Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
ARRIANA
O kay, so I just panicked. I walked myself into a conversational corner with no clue how to get out. This night is having a real mind-fuck effect on me. From learning that he worked for the mob, that he was Nico the Nightmare , and then the kiss, the touching… I was going to tell him about his wife’s affair. But something stopped me. So I blurted out another secret, another truth.
I didn’t expect him to stop at the side of the road. His breath is coming out like a bull’s, hungry and so hot it’s almost like he’s heating up the car. He stares at me in the rear-view mirror with his stunning green eyes. Before, I couldn't imagine him as Nico the Nightmare, but not anymore. I can see how this man could move through the night like a force of nature, doing dark deeds.
“Is it that bad?” I ask.
“Bad?” he says, shaking his head as if waking from a dream. “No, it’s just… a shock.”
“I haven’t been concerned with boyfriends.” I shrug. “I’ve never felt attracted to anyone, not until…”
“Don’t say it,” he growls.
He’s right. I shouldn’t. But I do. “Not until you, Nico.”
He holds onto the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him rooted in place as if he let go, he’d come back here again. Kiss me again.
“Fuck,” he groans. “You’ve got no idea how badly I want to take you someplace private, Arria. Kiss every inch of your perfect body. Make you so hot and sizzling before I bring my hard dick to your pussy, slide into your virgin slit. Just… just pleasure…” He trails off as if realizing what he's saying. “Jesus. Christ. You make me feel drunk.”
“I know the feeling,” I whisper, rubbing my legs together. His words are pushing me closer and closer to an edge I have no business being near, let alone toppling over.
“I shouldn’t be talking like this to you,” he admits.
“No, you shouldn’t. But we both like it when you do.”
I’m not helping anything. After what I learned tonight, I should be eager to back the hell off. He’s not only dangerous from a relationship and life perspective, but now, being near him is actually dangerous. It might be easier when we’re not in the same physical space where I can’t still taste his lips or feel his phantom touch on me.
“We need to stop this, whatever it is, now,” he says sternly.
“You’re right,” I murmur.
He nods, but I can tell he isn’t happy about it. Neither am I. But I should be. I need to be strong— uncle, uncle, uncle . I’ll chant that in my head, a mantra to keep me away from him. Or… Nightmare, Nightmare, Nightmare . And my aunt, oh God, my aunt—what’s wrong with me? I just betrayed her. The same aunt who took me on photography trips before we left for the West Coast, the same aunt who always encouraged me, who bought me my first camera.
Suddenly, what we’ve just done hits me like a tidal wave—any fun drains from the moment. The intoxicated feeling leaves me numb instead. It’s not surreal anymore. It’s brutally real. So what if she’s cheating, too? That doesn’t make it okay, and he doesn’t know that. We’ve just cheated on his wife, as far as he knows, and neither of us has even mentioned it.
“Arria?” he whispers when I cry.
I hate crying. It makes me feel weak, but I can’t help it now. He climbs into the back seat. This time, he doesn’t kiss me or touch me like before. He pulls me into an embrace instead. Being intimate with him is the whole reason for my tears, and yet I push my face against his chest. I weep as I cling to him as if he can make everything better.
“We shouldn’t have done this. What about Aunt Lucy?” I look up at him. “What about your wife ?”
He shakes his head. “We haven’t betrayed your aunt, Arria.”
“How can you say that? You just cheated on your wife.”
“Lucia and I have never been intimate. We’ve never kissed, except once, at our wedding, and we didn’t enjoy that much at all. Our marriage isn’t what it seems.”
“What is it, then?” I ask.
“I can’t tell you.”
“I saw her with another man,” I blurt out. “At our coming home party.”
He nods, not at all surprised. “Giancarlo,” he says. “Yes, they’ve been together for five years. They’re thrilled—as much as they can be, considering our circumstances.”
“You’re not making any sense,” I snap. “So you and Aunt Lucy are married… but you’re not really? You have an open marriage?”
“No,” he replies with a sigh. “I mean—yes, in the sense that we’re not romantically obligated to each other. However, an open marriage implies that we have a marriage on some level. We don’t. It’s… complicated. I’m sorry. The less you know, the better.”
“What if I demand that you tell me more?” I say, full of anger. “This is getting ridiculous. You can’t just pick what pieces of this you share with me.”
“I know it isn’t easy…” He tries to brush the hair from my face, a romantic gesture I desperately want to let happen. But I move back and push his hand away from me.
“Don’t,” I hiss. “You didn’t arrange this elaborate plan for this. Either tell me everything or take me somewhere I can call a cab. I’m sick of this night. I’m sick of knowing half the truth.”
His expression hardens. “Fine,” he says. “But just know—you haven’t betrayed your aunt. We haven’t cheated. I’ve never had a serious relationship, but if I ever do, somehow, I’d never cheat. It’s the lowest, coldest thing a person can do.”
“That’s why I was crying.” I rub my face. “It was like we were in a dream, but then it hit me. We’re not. This is reality. And we’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“But we didn’t .”
He’s wrong. I did. I told him I was a virgin when I didn’t have any reason to. By sharing: sharing a private part of myself, I thought I was avoiding breaking the affair news. But then I broke it, anyway.
“Just take me home,” I tell him.
He sighs, moving toward the door. “Fine, Arria.”
I stand at my bedroom window, looking out onto the street. It looks normal. It’s a new house, but the street looks exactly like what I’d expect a middle-upper-class street to look like. There aren’t any cars lurking around, no mobsters waiting to grab me. I try to reason it out in my head. Enzo is dangerous, but I know I made my apology realistic. The only thing that could’ve annoyed him was when Nico stood up to him.
But that wasn’t my fault. If Enzo’s going to go after anyone, it’ll be Nico, won’t it?
I flinch when my phone vibrates on my desk. The buzzing noise has panic surging to the surface. I need to chill. It’s Nico. That’s surprising. After how we left things—icy compared to the heat that came before—I didn’t think I would hear from him again.
Nico: Are you awake?
Me: What’s happening? Has there been a development?
As I wait for his reply, I wonder if he’ll tell me he made up that stuff about Aunt Lucy. He could have said it to calm me down. I’ve been thinking about it all night, along with everything else. They’ve only kissed once—when they had to, at their wedding. So why did they do it? What purpose could there have been to get married? There has to be a connection to his mob life.
Nico: No. Sorry if I worried about you. This is off-topic. I couldn’t sleep when I got home, so I’ve been doing some work. One girl I’m working with pro bono, helping her on a graffiti charge, has expressed an interest in photography. I was wondering if you’d be interested in meeting with her, helping her. You can say no. There’s no pressure.
I sit on my bed, my foot tapping frantically. Does this mean I’ll be seeing more of my uncle ? I should realistically do everything I can to avoid it. It doesn’t matter if I want to see him, hold him, kiss him, explore him both physically and emotionally. What I should do is put this behind me. Perhaps this can help with that? We can meet again, keep it surface-level, pretend tonight never happened. Am I kidding myself?
Maybe I can even pretend I don’t know about the mafia stuff. Just go on with my life, taking it a day at a time. How would I answer this question if I was just his niece, if we’d never kissed, if he hadn’t stood up for me and put us both in danger?
Me: I’d be happy to help somebody in need. I think it’s great, uncle. How much of your time and resources do you give to people in the city?
Nico: Thank you, Arriana. My wife has told me that your photography is very good. She’s certain you’re going to be highly successful. She’s not a photography expert, but she has an eye for visuals from her experience in the art world .
I don’t miss the change in what he’s calling me. My full name now—not Arria . And mentioning his wife… it seems we’re playing a game, or maybe agreeing, without coming outright and saying it, to go back to the way things should be.
Me: That’s why I’ve got plans to go traveling. I want to build a portfolio.
Nico: Yes. I remember. One text arrives. Then, immediately, another.
Nico: When?
I stare at the single word. Texts are a funny thing. With no tone, I can put any mood into it I want. It could be an indifferent question, the way somebody speaks when they’re making small talk. It could be an urgent, fierce demand. When? Tell me now… It could be anything in between. It could be nothing. It could be everything. Maybe that’s why I almost prefer texting. I can shape reality the same way I edit a photo. And perhaps that’s what makes it more frustrating, too.
Me: I need to save more money. I want to travel to Europe. Or maybe even go on an African safari. I haven’t decided on specifics yet, but it’s a dream of mine to travel, take photos, see the world, grow as a person.
Nico: Alone?
Again, just one word, leaving me with all the room to speculate about his intent. Is he implying that he wants to come with me? Or is he relieved that I’m not dating someone else? Maybe he doesn’t care, and he’s just being politely interested like any uncle. The difference is we’ve already kissed, already touched. But we’re trying to go back to the way things were.
Me: Yes. The only person I could think of asking to come with me is Lilly, but she’s in college and, anyway, she already told me she isn’t interested in taking time out of life to travel. I can respect that. We’ve all got different paths in life.
Nico: Traveling alone in Europe isn’t safe for a young woman.
Me: You already knew I was planning this.
Nico: I know, but it wasn’t my place to give you the brutal facts before, Arriana.
Me: Why is it your place now, uncle?
I’m being petty. But I don’t care. He’s acting like he has any right to tell me how to live my life.
Nico: Maybe it’s not. But it’s still a fact. I know you want to build a career for yourself, and that’s fantastic. The world is a dark, nasty place, though, Arriana. I’m not saying don’t go, but be careful. Do your research. Don’t think you can disappear in another part of the world and automatically be safe.
Me: I’ll be fine. When I make my decision about where I want to go, I’ll take all the precautions. Please let me know more details about this girl you want me to help. Uncle.
Again, I’m being petty. Calling him uncle—but he is my uncle. I’m just using it as a weapon, a way to remind him. I do my do-not-disturb routine, putting my phone on my desk, getting into bed, and using all my willpower not to check it.
When sleep finally comes—it takes a long-ass time—my dreams put me back in the car with him. He’s got his hand on my core, but this time, he’s under my pants. He’s rubbing hard, sparks lighting up my body. I wake in a sweat. Know what’s crazy? I wake with my hands between my legs, too. That’s never happened to me before.
Grabbing my phone, I read his last text.
Nico: I can arrange a meeting tomorrow, around three pm, if you’re not busy.
Me: I fell asleep, but I can do that, yeah. Send me the address. I’ll make my way there.
Nico: Public transport? he texts, not leaving me in suspense this time. I smile at the image of him waiting up all night for my text, growing anxious when I don’t text back, thinking about coming over here, climbing into bed with me, holding me. I’m sick. It’s wrong. I still smile.
Me: Yes. It’ll be fine.
Nico: It’s one of the safest ways to travel, believe it or not .
Translation—Enzo won’t risk doing anything stupid on a bus surrounded by witnesses.
At breakfast, I tell Mom and Dad, “I read a news story about a mugging earlier. It was really scary. You two need to be careful, just in case anything happens. These muggers are clever. They trick people. Apparently, it might be a racket run by the mob.”
Dad narrows his eyes at me. Mom looks at Dad. I see the expression flash quickly across her face. I’m always watching people, mostly imagining a camera in my hand—a byproduct, I think, as I’ve become half decent at reading them.
The look of panic on Mom’s face says She knows.
Do they know about the mob? Are they hiding something from me?
“We’ll be careful, sweetheart,” Mom says. “Don’t worry.”
They go back to trying to act normal, but I spotted it. I’m sure I did. Mom definitely looked at Dad as if I’d stumbled into a secret. Maybe that’s why Nico didn’t want to tell me everything. Could it involve my parents? God. What am I even thinking? But I can’t ignore my instincts. There was something there. As we eat breakfast, I try to tell myself I imagined it. But I can’t.
This maze of lies is becoming too easy to get lost in.