“You sure you're ok?” Erlington inquiries over the phone.

A feeble smile breaks on my face as I reply, “I am. Nothing bad happened, thank God. I'm a little bit shaken but it's nothing I can't handle.”

Behind me, Adrian meanders down the stairs with a leather duffel bag in hand. He’s fully dressed in a pair of gray jogging pants, a black hoodie and matching running Nikes. Seriousness is plastered on his clean face, intense hazel-green eyes fixed at me as though he's on mission to listen and grasp every word I utter amid my phone call.

My breath hitches at the mere sight of him, but I try my best to remain clustered around his presence.

“That's great. You can take a few days off until you're better,” says my boss, but my attention has stupidly fallen into the hot dom that I love and hate at the same time.

How can a man be so gorgeous whether in a suit, casual, or even half-naked?

Pushing the illicit thoughts at the back of mind, I refocus on my boss.

“Thanks, Erlington. I'll be working from home in the meantime, if that's okay with you; I don't want this to jeopardize my responsibilities in any way,” I say suggestively.

The last thing I want is my colleagues gossiping in the office, thinking that I'm already fucking my boss to get a free pass.

“Whatever works for you, Ara,” he returns in a gentle tone of voice. “And where are you staying at the moment? I'd like to visit you if you don't mind.”

What? No.

“Um…” I clear my throat, caught up in my nerves now that Adrian is standing right in front of me, staring at me, waiting. “It's ok, you don't have to visit. I'm staying at a friend's house.”

Adrian's eyebrows draw in together disdainfully.

“Okay, sure. I'll see you when you come back to the office then,” Erlington says. I hum a soft yes, eyes locked with Adrian's unreeling ones. “Ok, take care. And call me if you need anything.”

“Um, sure. Thanks.” I bite my lower lip, a bit chagrined, for this has become awkward by now.

I think my boss is really flirting with me, and I don't know how to react yet. He's a playboy for all I know, and I'm the last woman he'd want to have a fling or relationship with if only he knew the kind of life I lead.

“See you soon, Ara,” he adds.

“Yeah. Ciao.” I hang up, pressing my lips together as I finally regard Adrian's presence with a clear mind. “Going somewhere?” I ask him; it's a bit too early for work and he's clearly not dressed for the occasion.

Everyone else is still in bed except us. I barely slept last night anyway and something tells me it wasn't any different with Adrian whose insomnia is much worse than mine.

“A friend's place, you said? Why did you lie to him?” Adrian asks, ignoring my query.

I roll my eyes, sighing.

“Well, I didn't lie,” I answer him. “I don't see any other decent name I could use to define our relationship so 'friends' is more than enough.”

He smirks, shifting his duffel from one hand to another, resembling a breathtaking athlete. With the morning sunlight perched over his head, pouring some glowing rivulets on his face, I could swear there's no better sight for my sore eyes than this man in front of me.

He's enough in every way and I wonder if I'll get to love another man the same way I loved him.

Loved—is it even the correct tense to use?

“Then there's no problem for you to invite your boyfriend to your friend's house, is there?” Adrian amnonishes, sarcasm lacing his bitter voice.

I hang my head low to one side, squinting my eyes in wonder while crossing my arms loosely below my chest. 

My boyfriend, Erlington? What is his insinuation by saying that? I scoff and roll my eyes upward.

“I guess not.” I decide to play along with his nasty sarcasm. “I'll do just that—with your permission, of course.”

His jaw ticks and his eyes reddens with mild disgust, but he quickly fixes his glitched composure as he always does.

Touchè! Two can play this game.

“Get yourself ready. We're leaving in ten minutes!” He walks past me unceremoniously, unable to conceal that hidden shred of jealousy he pretends to lack.

He heads to the living room and I watch his back with a diabolic smile while leaning onto the breakfast table. Honestly, I've been angry for so long but lately I'm beginning to change the course of my emotions by enjoying the way he gets mad for some reason. 

So brace yourself, Adrian Castle. I'm gonna peel off all those layers until I find the real you and break you the same way you broke me, and leave you the same way you left me. 

It's you who's stuck with me.

I don't get it. Is she really dating that scumbag? Out of all the men she could possibly find in New York, she decided to pick that casanova with prickly new money? I throw the tiny disposable phone onto the coffee table, detesting the little green monster eating me alive. A little too dramatic, I know.

I sit upright on the sofa, setting my hands on my parted knees as I contemplate my feelings. Am I jealous of her little fling with Erlington? I'm not quite familiar with this new emotion that's beginning to bother me unceasingly. I hate how she makes me feel each time she talks or laughs with him.

Setting the affairs of the heart aside, my mind races back to the most important matter at hand. Vile—or better yet, Laura Lincoln. I don't know how to deal with this yet, but one thing is crystal clear: Arabella is not supposed to learn about her mother's true identity and it's another reason why I had to end whatever we had before.

It's a promise I made to Vile while Arabella was laying in the hospital bed when Falcon shot her—to keep her as far away as possible from our world. And I tried, God knows how hard I tried to keep my word even if it kills me day and night living without her next to me. She's been the best part of my life and I never stopped loving her.

Although we are meant to be apart, fate keeps pushing us together at any chance the universe creates. I can't say I'm a fan of fairytales and cupids with arrows but somehow it feels like we are the two sides of the same coin, soulmates, even if our worlds are poles different and oceans apart. There's an intricate web of history connecting us perilously.

What will happen when she learns all the hidden truth about herself? And mostly... about me?

“The car is ready,” Mario announces stiffly, interupting my thoughts. “Will you be needing me?”

“No.” I stand upright, exhaling a soft breath through my nose while stashing the disposable phone into the pocket of my jogging pants. “I need you right here to have security under control. It's the top priority for now.”

Mario nods affirmatively, and at the same time Arabella shows up together with her little sister and my Executive Assistance.

“Behave, okay? Don't turn Camilla into your grandma now, got it?” I hear Arabella telling the little girl, and my eyes become fixated at the sight.

“Okay, Ara,” Isla answers politely, bobbing her long pigtails with glee.

I like the kid. She's so smart, disciplined and funny too.

“Good. See you later.” Arabella kisses her cheek with a proud, loving smile. She then turns to Camilla and says, “Thanks, I owe you another one.”

“Never,” Camilla replies, scooting the little girl to her side where she clings between her legs, staring up at the adults with a soothing expression. “This little cutie here is more than a sweetheart.” She ghosts kisses on Isla’s head, making her giggle. 

“Well, pray she keeps that sweet version a little longer then… because I’m all too familiar with the other version,” Arabella enthuses, making both Mario and Camilla laugh.

There's something about watching her take care of her siblings that makes my heart lose control. I'm yet to meet another woman with a big heart so full of love like hers. Even when life turned rough on her, she still kept her family together and that is one of the things that made me love this stubborn woman more than I thought I ever would.

I'm driving off to Westside NY, a few moments later. There's a private outdoor shooting range owned by an old acquaintance of mine, and that's where I intend to have Arabella trained. Personally, I don't have enough time to teach her everything I wish she'd be familiar with, but I can trust a few people who can do a better job as quickly as possible.

Jack Roy, an ex U.S Marine, who runs this place, meets me outside the V.I.P range, a wide spread of an outdoor field covered with green lawn and concrete pathways with built-in seatings facing the 100-yard station. He's a short-haired blond with a 6ft plus height with a lean, muscular body. His brown eyes and wide smile regard me amiably before he coasts closer for a handshake.

“Adrian Castle! Howdy, you big ol’ friend?” He grins, shifting his gaze from me to Arabella, and then back at me with a little mischief. “Lemmi guess, she the trainee?”

Bullets and instructors' voices echo through the air as several targets are being battered in the field by some rich, bored club members in need of a new hobby to caress their ego.

“That's right,” I reply.

“She new in the club?” Jack asks casually, his Texan accent still laced in his English.

"She knows the basics. She can handle the grip but lacks control. It shouldn't take long to brush her skills,” I answer knowingly.

Arabella throws me a meek look, standing next to a wide table filled with several pistols, magazines, and two rifles, including a 22 Caliber with a bullet case, and earset gear for noise prevention. She's been unchatting throughout our ride here; I'm not sure if I am supposed to ask or ignore her at this point.

Jack glances at her and bobs his head up and down. “I'm Jack Roy, ladies call me JR. Whatever y'all prefer,” he then tells her with a casual grin, outstretching his coded arm toward her.

She smiles back and accepts his hand before replying, “Ara. Pleasure… JR.”

His grin widens.

“Welcome to the club, Ara,” Jack goes on, wearing his usual unbridled excitement. “So, I heard you already know your stuff. What's your favorite?” He eyes the table next to Arabella, knowing her attention has been there all along since our arrival.

“Well…” She flushes, with a different sparkle in her eyes this time like a baby seeing a jar of candy. “I'd say a 9 mm”—he picks the G19 from the table, then a magazine—“because we're more acquiated than the others.”

“Hmm, a light weight, easy to conceal… an excellent choice,” Jack indulges her charmingly. “Well, Ara. Delight us, please. That baby is yours today." He flings his hand toward the gun, beckoning her to take it.

“With pleasure.” Arabella grins.

Eyes on us, she effortlessly loads the magazine into the Glock and jams it swiftly and perfectly. Satisfied, she slides the safety under the barrel and trains the gun firmly in the air. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as she closes her one eye and slants her head to one side.

Jake nods, impressed.

Seeing how poised Arabella looks handling a firearm, even if she's just teasing the trigger without actually pressing it, I have no doubt she would have made a great assassin if she grew up the way her mother and I did. In fact, I think Arabella could've been more dangerous than any of us.

“But I'd like to try a rifle too,” she says a moment later while dismantling the gun to safety, unloading the magazine with ease.

“Atta, girl. She's a natural,” says Jack, but I know he's partly being a sweetheart because anyone who watches Hollywood blockbusters can do that much.

Arabella believes she can survive the life I live but I don't think I want that for her. To be honest, her overconfidence is what worries me the most. Her reaction to danger makes me wonder if she has any fear left for herself or her instinct is to only protect those she cares about while being too selfless.

That's why I want her to learn more. I need her to understand what a firearm can do and how to use it to her advantage. If the time comes for her to use it—if and only if—she has to know exactly what she's doing and the consequences of her choices, regardless of the situation. I want survival to be her only option.

“Break her out of her comfort zone,” I demand, talking to Jack as Arabella grabs the 22 Caliber and gets lost in it. “Go all the way in, further beyond the rules.”

Jack lifts his blond eyebrow, probably questioning the nature of my relationship with Arabella now if not the kind of mission I’m preparing her for. 

“How long we talkin’ about?” Curiosity laces his thick voice.

“Two weeks at max,” I reply.

“Damn.” He sighs, his broad shoulders slouching beneath his tight, white polo shirt tucked under a pair of brown cargo pants. “Well, the shit’s gonna be bumpy so we better start fixin’ it right away.”

I know he will do better.

Besides, Arabella is very much eager to learn and a fast learner at that. After a small chat with Jack, her body and feet are now positioned perfectly within her firing lane, following his keen instructions. Within twenty minutes, she manages to hit several shots near the bullseye, but misses the perfect hit that seems so close yet unreachable.

I can feel her frustration but I’m certain she'll ace it with practice in no time.

My mobile has been busy in my ear for the most part, taking and making several calls in and across the continent. Arabella and I exchange glances once or twice, however, and although we don't speak, our eyes still communicate in a language only us can understand and she seems focused.

“Miss Alves is on sabbatical so I need someone capable to closely supervise the operations of all hotels for at least a month,” I speak into the phone, my eyes trained on the target objects stationed horizontally in the distance, accepting hits from several trainees in the range.

I move around inconspicuously, treading through the midday sunlight bathing the yard sporadically, and the gentle breeze from the giant trees surrounding the area. I like shooting outdoors; there's a lovely relationship between nature and our bodies, especially our minds that usually carry beyond capacity.

My conversation goes on while my brain sifts through the many thoughts running in my head at once. My right hand is buried into my pants' pocket, right where the disposable phone is. Up to this time, Vile hasn't made contact with me and I'm curious as to what else she has to say to me after the stunt she pulled yesterday.

There's no other way to contact her so my only option is to keep on waiting.

“Any update on Falcon?” It's another phone call from Italy. My brother, Nicolai. “I heard he’s been fooling around in Venice for a couple of days now but it’s only a matter of time before he gets back home.”

But Nicolai has no news. It seems like our prodigy brother, Falcon, has decided to wage war with the rest of the family, declaring conspicuously that he will take everything that's rightfully his since he is the only one with the Castle blood running through his veins—the true heir to the Castle empire.

“Send Reece to New York; it's best she stays away from this until it’s safe to return,” I tell Nicolai.

“Not sure if her highness will agree without a fight; she's been looking forward to spending her summer in the Caribbean Cruise this year,” he replies with laughter, knowing our sister's little temper and her love for fancy vacations even if the world is burning.

Funny how normal all this sounds coming from our family. We have never been normal.

“I'll talk to her,” I offer.

There's still a lot to deal with but If I get the chance I'll fly to Italy this weekend. Honestly, I don't know how to divide myself. Between my family affairs and businesses, my own businesses, and my personal life involving the woman I love and everything she holds dear, I feel slightly overwhelmed right now.

It's a huge challenge, really.

Looking around, there's a few vacant shooting lanes. I put on my gear and take my position a few feet away from Arabella’s lane. In the next ten minutes, I've poured so many bullets on the targets, absebt-mindedly, as if it's the only kind of distraction I need to quell myself. Shooting can be a soothing art: breath control, steady vision, and focused mind.

I can feel the rush of adrenaline rising above me at each velocity sending the bullet from the muzzle and straight to the target board, and every pressure on the trigger that releases the next one, and another, repeatedly, enlivens me. My eyes are trained on the target, subconsciously imagining it as the pile of all my problems combined.

Click! Fire! Click! Fire! Click! Fire!

Until the gun runs empty once again, all 17 rounds are gone for the second time.

“ADRIAN?” Arabella calls frantically.

I take a deep breath, slowly reconnecting to the world around me the second I take off the earset. I didn't realize she’s here standing behind me, giving me a stunned yet confused look as if I’m someone she can’t recognize.

“Are you okay?” Her eyes dart between me and the multiple-hit target board with a huge bullet hole in the middle. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she repeats, worried.

I've heard her question but I can't produce the answer. The questioning voices in my head return, and I don't know exactly what to do in order to get rid of them and it drives me nuts. How do I keep everyone I love safe? How do I protect the Castle legacy as everyone in my family expects me to? How? How? How?

“Okay, you made your point, sir,” she says in a resigned manner, even though she has a troubled look on her face. “You are the best shooter here; the perfect scores and all, who can compare, huh? And I'm just an amateur, thank you! Are you done showing off now? Can we go? Jack says I'm done for today.”

I’m panting heavily. How can I love her and stay with her when all odds are against us? Do I even deserve loving her after everything I did to her? My heart is beating erratically the more I look at her talking to me as if I'm listening.

Goddamn it, I'm losing my mind. 

To lull myself from this foreign anxiety, and maybe fear, I find myself striding abruptly towards Arabella, staring at her and only her, thinking of nothing else but her.

“What are you—”Arabella starts but I immediately cup her face with my palms and slam my lips ferociously on hers, shutting her up.

_____________

A/N: Thanks for keeping up with DnD, I hope we keep the chapters coming now that I'm better and ready to rumble.

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