NICCO

A diversion has been set in motion.

Earlier, as I was boarding the jet, my men were instructed to contact local Spanish officials who were not already allied with the Beltráns. As a result, one of the Beltráns' yachts was seized this very morning. The yacht is estimated to be carrying €25,000 worth of cocaine and hashish. Thanks to Director-General Cortez, Juan Pablo will soon be forced to show his face to the Customs Surveillance Service, lawyer up, and worm his way out of criminal prosecution.

Another thirty minutes go by before Monte calls me with an update, "Juan Pablo is meeting with Spanish authorities."

This means the fucker has officially been lured away from his lair.

"Send in our men," I order.

"Understood."

We must move fast during Juan Pablo's absence. Every floor and every room of his family's villa must be ransacked for shit that can be used against them. A while later, Monte calls with another development. It is good news. Our efforts were not in vain, and I am eager to get my hands on the goods that were recovered from Juan Pablo's villa.

Despite this good news, stress and adrenaline continue to pound at my temples. I numb the migraine with a €20,000 bottle of Brunello di Montalcino. I stare outside the plane. Clouds drift by the line of small rectangular windows beside me. Far below, the waters of the Mediterranean glisten. Light reflects across an expanse of aqua-blue as waves rock in time to melodies only they can hear. Along the coast, a dense expanse of buildings, both ancient and modern, fill the cityscape.

We are six minutes away from our destination. Málaga, Spain, to be exact. The city is known for its beautiful beaches and near-endless sunshine. Feels like I should be going on vacation, but relaxation is the furthest thing from my mind. My phone begins to chime right as the aircraft dips into a gradual descent. Frowning, I check the caller ID.

Merda.

Aria is calling me again.

***

ARIA

The line continues to ring. Anxiously, I wait for Nicco to pick up.

Why the fuck is he ignoring me?

Our department is chaotic enough even on days when we have all hands on deck. Without Nicco here to call the shots, I've become everyone's go-to girl to bitch and moan at every time a new dumpster fire rears its ugly head.

Hedge fund momentum has dropped by 1.4% this month?

Let's call Aria.

Clients are pissed that they're not making enough money?

Aria, do something.

It's not like I have the authority to solve these problems. My head's about to explode. I guess, through all the madness, there's been one silver lining to Nicco's absence. Right before noon, I was able to log into his account on my old laptop—you know, the one that's supposedly missing—and finish signing the last of the documents for the Gravinski account. I know there will be hell to pay once Nicco finds out what I've done. He'll question my loyalty and judgment.

Thankfully, I already have a way to get myself out of hot water. Later today, as long as I can plant my laptop in Manning's London townhouse while he's away in Birmingham, several birds can be killed with one stone.

1. Win back a little of Nicco's trust.

2. Frame Manning for hacking into Nicco's managerial account.

3. Appease Jaime when I tell him that the last of the documents for the Gravinski account has been signed.

Two weeks from now, the signatures will be processed, and Manning will have the authority to invest Jaime's money anywhere he wants, such as Sossaman-Hewitt. My plan is pretty good, but it's not perfect. I'll still suffer a few blows. I may have to let Nicco think the worst of me for a while. Even with hard evidence against Manning up my sleeve, I can't come forward and prove my innocence until he sinks some of the money from the Gravinski account into Sossaman-Hewitt.

Then and only then will I be able to inflict maximum damage on Jaime.

***

NICCO

Dread-infused elation blooms within. I do not wish to pick up because of the probing questions she will surely fire at me. But I crave the sound of her voice.

She does not know that I left the office this morning, let alone the fucking country, and it is my intention to keep her none the wiser. I have hauled ass to Spain for business, not pleasure, and I refuse to involve Aria in such dangerous pursuits. I am about to go head-to-head with the fucking cartel. If everything that Monte told me is true, Aria has already suffered enough because of Alvin Beltrán's son. Even if I am second-guessing Aria's real motives, I must protect her at all costs. Juan Pablo will rue the day he ever laid hands on my girl.

As casually as possible, I answer her call while my plane lands on a private runway, "What can I do for you, principessa?"

That is right. You heard correctly—private runway. The Beltráns are not the only fuckers who own multimillion-dollar villas in Spain.

She growls, "Don't you dare principessa me! Not after that ridiculous email you just sent."

I know exactly which email Aria is unhappy about, but I feign ignorance to delay the unwelcome lecture she will undoubtedly unleash on me, "Refresh my memory. I send you many ridiculous emails. Which one are you referring to again?"

"The one where you asked me to cancel all of your meetings for today. We can probably get away with rescheduling your 10 am and 2 pm. But your 4 pm is too important to miss."

Within minutes, the jet touches ground. "What is going on at 4 pm?"

"The Director from Internal Audit needed to discuss—"

We slow to a full stop at the end of the runway. Mia famiglia's sprawling estate comes into view. Tall, swaying palms line the stone pathway leading into the gated courtyard. A large fountain sparkles under the sun. The terracotta tiled roof and whitewashed stucco exterior remind me of home. Of Palermo. Of everything and everyone that I am trying to protect.

A bit distracted, I push back, "I thought I made it clear in the email? I will be out of office today. Therefore, you must cancel everything."

"What the hell, Nicco?"

I get ready to exit the aircraft. "I understand this last-minute change in plans will be an inconvenience for everyone, but that is why I have you, no? Figure it out. Per favore."

Her voice is laced with worry when she demands, "At least, tell me where you are right now."

I struggle to stay truthful without giving anything away, "I am on my way to put out a fire."

"What kind of fire?" she inquires in a slightly higher register.

"Do not worry," I assure her, "it is only a figurative one."

Except this fire is quite literal. This conversation has barely begun, and I have already lied to my girl. It is a wretched feeling.
"Is everything okay?"

Not at all. My agenda is not for the faint of heart. Going forward, I shall, of course, aim to be clean and careful with every move I make, but dark deeds and dead bodies are bound to pile up.

Nevertheless, I try to reassure Aria, "Everything will be okay."

I can hear the bitterness in her voice when she mutters, "Guess I'm no longer the only one keeping secrets in this relationship."

Aria's jab hits a sore spot. My trust in her, after all, remains precarious at best. Feeling triggered, I toss back, "You get what you give, baby."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Don't be an asshole."

"Then don't be a hypocrite. You are in no position to call me out on anything."

Weakly, she grumbles, "Fuck, Nicco..."

I snap, "What?"

"Nothing. N-Never mind." There is a slight tremble in her voice, and I immediately feel like the world's shittiest piece of shit. Aria pauses before reminding me with a resigned sigh, "I'm sorry I said anything."

Dio.

I cannot stand this bickering between us. It hurts me to hurt Aria, and, right then, I do not hesitate to right my wrong, "I... apologize as well. For being an ass."

"It's fine, I imagine we're both under a lot of stress at the moment," Aria mumbles. She clears her throat. Then, her professionalism re-emerges, and she is my perfect assistant once more, "Don't forget about Manning's dinner party tonight. We have to be there at 7 pm. Sharp."

"If I am late, are you going to punish me?"

She does not quip back. A few seconds tick by. Her end of the line falls quiet. Too quiet. The silence between us grows tense.

"Aria?"

"Yes?"

On edge, I prompt, "Are you still... upset?"

"I don't know. Lately, I feel like you're so far from me. Even when we're standing right next to each other..."

Aria sounds defeated. I have felt very much the same way. Even when I hold her in my arms, she feels much too distant. But the fact remains that her locket had a goddamn tracking device in it. Paranoia runs wild in me, and my defenses are up. In a way, I am more frightened of questioning Aria's loyalty than taking on the Beltráns. The truth may destroy me. This is why, instead of sharing what worries me, I cling to hope—the hope that Aria's love for me is real—to keep myself from breaking.

Quietly, I confess, "No matter the distance, my heart stays with you. On nights when you are not with me, I find myself reaching for you in the dark, obsessing over what you might be doing, thinking, feeling. Hell, I could be inside you, fucking you, with your heat, your skin, your everything, pressed against my body, and, still, I would hold you tighter. For me, you can never be close enough."

She exhales, "God, Nicco, I miss you so much."

Emotion expands in my chest. "Miss you, too."

These three measly words are not enough to express the depth of my yearning. On the surface, I long for Aria because she is, physically, in London, and I am not. But, once you burrow deeper, it is, perhaps, the beginning of our story that I ache for the most. I wish we could return to simpler times before everything became so fucking complicated. I miss the freedom to love my girl without the fear of her betrayal.

"I don't want us to fight anymore."

"Neither do I."

Aria whispers, "I'll hold down the fort while you're gone. Focus on what you need to do out there. I'll handle everything in the office today, okay?"

"Good girl." A smile pulls at my lips. She is my angelo, my diavola, my godsend—all in one. Suddenly, I cannot resist asking, "Will you wear your ring for me tonight, principessa?"