawers, I locate the burner phone that I know Manning uses to communicate with Jaime. It's practically a relic. Manning's flip phone is similar to the one Jaime sent me in the sense that there's no internet access, which provides added security for the data, messages, and emails, making it impossible for hackers to steal the secrets stored on this phone. But the added layer of security is also a double-edged sword since a model this old doesn't have passcode protection.

Lucky me.

With ease, I flip open the phone to check Manning's most recent messages with Jaime. Most of their conversations revolve around the Gravinski account. I keep scanning. In time, one particular thread catches my eye.

M: Vitale is on to us.

J: Fuck him. He's an incompetent idiot who's nothing without his mommy and daddy.

M: That's exactly why we shouldn't underestimate him. You know the Vitales better than me. Your family used to do business with his family, right?

I frown.

What kind of business?

Whatever they were doing together, it's probably criminal as hell.

J: Ari tells me that he's completely pussy-whipped.

M: Don't trust her.

J: I don't.

M: Good.

J: But I trust that her fear of me will always outweigh everything else. You don't have to worry about Ari. I keep my bitches on tight leashes. She doesn't know it yet, but I've been hiding something she's been searching for in New York.

M: What do you mean?

At this point, Jaime didn't respond with another message. He sent a picture instead. The timestamp is very recent. Just last night. My mouth drops with a gasp. The image features a middle-aged man. Dark hair. Brown skin. His entire body is bruised and battered. Like he's been beaten within an inch of his life. He's lying unconscious in a hospital bed. My gaze fixates on his hand even though there are bandages stained with blood wrapped all over him. It looks like he's suffered some sort of serious injury around his left hand. I can't really tell if all five fingers are present.

Is he missing his pinky finger?