ARIA

The gentleness of Nicco's tone creates a truly mind-fucking rift between the venom in his words. My worst fear has become a reality. Fuck me but the goddamn ring glimmers on my finger as though he still wants me. I feel frozen, trapped in a nightmare of my own making. He may no longer care for me. Yet, he's still the one my heart beats for, yearns for—loves. I notice right away that he's injured. There are bandages wrapped around his knuckles.

Ignoring the fury in Nicco's eyes, I reach for his hand. "What happened here?"

Withdrawing from me, he taunts, "I burned down a fucking castle for you, principessa."

I can't tell if he's joking. Or not. "Are you serious?"

He doesn't utter a fucking word. I don't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed by his silence. Sharp green eyes cut me like daggers, and air is wrenched from my lungs. For a moment, I can't seem to breathe. My gaze grows wide with despair then—resignation. It's no longer a matter of if Nicco knows what I've done. Now, the only question that begs to be answered is—how much does he know?

The room begins to tilt. As Nicco's contempt slowly sinks in, something shatters in me as though I'm made of glass. Nicco claims that I've torn out his heart. In a way, we're even now. He's cut out mine as well.

It feels like there's a fucking hole in my chest.

Struggling to keep my game face on, I swallow the pain. I won't insult Nicco by denying my guilt. All I can do is hope that Manning will fall for the trap I've set sooner rather than later, so I'll have a chance to mend the cracks I've splintered in our hearts. But, until then, I must continue playing the role of the devil.

Feeling a bit faint, I ask, "How long have you known?"

Eyes full of contempt, Nicco chuckles. "Does it matter?"

"Guess not."

The blinding sparkle from the massive gray diamond on my hand continues to mock me. There's no doubt in my mind: Our engagement is off.

While twisting the cold metal around my finger, I toss a discreet glance in Manning's direction before assuring Nicco, "I'll give this back later when there are no more eyes on us."

"Why would you give it back?" Nicco taunts as though he gives absolutely zero fucks about me and the ring.

"It's too expensive. I can't possibly—"

"I do not care what you do with the damn rock. Throw it away. Or sell it."

"What if I want to keep it?"

"Then, I hope you choke on regret every time you look at it."

Ouch.

A sharp ache stings my eyes. I know I deserve his hatred, so I blink away the tears. I made my choice knowing the consequences, and, now, I must see it through. I can't afford to stray from my path. Appa needs me to keep going. Nicco does, too, even if he doesn't realize it yet. There's only one reason Jaime hasn't lashed out at Nicco: The fucker doesn't see Nicco as a big enough threat.

I've been doing my due diligence, gaslighting Jaime with lie after lie from the moment he crawled out of prison and back into my life. It's times like these that make me oddly grateful that Jaime is such a brain-damaged narcissist. The wires in his head are frayed enough to believe my 100% delulu narrative when I claim that I've been targeting Nicco for him and only him.

If Jaime ever peered inside my heart and saw the depth of emotion that I've been hiding away, he wouldn't hesitate to put Nicco six feet under.

***

Lately, I can tell Jaime has been obsessing over the ring, but he's too proud to admit it. I need to calm him down before he takes his jealousy out on Nicco. Every day, I've been texting and calling him.

Some days, I'm forced to become an over-devoted fan girl.

On other days, I feel like a mother trying to calm a tantrumming toddler.

Just yesterday, I assured the fucker, "God, it's so annoying to work for Nicco. He's a fucking idiot. Completely incompetent at his job. I'm forced to do all the heavy lifting. He's nothing like you. But I'll keep targeting him. Just for you, baby. Everything I do, know that I'm doing it for you, okay?"

***

No matter what, I must destroy Jaime.

My eyes dart toward the huddle of men standing at a distance. Everyone's attention is upon us. Manning, in particular, is staring us down like a hawk. I can't fall apart in front of them. This fucked up show must go on.

I hate that Nicco is standing so close to me. It's wreaking havoc on every shred of my self-control. I can feel his heat searing my body. I want to fall to my knees and beg him for forgiveness. But I doubt he'll accept any form of apology. I feel nothing but contempt radiating from his very core.

His gaze narrows. "I must admit, this is not the reaction I expected from you."

Glancing up, I dare to prompt, "What were you expecting?"

"I thought you would deny everything."

"You're not a fool," I explain with a grimace, "so I won't treat you like one."

For a split second, a flash of anger and hurt twists his handsome features. "You are wrong. I was all too happy to be your fool."

With a lump in my throat, I offer thickly, "You have no idea how sorry I am."

"Save your breath. There is no need to apologize."

"But—"

"Even if you come crawling to me on hands and knees, begging and crying, I will not forgive you."

The soulless tone in his voice hits home, though, making me hate myself even more. My resolve starts to waver.

Maybe I can just reveal a snippet of the truth to him?

Something to remove the edge from this moment before emotions escalate in front of Manning and his cronies. Trying and failing to keep the tremor from my voice, I plead, "N-Nicco, I can ex—"

He's already a step ahead of me.

"Smile at your comrade in arms, per favore," he interrupts in maddeningly pleasant tones, "Manning is still looking our way. I do not want him to smell the blood in the water."

Comrade in arms?

Fuck that shit. But Nicco has a point. Manning's a shark, and we need to be careful. Wiping all signs of distress from my face, I glance over to Manning and smile at him like my life depends on it. Because it kind of does, damn it.

"There. Happy now?"

"I will not be happy until I fuck you over harder than you fucked me."

Forcing my smile to stay in place, I turn back to Nicco as though we're having a lighthearted conversation about clients and accounts, and he's not doing everything in his power to make me feel like shit. "For the record, Manning isn't my friend."

"Bullshit. I know about the three of you."

"The three of us?"

"You, Manning, and Juan Pablo."

Juan Pablo?

I frown at this unfamiliar name. "Who the hell is Juan Pablo?"

Nicco scoffs as though he thinks I'm playing dumb. "Do not pretend like you did not go behind my back so Manning can gain full control of the Gravinski account."

The gears in my head begin to turn. It appears Nicco's been keeping a close eye on the Gravinski account, and he's traced it back to Juan Pablo. My gaze widens when I connect one of the most important dots.

Could Juan Pablo be Jaime's real name?

Must be.

How did Nicco find out something I couldn't uncover for years?

His sources must run dark and deep if they managed to wring out this closely guarded piece of intel. Both eyes dart back to Nicco's bandaged hand. It suddenly occurs to me that the reason Nicco was out of office today probably has something to do with Jaime.

Fuck.

How much shit has he been keeping from me?

I can't believe Nicco has the balls to take on the fucking cartel. The Vitales may be rich and powerful in their own right, but so is Jaime, and, unlike them, he's not afraid to put enemies in body bags. It'll take a monster to defeat another monster, and Nicco is nowhere near as trigger-happy as Jaime. But then I take a pause.

I burned down a fucking castle for you, principessa.

A trickle of doubt passes through me.

Or maybe I have yet to see what he's truly capable of?

My imagination begins to run rampant.

Where did the Vitales earn their billions, anyway?

No one ever gets that wealthy by playing by the rules. My brow creases slightly as I set aside these critical unknowns. There may be some skeletons in Nicco's closet, after all. I'll definitely need to dig into the answers later.

Nervously, I turn my attention back to Nicco. "Fine. You got me. But you failed to ask the most important question."

"Which is?"

"Why I did it."

He shrugs. "I imagine it is because you sold your soul to the devil and became Juan Pablo's little bitch."

There's no one in the world I hate more than Jaime. For Nicco to suggest otherwise makes me want to retch. "Fuck you."

Nicco smirks. "Do not be rude. If you ask nicely, maybe I will let you suck my dick while Juan Pablo watches me come down your throat. Wait... nevermind. Been there. Done that. If memory serves me correctly, you were all too willing to let that fucker watch you spread your legs for me on camera."

I wince at Nicco's crudeness. I don't blame him for lashing out at me because, in his mind, I've betrayed him in the worst way possible, and I know exactly what he's trying to insinuate here: He believes I set him up for that sex tape. It's impossible to stay calm when all I want to do is fall apart. It feels hopeless even when I make a half-hearted attempt to defend myself, "I've done plenty of shit that I'm not proud of, but, I swear, I had nothing to do with that fucking sex tape."

"Just like you had nothing to do with the Gravinski account?" he challenges with an arched eyebrow. "I thought you were not going to treat me like a fool?"

"Would it make you feel better if I told you that my agenda has nothing to do with helping Manning or Jaime get what they want?"

Just the opposite, actually.

"Whatever your motives may be, I doubt they align with mine. Once the account and all of its assets fall under Manning's domain, he will do everything to fuck me over and exploit Jackson & James for Juan Pablo."

"I won't let that happen."

Nicco tilts his head. "Why are you talking as though we are on the same side? From what I understand, Manning is working for Juan Pablo. Just like you."

Panic rises, and I beg, "Please. Give me a little more time to prove I'm nothing like them."

The smirk on his face has yet to waver. "Take all the time you need. But it will not deter my lawyers. We will be coming for your throats no matter what."

"It's too late to stop him. The documents have already been signed, and they'll be processed in two weeks."

"It does not matter," he replies, "sins cannot go unpunished, so I will bleed every single one of you who dared to cross me—dry as bone."

The intensity of Nicco's threat sends unease rattling down my spine.

"You've already forgotten what I told you," I whisper. "Not now but later, I'll have the receipts to prove that, even if the devil owns my soul, I'm no one's bitch. Manning and Jaim—I mean, Juan Pablo—can go to hell."

I'm not entirely surprised when Nicco laughs in my face and leans over once more. In a soft, dangerous voice that only I can hear, he growls, "You are beginning to sound like a broken record. I cannot decide if you are being stubborn, stupid, or both. Regardless, I intend to tear down the treachery that you built on my blind trust. Whatever your motives may be, rest assured, you will fail."