ARIA

Eyes wide, my dad looks crestfallen and humiliated as he turns to me. "I-I can explain."

He doesn't need to say another word, though.

I already figured it out.

He did it for me.

Fuck.

Anxiously, I try to assure him, "It's okay, Appa. You don't have to explain anything. I don't care about the past anymore. I just want you to focus on getting better, okay?"

My dad begins to weep softly. It's the first time in my life that I've seen him cry. My nails dig into my palms. I resist the urge to hurl my fist into Jaime's face. With every ounce of self-control, I steel my mind, refusing to let him get under my skin. My dad is already on Jaime's blacklist. I can't risk pissing him off too much before the time is right. I'm playing the long game. Nicco will need me to buy him time. I've got to keep Jaime happy and placated for however long it takes to set the stage in London. A trickle of anticipation runs through me as I steal another look at Jaime. Pure hatred burns in my veins. This moment in time will be forever lodged in my mind. It'll serve as the catalyst for the blood I plan to spill. God, I can't wait to watch this fucker play right into our hands.

I'm ready to make him crawl into his own grave.

NICCO

It has been four months since I left Jackson & James.

Four months since Aria left me.

She has not returned to London at all during this time. At present, not even I am in London, either. I am in a fucking helicopter. I glance outside as my pilot begins to descend. I have a headset to block out the deafening noise, but the roar of the propellors continues to pummel my ears. The surrounding trees and bushes are caught in a cyclone of wind as the helicopter lands on the private helipad. Today the sky is an endless stretch of blue in Sands Point. The water appears bluer on this side of the Atlantic as well. The gray of London is nowhere to be seen. That is for sure.

I did not come to New York, I tell myself, because of her. I am here for business. After reviewing the contract that Oliver's team sent me, I signed with Danmore. Apparently, there is a party this afternoon. It is being hosted at Chance Newman's waterfront estate in Mount Cisco, boasting panoramic views of the Croton Reservoir. Newman is one of the top dogs at Danmore in our New York offices. On a whim, I have decided to drop by. I am in the area, after all. It would be a shame to miss out on this opportunity to rub elbows with Wall Street's elites.

I exit the helicopter and head toward the main entrance of Glenn Acres. I purchased this estate just last week, paying my real estate agent and my lawyers an arm and a leg to set the legal protections in place to obtain the property anonymously. I wanted to hide it from Juan Pablo's spies. It was a bit of an impulse buy, I admit, setting me back $12.5 million, not including the fees, but this particular listing checked almost every box on my list. There is a built-in landing pad—check. A private runway—check. An underground twelve-car garage for my babies—check. And the location was simply too strategic to pass up—check.

With Juan Pablo's operations moving from London to New York, I needed a place that was close enough for my men to easily track his movements yet far enough to avoid detection. The fucker's penthouse in Manhattan is only fifty kilometers away. Thirty minutes by helicopter and one and half hours by car.

Anticipation crackles in the air. I cannot believe that I am actually in New York. Juan Pablo is very much within reach, and, more importantly, so is Aria. My heart picks up speed.

Cazzo.

Soon, I will not only be able to see Aria. But she will be close enough to touch. My fingers flex, tightening involuntarily against my palm. When I clench nothing but air, I am left feeling empty and frustrated and wanting. Not that I want her back, I remind myself.

Or do I?

I barely survived Aria the first time. She might well end me if I let her anywhere near my heart for the second time.

Ever since Aria moved to New York City, I have been in purgatory, caught between the need to chase after her and the need to shield myself from getting ripped apart again. Vivi tells me that the CEO of Sossaman-Hewitt will be stepping down soon. Very soon. I am counting down the days to see if Aria's plan to frame Manning actually bears fruit. So much rides on the outcome of this risky venture. It is a smart gamble but a gamble, nonetheless.

My mind has become a cesspool of conflict. I resent her for it. I wish she had clued me in from the very start. I gave Aria every opportunity to come clean, and, still, she chose to hijack the Gravinski account for Manning. My resentment seems petty, though, especially after hearing her devastating confessions.

Her father is in the fucking hospital, and Maya's death, especially, weighs on my heart.

Does Aria deserve forgiveness?

I do not know yet.

Over the past few months, Aria has been updating me on her progress while spying on Juan Pablo. Her intel has been one of the most crucial components in shaping our strategy.

The only downside?

I live in constant fear that Juan Pablo will hurt her the moment he suspects that she is working with me. She does not know that I have assigned three bodyguards to keep her safe, tailing her from a distance so as not to draw unnecessary attention. They are discreet, elite, and deadly, once trained to protect heads of state and royalty. Now it is their duty to protect mia principessa when I am not in town.

Aria has certainly been going the extra mile to prove her worth and loyalty, and I understand, now, why she betrayed me. I am not completely heartless. I can only imagine the world of pain she endured when her best friend passed. Part of me wishes I was ready to let bygones be bygones. It was not Aria but her demons that wrought havoc on her judgment. I can see, now, all too clearly and a bit too late, that Aria simply did not want to lose me in the same way she lost Maya, so she kept fighting alone to keep me as far away from Juan Pablo as possible.

Dio.

Am I defending her?

I keep letting her get under my skin. Maybe I need to get laid. Just to fuck her out of my system. Whenever Aria haunts me in this way, I consider contacting one of my old girlfriends from my fuckboy era. But once I pull up their numbers on my phone, motivation and desire die within the same moment. I remember that I have a meeting tomorrow at 7 am. I remember that I will be attending a conference in Berlin next week. I remember that I work seventy to eighty hours a week on average, and my schedule shows no signs of slowing down. I remember that I am simply too busy and too fucking exhausted to hook up with anyone.

I am full of excuses, I know.

If only the mere memory of Aria's sweet curves and soft heat no longer affected me. If only the possibility of fucking her again did not make me thick and weeping at the tip within seconds. If only I could stop fixating on the last time I felt her skin on mine, draped over my lap, with my palm spanking her ass. Every time my fist closes around my cock in the shower, I find my thoughts drifting toward fantasies of her tits, her cunt, and her ass. Nothing gets me off faster. Hell, just two nights ago, I had a grand, old time pretending my hand was her hand, milking my shaft, tugging at my balls, as she urged me to spill down her lush, little mouth.

As I walk into the study, a hot, heavy throb hits my dick. I cannot tell who is more excited about this long-awaited reunion.

Me.

Or him.

Aria and I talk all the time via phone and email, but we have not seen each other in person for almost a year. Scowling, I reach down, quickly re-adjusting my trousers, and attempt to get some work done at my desk. I only have six hours before I must depart for Los Angeles. A few minutes pass when a text pops up on my phone. It is from my sister: Care to explain why you are twiddling your thumbs in New York when everyone is waiting for you in Los Angeles? Time is money, brother.

I happily ignore her. I admit, I might have rescheduled a few meetings, pushing them back as much as possible, just to carve out this six-hour layover. I settle into the leather chair with a sigh. Again, I tell myself, I did not go through this trouble for that gray-eyed diavola. I am here to attend what's his face's stupid party.

I did not come to New York because of her.

I did not come to New York because of her.

I did not come to New York because of her.

But even I know that I am lying to myself.

Six hours already feels too short. I came here with an almost impossible task to accomplish. I do not know if Aria will allow herself to be swayed, but I will certainly try my damnedest to change her mind. I sent Nils Junior to pick her up. I check their location on my GPS tracker. Their vehicle has arrived at Glenn Acres.

I glance up. My gaze practically burns a hole through the door. She should be here any minute now. Holding my breath, I stare obsessively as it slowly swings open, and red-soled stilettos click against hardwood floors.

Her voice floats toward me, even softer and sweeter than I remembered, "Good to see you again, Nicco."

That is all it takes for me to lose my head and drown once more in the grayest of eyes. Like a starving beast, my gaze consumes the rest of her. Hair dark as night. The cut appears shorter now, no longer trailing down her back. But the hourglass shape of her body remains unchanged. It beckons me. Every dip and rise promises paradise. Every swell makes me swell. My eyes drag back up to her face. I study her expression. There is a familiar tilt to her mouth. Not quite a smirk. But it brims with amusement, mischief, and daring.

How is it possible for someone to be so goddamn beautiful?

She stands before me in a buttoned-up dress shirt and a pair of high-waisted trousers. The sharp silhouette does nothing to hide her feminine curves. I want to fall at her feet. I want to fuck her brains out. More than anything, I want to trust her again. The desire thrums thickly, so palpable I could sink my teeth in it. For a moment, my defenses wither away. I hate myself for being weak, but I become enthralled, mesmerized, and awestruck.

Overwhelmed by her presence, I take a moment to regain my senses, "You look—"

Jaw-droppingly gorgeous.

Fuckable as hell.

You are my fantasy in the flesh.

"Like shit?" she interjects with a sigh. "Thanks, I know. It's been a rough couple of weeks with Jaime."

My expression softens. "We have not seen each other in four months, and you think that is the first thing I would say to you?"