NICCO

Oliver and I are still on the fucking balcony, sizing each other up. He claimed to always deliver on promises. A bold statement. Only time can tell whether or not he lives up to the hype. For now, I pretend to believe him. I hope he will not disappoint me.

He clears his throat. "Does this mean you're willing to accept my offer?"

I do not give him a straight answer, opting instead to say, "If you have an employment contract on hand, I would like to review it with my lawyers."

An eager gleam shines from Oliver's eyes. "Excellent. I will have my assistant send it to you soon."

"Within twenty-four hours?"

"That can be arranged."

I want to create an alliance with him for several reasons. There is some truth in the sentiments I shared with him just now. I do want to step out of Papà's shadow and build my own empire.

If I stay at Jackson & James, no matter how impressive my achievements may be from here on out, naysayers will always question my abilities simply because I share the same last name as my father.

If I can find success at Danmore, however, many of those naysayers will be forced to shut the fuck up.

We shake hands. It is a gentleman's agreement. At last, our negotiation has made some kind of progress. I can take a step back for now. "Bene. I will let you know my decision in two weeks."

Two weeks should give Carl enough time to dig up any major red flags on Oliver.

"I look forward to hearing from you."

"Is there anything else we need to discuss?"

He shakes his head. "Not until I have your answer."

Impatiently, I glance at the glass doors. Unease crawls over my skin. Out of seemingly nowhere, I cannot fight the feeling that something is wrong. Very wrong. My chest grows tight. I do not know why, but I think Aria is in trouble. "Very well. Then, I will head back inside."

"What's your hurry?"

I try to keep the urgency from my tone. "I need to find my assistant."

I am an idiot for worrying about her.

She does not deserve my concern, I tell myself.

But I am itching to ditch this balcony and go search for her.

She does not deserve anything from me, I repeat again, I only wish to find Aria to stop her from fucking with my plans.

Completely unsupervised, who knows what kind of treachery Aria might be stirring up on her own?

With a sly expression, Oliver remarks, "You seem rather attached to her."

I shrug, careful to wipe all emotion from my face. "Aria is someone I used to fuck, and she is good at her job. That is all."

"Used to?" he repeats in disbelief. "You two looked pretty chummy when I walked in."

"Did we?"

"Your hand couldn't seem to get enough of her ass."

"Trust me. Tonight is the last time my hand will go anywhere near her ass."

"Can I have a go at her, then?"

Touch her and die.

Red flashes before my eyes. For the first time this evening, I can see his appeal in the eyes of others. He exudes wealth and success. Tall, athletic build. Oliver is fairly young for a CEO. Only late forties. The bastard even has a full head of hair. One might describe him as attractive in the classic, distinguished sense.

Would Aria want him?

Maybe.

Both fists clench. I resist the urge to slam my knuckles into his mouth for even daring to make such a request. I cannot end our partnership before it even begins.

I will myself to say, "Aria is free to fuck whoever she wants."

I know my anger makes no sense. Aria and I are no longer together. She is a grown woman. Oliver is a grown man. They are free to make their own decisions.

Oliver tilts his head to the side. "Really?"

As I turn to head back inside, however, my control snaps. "You, on the other hand, should know that I do not enjoy sharing my toys."

His gaze narrows. "That a threat?"

"Only if you go near what is mine."

"Even after you're done playing with them?"

I smile at him, baring teeth. "Who said I was done with Aria?"

I may no longer wish to lay the stars and moon at her feet, but Aria and I are only getting started here. Revenge is on my mind, and I will not rest until she falls to her knees in defeat.

***

ARIA

After all the madness that's gone down, my sanity hangs by a thread. Only two minutes have gone by, but it feels like I've been staring at the fucking door to my hotel room for ages. One thing is certain. Whoever did this wanted me to know that he—or she—was here.

Arrogant motherfucker.

This whole setup totally reeks of Jaime's bullshit. He loves playing these mind games. The crack between the door and the frame keeps taunting me, daring me to enter while warning me to run at the same damn time. Paranoia ticks alongside every second that slips by. It's completely silent on the other side. I haven't heard any footsteps or voices since I got here.

Maybe the room is empty, after all?

My pulse thunders away. Admittedly, I feel downright hysterical when I finally arrive at a decision. Too much has happened in Birmingham. The struggle to process it all is emotional suicide. No matter how hard I've tried to stay in control, everything keeps knocking me off balance.

Why can't I ever win?

At this point, it feels like I have nothing left to lose. Nicco hates me. Appa is in a hospital. I know I need to stay strong, but I'm so bloody exhausted. It's making me delirious. Chucking caution aside, I decide to take a peek at the room. Whatever I find on the other side of this door will determine my next move.

Plan A: If the room is empty, I'll go in and try to figure out who the fuck did this and what they want from me.

Plan B: If I walk into an immediate threat, I'll call security and run as fast as I can to the nearest elevator.

With these plans in mind, I kick off my stilettos and leave them in the hallway in case I need to book it at a moment's notice. I input the hotel security's number on my phone. I want it on standby in case shit goes south within the next few seconds. Then, I grab pepper spray from my purse. I'm probably about to die. But whatever.

Taking a deep breath, my palm pushes against the door. It swings open. Anxiously, my eyes bounce around the room. I scan the bed, the dresser, and the end tables. At first, everything appears to be in order. The room seems safe and secure. There aren't any unwelcome guests. It's too soon to relax, though. Intruders could still be hiding in the bathroom since my view is limited from this angle.

Wielding my pepper spray like a gun, I step inside and pray that I won't end up like that one idiot who always wanders down to the basement in horror movies. Inch by inch, I keep searching for shit that looks suspicious. As I get closer to the bathroom, something odd finally catches my eye. I couldn't see it from the entryway, but there's a small plastic cooler on the floor with a white envelope taped on it. My nerves clench with fear.

The fuck is that?

Again, the envelope reminds me of Jaime. The size and color look eerily similar to the one he delivered to me at the hotel in London. Suddenly, I'm mesmerized by the box and cooler. Everything else disappears. Like a mannequin pulled by strings, my feet shuffle toward these seemingly harmless and mundane objects. I try to soothe my anxiety, reminding myself: Stay calm and carry on.

I pick up the envelope first. The note inside is handwritten just like the other one I received in London. The handwriting looks familiar, but, unlike last time, I don't think Jaime wrote this message. No. Not at all. This handwriting looks like it belongs to someone else. Someone that I've been working with every single day for the past few months, in fact. Someone I treasure more than anyone else. I could recognize his writing in my sleep.

Goddamnit.

What the hell is going on?

Confused, I study the message again and again: I know you're working for Jaime. Do you know what my family does to people who betray us? Everyone you love will suffer. Everything you cherish will disappear. I advise you to get the hell out of the country while I'm still feeling merciful. Consider this gift a warning. Don't fuck with me again, Aria. Or your dad may lose his head next time.

There's no signature at the end. It's anonymous. But this is Nicco's handwriting, for sure. The aggressive slant of every letter. The elegant yet theatrical scrawl of lines and curves. It's all too similar to be a coincidence. But something feels off.

Why does he suddenly want me to leave the UK?

I must keep my enemies close, no?

Nicco literally just told me that he intended to monitor my every move like a fucking hawk.

Given what you know about the Gravinski account, I cannot let you out of my sight until this issue is resolved.

Furthermore, why is his letter accusing me as though this is the first time I got caught?

Nicco has been well aware of what I've done behind his back. God knows we fought over this shit mere hours ago. Everything in this letter feels as though someone's forcibly shoving words into Nicco's mouth.

Contradiction after contradiction keeps piling up. When we first started working together at Jackson & James, Nicco chose to apologize to my face when he was in the wrong. He's never been the type to start fights from a distance. He's willing to set aside his ego and ask for forgiveness. Nor is he afraid of being an asshole in person. This much I know, sadly, from firsthand experience.

There is no need to pretend to care for me.

Hell, I don't think I could ever forget the hatred in his voice when he confronted me at the dinner party.

Not after you spent months planning the perfect way to rip out my heart.

My brow furrows as I try to extract the truth from the lies. I'm beginning to question if Nicco really sent this note. Handwriting can be forged—

A chime from my luggage interrupts my thoughts. I pull out my burner phone.

Fucking hell.

Unknown Sender: Hello, Ari. Just thought you should know. Your beloved fiancé tried to kill your dad while he was overseas. I saved him. He's being kept at a hospital in New York. I already bought you a one-way ticket to from Heathrow to JFK so you can see him. Your flight leaves in four hours.

A scowl twists my lips. How fucking convenient. The moment Nicco tells me to get out of the UK, Jaime shows up with a plane ticket to the US. The timing is simply too perfect, and once-scattered remnants of the bigger picture now click into place. I'm starting to get a handle on this conspiracy, and it's brimming with the audacity of a psychotic narcissist who's way too proud of himself to hide his agenda. Discretion has never been his strong suit.

A new theory quickly takes shape. I now have reason to believe that something must have spooked Jaime—something big—and he's desperate to drive a wedge between Nicco and me. Yet, these answers lead to more questions.

What happened, exactly?

I need to know.

Did Jaime figure out that I'm planning to fuck him over?

Maybe Manning has been talking shit about me into his ear.

Or did Nicco do something to provoke him?

Could it be related to Nicco's disappearance from the office all day?

More than ever, I now suspect that the Vitales might share some sort of connection to the cartel. I don't know what to make of Nicco and his secrets at the moment, but I still trust him more than Jaime. I set down the letter as my attention turns to the cooler.

What did this motherfucker send me?

I hope it's not a bomb.

Or anthrax.

Why does it need to be temperature-controlled?

Fuck.

There's only one way to find out. I don't want to be anywhere near this fucking cooler, but I've come this far. I'm still alive. Might as well go big or go home. Holding my breath, I reach for the cooler.

Then, I slowly open the lid.