ARIA

It's 6:24 pm by the time I make it to the Palace Hotel in Birmingham, and the hotel absolutely lives up to its namesake. Massive and regal, the building stands five stories tall. Built in Edwardian-style architecture, rows of arched stone openings wrap around the ground level while a central tower looms over the rooftop pavilions.

With quick strides, I roll my carry-on through the front entrance. The words grand and vintage come to mind as I survey the lobby. Gold leaf accents and ornate crown molding adorn the walls. Stained glass skylights stretch across the arched ceilings. Ropes of crystal dangle from chandeliers. The entire vibe reeks of Manning's taste. Pompous, excessive, and pretentious. I suspect that tonight's dinner party will very much be a dick-swinging contest between Manning and his buddies. It's already leaving a vile taste in my mouth.

There are only two dozen guests in attendance, but Manning has bought out the entire third floor of the hotel. This is what happens when the rich and powerful congregate. When I first started working at Jackson & James as a junior financial analyst, I was too much of a nobody to ever be invited, but even an office grunt like me has heard whispers of what goes on behind closed doors at these exclusive events. I've been told that Manning and his buddies hammer out business deals on the sly, but, mostly, I think everyone's here to let loose and go wild. Hard drugs, free-flowing alcohol, and high-end escorts are rumored to be a staple.

The masks that these fuckers wear in public are just that—masks. Once they step inside this hotel, they no longer have to be upstanding citizens or wholesome family men who earned every penny of their millions through hard work and ingenuity. Here and only here can their true colors come out to shine.

This is why, I presume, Manning invited Nicco and me. He wants to test us, push us to our limits, hoping we'll flounder and flail in front of important clients and partners. Tonight—we'll be pressured to take part in everything that can be snorted, imbibed, and fucked. Our sins must be stained as black as theirs in order to be initiated into the circle of Jackson & James' real money makers. Boundaries will be tested. Lines may be crossed. If Nicco fails to earn their approval, he'll lose a lot of credibility and influence at Jackson & James, which is exactly what Manning hopes to see. I won't lie. I'm very worried about tonight. I feel unprepared. I hate that Nicco told me to show up without a plan.

God, I hope he's ready to stand his ground.

Clenching my jaw, I attempt to keep my nerves under control. After checking in at the front desk, I head straight to my hotel room and start prepping for the dinner party. Gone are my trainers, hoodie, and mask. I no longer need to be anonymous. This evening, I must become a weapon. Everything about my appearance should look intimidating yet fuckable. Expensive and untouchable.

Thirty minutes later, my hotel bathroom looks like a war zone, but I'm dressed to kill in a long-sleeved mini-dress by Dior. The front has a rather conservative neckline, but the backless design dips all the way down my spine, creeping dangerously close to the slope of my ass. The velvet hugs my skin like a glove. The swells of my breasts, the dip of my waist, and the flare of my hips are on full display. Nothing is left to the imagination. I've curled my hair, letting it trail down my shoulders in dark, sensual waves. My makeup is a kind of armor as well. A dark smoky eye complements a deep rosy lip. I must play the part of a witchy, bitchy fantasy who might make all their filthiest dreams come true if they simply play your cards right.

I'm almost ready to go. But Nicco's request holds me back.

Will you, at least, think it over before rejecting the idea altogether?

I glance down at my bare hand, hesitating, debating, and weighing all the risks and rewards. My head starts to hurt.

Oh, fuck it.

That's when I reach for something round, gray, and very sparkly and slip it onto my ring finger. It's a terrible idea to go against PR's advice, but I feel like I owe it to Nicco. He wanted me to wear the ring tonight. I must show him how much I value his wishes, especially with all the secrets I've been keeping from him. I tilt my hand this way and that way, watching the diamond catch the light as though housing a galaxy of stars. The fit feels so right around my finger. I've never understood why people become so irrational in the name of love.

But I understand now.

I'm terrified of losing him.

With my chest tight with anxiety, I arrive at the main ballroom at exactly 7 pm. The moment I walk in, I scan the room and lock onto a tall masculine figure in an impeccably cut black Armani suit. Nicco appears to be making small talk with the CEO of a global tech company. My heart skips a beat, and it takes all of my self-control to not run straight into his arms. I force myself to walk toward him with slow, steady steps.

As I get closer, we lock eyes for a second, and it's so intense. Not in a I can't wait to fuck your brains out kind of way. But in a if looks could kill kind of way. His green gaze is burning mine as though he genuinely hates me. The sweet nothings he whispered in my ear just hours ago on the phone no longer feel true.

I miss you.

All of a sudden, the ring on my finger feels too fucking tight. I want to yank it off. I don't want him to see it.

More than you know.

A chill runs deep inside my bones.

Nothing can keep me away.

Those words rattle me to my core. Because, now, it doesn't seem to be feelings of tenderness that draw him to me. My fiancé looks like he wants to strangle me. I'm afraid, however, to voice my fears out loud. Dread floods my veins. A part of me already has already pieced together the reason behind his change of heart.

I think he knows something about Jaime.

***

NICCO

A sharp ache still resides in my chest. I have decided to let it fester and grow. Like a masochist, I will bask in this gut-wrenching heartbreak and cling to Aria's betrayal. May it serve as a lesson to never let another woman shatter me so completely again.

An hour ago, I landed in Birmingham. I am now in my hotel room. My movements feel stiff when I force myself to get dressed. It is difficult to shave and apply cologne. I glare at my reflection in the mirror. There is an unsightly bandage wrapped around my left hand. The bleeding has stopped, and the wound should heal in a few days. But I do not know if I will ever recover from what she has done to me.

I want to fuck her over as cruelly as she fucked me. Brimming with silent rage, I head out at 6:45 pm. I find the ballroom where Manning's dinner party is being held. Despite being occupied in Málaga for most of my day, I somehow showed up fifteen minutes early. A strained blend of relief and dismay arises when I realize that Aria is not here yet.

I enter the lion's den alone. Contrary to what Aria believes, I do not need a plan because I already know how to handle this shit. Like a pack of wolves, these men will always trample over the weak while submitting to the most dominant force in the room. I simply have to prove to them that my dick is bigger than theirs.

Manning greets me from across the room. I smile back, baring my teeth. I am well aware that he will be coming for my throat. Still smiling, I join Manning and his friends. Right away, I recognize one of the guys. He was an old classmate of mine from my Cambridge days. Chester Fielding. He hates my guts. I am certain that Manning invited him tonight for this very reason. The others look familiar as well even though I do not know them personally. I have seen their faces on the news. Business leaders. Well-known politicians. Two of them are actual fucking royalty. After a round of self-introductions, small talk ensues. These bastards are skeptical about me, at first. Understandably so, I guess. My reputation proceeds me. I am a nepo-prince who has always shirked his duties. In their eyes, I have yet to earn my position as the Department Manager at Jackson & James.

Over the next couple of minutes, they gang up on me like a pack of wolves, questioning my lack of experience, criticizing my work ethic, and insulting my intellect.

As though they are so very different from me.

As though they did not inherit their trust funds and hefty job titles from their families' connections.

Fucking hypocrites.

In time, I manage to wrangle the discussion away from my personal shortcomings to Jackson & James, along with mia famiglia's other businesses, and I tell them everything they want to hear. I let them know that, ever since I took over as the head of the Asset Management department, we have been making a shit ton of money for our clients and partners. I let them know that we can also make them a shit ton of money should they choose to entrust us with their investments. Thanks to Aria's meticulous data tracking, I have already memorized the numbers to back up my claims. For the most part, it seems they are beginning to view me in a new light. Things are going well.

Naturally, Manning chooses this very moment to interrupt our flow of conversation. He points to my bandaged hand. "I'm curious, Mr. Vitale, about what happened here. How did you hurt yourself?"

I laugh it off. "Oh... this? It is nothing. Just a scratch."

Chester takes a step toward me. "Were you involved in some kind of physical altercation?"

I arch an eyebrow. "Recently? No."

"Really? I remember that violent temper of yours. Didn't you knock a guy unconscious back at Cambridge?"

Calmly, I deny nothing, "Most days, I am docile as a kitten. But that asshole deserved it. Trust me."

That two-timing asshole broke my sister's heart, so I broke a few of his bones.

Manning chimes in, "I mean no disrespect, Mr. Vitale, but I hope you've gained more restraint since then. The ability to resolve conflicts without causing a whole damn scene is very necessary in our line of work. I could never in good conscience recommend my clients to invest their money with someone who displayed such poor judgment and lack of discretion."

"I doubt he has changed much," Chester advises Manning as though I am not standing right beside him. "He has quite a notorious presence on social media. From what I've seen of his recent exploits, Nicco's exactly as I remembered him from Cambridge. If I was an investor, I'd definitely think twice before handing over accounts to him."

These fuckers.

I see what they are trying to do. Manning and Chester know that no high-profile individual will work with me if I am considered a liability in any way.

Eyeing Manning with contempt, I ready myself to undermine his attack. I must reframe this supposed weakness of mine into a strength. "How disappointing."

Manning scoffs at me, "What's so disappointing?"

"I hoped that a seasoned veteran like you," I drawl coolly, "would be able to see past the smoke and mirrors. Why would you suggest that I am not in control of these narratives? At Cambridge, if I had not intended to make an example out of that bastard, no one would know about it. Make no mistake, the world sees only what I need it to see, which means you will never know the full extent of hell that I am capable of raising."

Like setting Juan Pablo's villa on fire.

I continue, "As for my reputation across social media, I see no reason to clean up my image. The rumors have always served me well."

Chester taunts, "You mean, you actually want the public to believe that you're a useless idiot who only knows how to spend his family's millions on gold diggers and tacky cars?"

"Billions. Not millions," I correct him with a smirk, "but you are not wrong. I do not mind being seen as a—in your words, not mine—useless fucking idiot. This persona baits assholes into underestimating me. By the time I choose to show my hand, they have already lost the fucking game."

Chester's face turns slightly red.

Without batting an eye, I shift the conversation back to business. On my left, the heir to a multimillionaire-dollar pharmaceutical corporation gives me his private phone number. To my right, a CEO invites me out to lunch next weekend. Manning is glowering at me. Much to his disappointment, I am still standing in spite of his efforts to knock me down several pegs. In fact, I remain in command of the room until—at 7 pm, sharp—an all too devastating distraction appears in the doorway. Unable to resist, my eyes are immediately drawn to her. I look my fill, drinking in her perfection.

Dio.

Her eyes.

Her face.

Her dress.

She has never looked more desirable, and I have never despised myself more for wanting her still. Again, my blood boils. Once more, my heart breaks. From the edge of my gaze, I sense that I am not the only one who has fallen under her spell. Every pair of male eyes are riveted on her. Aria is the one I should hate, but, instead, I hate them for even daring to look at her. As she walks toward me, her hands sway in time to her strides, and that is when the lights overhead catch the sparkle on her finger. A wave of shock and joy and despair pummels through me when I realize that it is her engagement ring.

She actually chose to wear it tonight.

She fucking put it on.

Cazzo.

Something fractures within me. Like glass cracking under too much pressure. I feel my hard-won control begin to slip away for the first time this evening.

Before Aria can reach me, I clear my throat and address the rest of my companions, "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I see that my assistant has arrived. There is something I wish to discuss with her. In private. I will be right back."

Manning's eyes sharpen. "Of course. Take your time, Mr. Vitale."

Without another word, I take my leave. I hurry over to Aria and smile down at her—friendly, professional, pleasant—for the sake of appearances. Even from a distance, I can feel Manning's intrusive gaze lingering on us.

My heart constricts as I breathe out, "Oh, Aria, Aria, Aria..."

Uttering her name used to give me such joy.

Now?

It only inspires grief.

Yet, my beautiful diavola lights up like she is truly happy to see me. Taking into account that everyone is still standing within earshot, she keeps her voice low and soft so that only I can hear, "God, Nicco, I've been going crazy all day. Please don't disappear on me without warning again. For some reason, I kept thinking that I was about to lose y—"

Too incensed to listen for another second, I lean over to hiss in Aria's ear, "Enough, principessa. Just fucking stop. Per favore. I do not want to hear any more lies. There is no need to pretend to care for me. Not after you spent months planning the perfect way to rip out my heart."